Delgado's looked different when it was dark. Small round lights in the ceiling created a soft ambience. The sound of instrumental background music competed with the thrum of voices.

It was a great turn out. People were admiring the art or nibbling from the buffet of appetisers.

Bottles of beer, flutes of champagne or glasses of wine were being served from behind the pop up bar.

The paintings were being sold at a sale price. There was an almost sixty percent discount for whatever was taken home tonight.

Which seemed to be a great incentive because the art was being admired and discussed by almost everyone in the room.

The pieces were exquisite. They really captured the beauty of their locations. You could almost feel the culture coming off the canvas.

"Max, Hola!"

Amalia and I turned from the painting of The Alhambra and met Elias' enthusiastic smile.

He outstretched his arms and kissed Amalia on either cheek before he shook my hand.

His outfit would have been impossible to miss. His pale blue blazer and pants were decorated in a white floral pattern. The shirt underneath was a soft pink as were his Doc Martins. He wore it with confidence.

"Thank you for coming," he said. He seemed to thrilled to see us both.

"Thank you for having me," I said and gestured at the room. "It's a great turn out."

"Sí," he smiled. "It must have been with help from that Cramer. You're company provided fantastic advertisement."

"Glad that we could help, sir," I said even though I was an assistant and nothing more.

Amalia stepped forward and patted her father's chest. "You look handsome, Papá."

"Gracias," he said. "Bernie helped me choose it. She was quite unhappy that she couldn't join us but, ah well. She'll have a nice evening at her friend's house. Oh," he looked over at a middle aged couple that were wandering towards us. "I have to talk to the Ryan's. Excuse me."

He skipped off with a spring in his step and when I peered down at Amalia, she was watching him with an adoring smile.

Her features were so captivating. Soft but sharp. Alluring but daring. She had the smile of an angel.

"He's happy, huh?"

Amalia turned her attention to me and the smile grew as did the blush on her cheeks and chest. "I haven't seen him this happy in a long time."

"And you?" I asked. "Are you happy?"

Her gaze grew for a moment and she ducked her head. We started to circle the room and while the art was meant to be the focus, I was intently drawn to this girl instead.

"I don't know if I've been asked that before," she admitted and swept her hands through her hair. "But I am. I'm really happy. I love working in the parlour. Dad and I are closer than ever. Bernie is a handful but she loves school and that's always a relief. I mean, for now, she loves school for now. She's getting super into fashion and that's one of those careers that's all or nothing. But she has talent. Things are good."

I smiled at her answer. It was nice to get more than just a yes, no or a shrug. It was beautiful that she could list the things that made her happy without having to think it over.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," she said as we weaved through a group of women that I'm almost certain were discussing Elias rather than the vase which they surrounded.

It was classic little old ladies having a gossip and it made Amalia and I laugh.

"Why tattooing?" I asked with a light tone so it didn't come across as judgement. Because it wasn't. "What do you love about it?"

She knew it was a question of genuine curiosity because she smiled and her demeanour became alight with excitement. "I love art. I love drawing and painting. And tattoo's, well, they're art. They are. They tell a story. They contribute to expression. When someone gets a tattoo, it's because it means something to them. It's so important that they want it on their skin forever and being a part of that process and experience is so rewarding."

The passion in her tone was mesmerising. She had the most gorgeous voice and when combined with her enthusiasm, wow. I could have listened to her for hours.

"Of course there is the occasion when someone stumbles in drunk and wants something impulsive and weird," she rolled her eyes with a light laugh. "But those times when a client gets a quote that's kept them alive, or a picture of a loved one or a childhood pet, it's indescribable. I've cried before. When a client cries because of how pleased they are, I cry."

"That's when you know that you're in the right job," I said.

Amalia gestured that I follow her. She pushed open her father's office door and closed it again behind her. The room was dark and quiet but we could still hear the chatter and music of the event.

It surprised me when she took my hand and led me through the small staff area. I wasn't complaining though. It felt nice to hold her hand again after the impromptu finger lacing on the train platform earlier.

She had a small hand. Soft skin. It fit well in my palm. Questions arose the further we went from the party but I didn't voice them. I was too curious to interrupt our little adventure.

When she pushed open a back door which was surrounded with parcels and boxes from a multitude of different companies, I found myself marvelling in awe.

It was a courtyard between the other buildings. The fence around the space had an alleyway on either side. But you could never tell that anything but magic existed outside of this area.

Lights were strung up, blinking on a timer. The fences were painted with dark blues, blacks and silvers to create the illusion of being in the stars.

There was a small wooden bridge going across a 'river' of small blue pebbles. Picnic tables were scattered, each one held a flame that was licking against its glass case in the soft breeze. It was beautiful.

"This was something I worked on as soon as Dad bought the place," Amalia told me, crossing the wooden bridge.

It had lights wrapped around its rails. I followed along behind her.

"How come no one is out here?" I wondered out loud. It almost seemed too beautiful to be vacant.

"Someone will find it eventually," she said and gripped the fabric of her skirt. She hoisted it up a little as she sat down at the picnic table. "Selfishly I kind of want it to be kept a secret for a bit longer. Once it's discovered, the lot of them will end up out here. It is cooling down though."

