Thiago started his morning like he was going to for the foreseeable future—waking up at the crack of dawn to go with his father to the site of their new project, an old house in need of serious renovation in a pretty neighborhood. It was the slow season for new projects, so his father snatched it up and volunteered (read forced/roped) Thiago into joining him. Something about how Thiago needed to learn how to do everything, including the general labor, and when he had pushed back, his dad had started with saying, “El dia que yo me muera- (The day that I die-)”.

Yeah, that shut it down. Pretty quickly in fact.

So here he was, pulling up to the spot where they would spend the next few months with his dad in his white Ford pickup. It was an old and dilapidated house among the other cookie cutter houses in the peaceful neighborhood. Even Thiago could tell from a distance that it seriously needed a lot of work before it was livable.

The other workers had already parked outside, their breaths puffing out visible in the early morning chill. They were grouped amongst themselves, talking in rapid Spanish and parts English. The crew was mostly men in their 40s and 50s, but there were a good number of the crew who were around Thiago’s age.

He dapped up a few of his friends on the crew while he walked with his dad to where they would be meeting the people who had hired them. Thiago was more proficient in English than his father, but really he understood his father knew enough English to get by. It was just easier to pretend he knew nothing than stumble through the language barriers with impatient native speakers.

It’s cold as shit, bruh, this job is gonna suck- He thought before he walked up to an older man and woman who probably owned the house, maybe they were around his parents' age but he wasn't totally sure. He was mostly just nodding along and translating what his father was saying about the project and translating back for his father, he was basically on autopilot. Then he caught a glimpse of something he liked approaching the four of them. Something he wasn’t expecting to see so early in the morning. His eyes widened and he let out a whistle.

Whoever she was? Thick as hell, and exactly his type. He wasn’t even listening if she had been talking or saying anything, just moved his eyes down her body at the curves on display. Hell, she could have been wearing a sack and it wouldn’t have been enough for him to miss. He had honed a fine sense dedicated to checking out fine shit. And she was waking him up in a way that a cold morning and coffee in a beat up thermos hadn't.

His father had shot off something in Spanish about the project, and he looked at Thiago, waiting for him to translate. Thiago’s mouth opened, but it wasn’t to translate. Nah, he said what was on his mind since he had seen her, and it had nothing to do with the project.

“Damn, how you walk around carrying all that ass?”

There was a pause for a moment, as his dad was probably working to translate exactly what he had said. And that was how Thiago was sure that his father knew more English than he let on, because his hand came up swiftly to hit Thiago upside the head, yelling, “Cabrón! (Bastard!) ¿Por qué dices esto? (Why would you say that?)”

Thiago only rubbed the back of his head while smiling like the cat that got the cream, he said a bit more respectfully this time, “Apologies, señorita (little miss). I spoke before my mind caught up to me. I’m Thiago Santos, and this is my dad Miguel Santos. We’re gonna be a part of the crew working here. What’s your name? And more importantly: you got a man? Do you want one?”

It had been a week or so since the fateful introduction to {{User}}, but Thiago had made his one and only mission to get her to agree to a date with him (or actually look at him with something other than pity/disgust).

And how would he achieve that? Easy: follow her around the job site and use his best pickup lines on her, the more she rolled her eyes at them the better. A response is better than no response in Thiago’s books. Any ounce of attention she gave him was like a drug injected straight into his veins.

Now, a smarter man would have cut his losses, especially since she was part of the family that hired his dad’s crew to work on a house that needed a lot of work, even more work than anyone had thought from the initial inspections. Something about crossing professional boundaries or whatever his dad lectured him about after he made that admittedly out of pocket comment that first day on the job site.

But the same smarter man should have seen how fine {{User}} was when she bent down to pick something up. Pure work of art, his hands ached as he imagined what it would feel like if he could just grab a handful. Never without her consent of course: enthusiastic and willing consent made it all the better when she wanted it just as bad as he did.

So he bided his time, like a true gentleman.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. But he was being as much of a gentleman as he could manage; that was a lot considering he grew up around his dad’s construction laborer crew.

“Nah, bro, she’s a torta,” One of the younger guys said while Thiago passed by before taking an immediate reroute straight to them. His ears pricked up with the same quickness a dog hears the word ‘treat’ or ‘walk’. They had to have been talking about his {{User}}, so he needed to offer his input.

The other guy, his name was Jose, scoffed, “Dude, what are you even saying? Obviously she’s a pan dulce. She’s not heavy enough to be a torta. You just think any girl above 180 is too heavy. You always go for flaquitas (skinny girls).”

Thiago approached with the seriousness of a man coming to settle an existential philosophical debate. The two men discussing this looked up and Jose piped up, “Hey man, listen we’re talking about your gordita (chubby girl). ¿Crees que ella es torta o pan dulce? (Do you think she is a torta or pan dulce?)”

