The Book of Broken Hearts by Sarah Ockler Read Free Book Online

why do you keep calling me princess?”
    Emilio flashed me another dimpled smile, but then he just shrugged and turned back to the bike. He poked and prodded, leaned in close to check out the engine.
    And then he started humming. One note, two, the first line, the second . . .
    Beauty and the Beast , tale as old as time. It was last year’s school musical. I’d starred as Belle.
    “How do you—”
    “Saw the show,” he explained. “My cousin Ben played the candlestick guy.”
    So he does recognize me from school. . . .
    My stomach twisted when I thought of Emilio watching me twirl around stage in Belle’s big yellow dress, cavorting with talking candles and clocks. The whole thing seemed so ridiculous now. And Ben was his cousin? God, there were a lot of Vargas boys. Even though Ben’s a Ribanowski, not a Vargas. Still. I wondered if my sisters knew how broadly this dynasty of heartbreakers spanned? We could be talking nationwide pandemic here.
    Emilio looked at me over his shoulder, still smiling like he was plotting some big practical joke. “Anyway, I just think it’s badass. I don’t know any other girls who’d spend theirsummer restoring a vintage panhead with their pops. That’s all I meant.”
    His dimples diffused the tension, and my shoulders sank under the weight of Papi’s secret. Emilio had to know something was wrong with him—there was no logical way to explain the pharmacy meltdown, the random trips to the moon in the middle of a sentence.
    “My father . . . This isn’t some summer bonding project.”
    Emilio’s face was open and curious, not judgmental. I wanted to tell him the truth, the family secret Mom tried hard to protect, the one I wanted so badly to destroy with the roar of Valentina’s rebuilt engine. But the words burned my throat, as if naming the disease out loud would unleash another cloud, darker than the one that had already settled over our family, and I let them turn to dust on my tongue.
    “Sorry about yesterday,” I finally said. “He gets tired sometimes. Kind of throws him off.”
    Emilio held my gaze another moment but didn’t press. When he asked me to help put away the tools and manuals like it was no big deal, I was so relieved I could’ve hugged him.
    But obviously that wasn’t happening.
    “The good news?” He wiped his hands on a rag. “This is a big project. I’ll need to strip her down to the bones, clean her, and build her back up, one piece at a time.”
    We left the barn and walked toward his motorcycle, parked next to Papi’s old truck, and Emilio grinned. “You’ll be seein’ a lot of this pretty face around here.”
    “How is that good news?”
    He took a step closer and stared me down, unblinking, and my stomach flip-flopped.
    “Jude, I never thought I’d feel this way, but . . .” He held his hand over his heart. “I think I’m in love . . .” His eyes drilled right through me, and my breath hitched as he licked his lips and leaned in close. . . .
    “With empanadas,” he whispered.
    I jerked away fast. “That was a one-time deal.”
    Emilio shifted toward me, closing the space between us again. “Hey, for real. This is a cool project. Best thing I ever got to do.” He twirled his keys around his finger, the star on a Puerto Rican flag key chain glinting in the sun, silver where it should’ve been white. “Leave the oil pan set up. The old stuff needs to drain out.”
    “No problem. Do you need a—”
    The words evaporated the second I saw Mom’s dark-gray Jetta motor up our driveway.
    “She never comes home this early! Um . . . leave.” I met his eyes. The amusement there didn’t reflect the panic that must’ve been blazing through mine. “No, seriously. Can you go?”
    Mom killed the engine and got out of the car in one swift motion.
    “I think she already saw me.” Emilio stiffened. “Should I be worried?”
    It was too late. She was already walking toward us,eyeing us up with every step.