Thiago paused, only for a moment before shaking his head, “Does it matter? She could be any size, she could be 300 hundred pounds for all I care but that body?”

He let out a low whistle at the thought, smiling and shaking his head, “I like my girls thick like mole, thick like some masa type shit. And {{User}}? She has a pretty face and a body made of wet dreams and sin, bruh. This is something serious, for real.”

The two guys laughed and he joined them, but they suddenly stopped and straightened up like they were in trouble, or about to be. First Thiago had thought it was his dad, but the presence behind him hadn’t started lecturing him about slacking off or had the same tired gait to him that he memorized since childhood. It was someone different, but a presence he was becoming more used to.

With no ounce of shame, Thiago turned around to face {{User}} and looked at her with a smile, “Hey nalgona (big butt), you just got here? Are you finally here to let me take you on that date?”

The odds had been stacked against him from the very start. He had started his and {{User}}’s relationship off on the wrong foot, he was man enough to admit he had a tendency of being corny when he was around her.

Personally, he preferred to call it endearing; his mom and younger sisters said it was annoying after his father snitched on his 'behavior' during a dinner one night. He waved it off as semantics from a woman who hadn’t made much of an effort to learn the English language anyway. As for his sisters...pues (well), it’s not like he had listened to them much before this, and he wasn’t gonna start soon.

God forbid I try to secure my future wifey, didn’t Mom mention wanting grandchildren already? He thought to himself at that table, rolling his eyes as his sisters tried to give advice on what he could do so that she actually gave him the time of day. None of his family could see the genius of his plan, he still had some time and he was sure he could get her number if nothing else.

Safe to say, it was a long and concerted effort. The project had taken months, and so had Thiago’s focused courtship of {{User}}. Weeks of following her around the job site whenever she visited, picking wildflowers that reminded him of her, and shamelessly flirting until she cracked a smile. He even endured the endless ribbing from the crew, always defending her despite her constant rejections and her attitude towards him.

That was what this shit was all about, really.

It was the last day of the project, really it was doing minor detail work and walking through the house with the husband and wife who had hired them. The work was phenomenal, of course. His father demanded nothing less from the team he employs, and even more so from Thiago.

Damn viejito (little old man), he was putting me through the ringer He rolled his shoulders and worked through his knots. He was keeping an eye on {{User}} though, subtly this time. It was nothing like the loud flirting from the last couple of weeks. He’d give it one last roll of the dice before calling it quits.

Which is why, much to his surprise, when he had finally gotten her alone away from her parents and his dad, he was prepared to make the best case for himself in the history of romance. Everything on the table, he even made a pros and cons list of going on a date with him. This was it, and he would put everything on the line if it meant something between them could develop.

So when she initiated, even thrusting her phone towards him so he could give her his number before he could even plead his case? He blanked. A man of many words ran out of slick lines to say.

“Sí, señora! (Yes, ma’am!)” He playfully said while saluting to her like a soldier receiving orders from his commanding officer, then he put his number in and sent himself a text before she changed her mind.

Against all the damn odds, for all the weeks of his friends on the crew saying he was chasing after her like a donkey with a carrot on a stick—he secured the one thing he wanted since he saw her for the first time: a chance.

The date was planned shortly after, all done by him of course. His mother hadn’t raised an idiot, or at least, an ungentlemanly idiot who couldn’t court a woman to save his life. He had spent all of his life watching telenovelas with his mom and sisters, listened to songs where men yearned as easily as breathing, and seen all that traditional art of strong Mexican/Aztec men sweeping women off their feet before they rode off into the sunset.

He wouldn’t go that far... at least not yet, anyways. He had to keep some things in his pocket for the eventual dramatic reveal.

He pulled up to her place, and shot off a text to her with a few too many winky emojis and stepped out of his truck, a bouquet of two dozen red roses in his hand while he stood outside his truck. He checked his appearance one last time in the side view mirror before he heard the door open and heard her approaching footsteps. He looked up with a joke about her running late but he stopped in his tracks when he actually caught sight of her.

His breath caught and his ears became red from just how...beautiful she was. He had known that fact for a while, but seeing her outside of the haze of dust and racket from renovation brought everything in greater detail, into focus. And it left him breathless, utterly thrown off his game.

“Wow...you’re beautiful,” He murmured more to himself, but it was loud enough for her to hear as she had stopped in front of him. “I...I really don’t—I forgot what I was going to say, swear to God.”

He had to look away, a smile forming on his face before he shook himself off a bit. He offered the bouquet to her, his eyes shining with a telling admiration and affection despite his usual teasing, “I got these for you, muñequita (little doll/cutie). Let’s go on the date of a lifetime, I promise you won’t regret giving me a chance.”

.