She rubbed her arms up and down. Of course there was a reason I should have brought my jacket. It seemed inappropriate to take off my shirt and offer her that. So I watched the little goosebumps dance across her skin and winced.
"We can go back inside if you're cold?"

"No I'm fine," she patted the table top in front of her. So I sat opposite her and rested my forearms on the surface.

The paint was almost that new, I could still smell the tiniest hint of its fumes.

Amalia rested her chin in her palm and gave me a soft smile. "Must be my turn to ask a question?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"How are you?"

She seemed cautious and my heart picked up at the question because I knew what she meant before she said it.

"I heard about the passing of your girlfriend. How are you holding up?"

"It's getting easier," I tried not to visualise the last hours I spent with Kyla.

The ones where she had lost her colour, her sallow skin, her pain. Instead I smiled and thought about the coherent memories. The ones where she had instructed and bossed me into promising her I would be alright.

"I miss her and it's hard sometimes. But it is getting easier."

"From what I heard about her, she sounded like a great girl."

"She was," I smiled and stared down at the table top. "Yeah she uh— she was the best. Before she died she made me swear I wouldn't spend a long time grieving. As if it was just that easy."

I shook my head with amusement.

"She told me I had three months to cry and then I needed to get on with it. I had to move on and get out there and live. I promised her I would live for her. Ya know? She doesn't have the chance. So at the time, it seemed right to tell her I would make the most of what life I had left. And I thought that because I didn't cry over her, I was doing it. But I realised I've been shut up in my apartment for a year. I work and sleep and eat. I haven't been doing what I promised."

Amalia nodded and I felt a bit embarrassed for rambling. But she didn't seem restless or bored. She watched as if she hung onto every word I said. "I think those sort of promises are easier made than kept. You'll get there. You're here tonight."

"I am," I said, feeling grateful for her understanding. "Thank you for inviting me."

"No, thank you for coming. Did you see a single person in there that was our age?" She giggled. "Oh wait, no. There was that girl in the bra and harem pants with no shoes on."

I laughed. I recalled the same girl but hadn't said so at the time in case it made me sound like an asshole. "I don't think it's the appearance that bothers me," I said, still laughing. "I'm just kind of worried about her. Barefoot in New York. Sounds like an infected cut waiting to happen."

Amalia nodded in agreement and pushed her hair behind her shoulder. She really was making my heart thud a little faster than usual.

It wasn't something I had felt in the longest time.

Whenever her gaze locked with mine, it felt like a squeeze around my chest, stealing the air for a brief moment. It gave me literal chills and I couldn't fathom how the reaction could be so powerful.

"Must be my turn for another question," I cleared my throat and attempted not to count the freckles that danced across her perfect nose and cheeks.

"Go on then."

"If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?"

Her eyes widened. "One thing? That's a tough one. There's so much I would change."

"Okay," I said. "So start with the first thing that comes to mind and go from there."

"Well the first thing would be peace. No war. No hate. Just love."

"Of course," I said.

"I feel like that's a default answer," she laughed. "Like you don't even have to say it because who wouldn't want that?"

"Agreed."

"So one thing that I would change about the world," she arched one of her thick brows but she had an answer. I could see it. "I would want people to see themselves the way that other people see them. To see the good parts that seem hidden from ourselves so often. Ya know? I think that if people had more self worth, more confidence - not arrogance - confidence in their own beauty and abilities, the world would be a happier place."

I was taken back at her answer. It was a good one. Better than something that I could have come up with.

"You know, I read that even looking at your reflection in the mirror doesn't give you an accurate picture of what you look like. You're so used to seeing your own features that you miss the parts other people find so gorgeous."

"Exactly," she pointed at me as if to say thanks for understanding. "It's not even just appearance though. It's skills, talents, emotions. There are too many people that don't see themselves for being as brilliant as they are. I wish they would."

"How about you?" I asked and once again noted goosebumps covered her soft bronze skin. "Do you recognise your own brilliance?"

She smiled. "I'm trying. I think I've always been aware of my worth. I've never settled for less than I deserve."

"And you're aware that you're sculpted to perfection? You're so gorgeous, I can't imagine anyone - yourself included - not noticing."

Her cheeks and chest became a shade darker and she glanced to the side with a coy smile. "I kind of hope I never refer to myself as perfection," she brought her attention back to me. "All women are beautiful. I wouldn't want someone to feel lesser because she wasn't sculpted the same way as me. It's good to be confident and recognise that you're beautiful. But becoming toxic and full of yourself is another thing."

"You have great answers. Inspiring to be honest."

"You're a great listener," she said with a soft voice. "I have Dad and Bernie. Jimmy from the parlour as well as a few acquaintances. But I didn't connect with a lot of people when I went to school in Philadelphia. The girls who I did befriend, I sort of fell out of contact with over the summer. There's still the occasional Instagram comment or Snapchat but I don't talk to a lot of people these days."

It surprised me. She was so easy to talk to. She was incredible to be around. I felt a buzz whenever we locked eyes or touched. If no one else wanted to listen to what she said, then I would gladly let her talk to me for hours on end.

Which is what we did in the end. We spent the entire evening talking about our favourite music, food, movies.

She told me she was a fan of rom-com but she didn't mind a bit of action. She couldn't stand horror or gore. She shamelessly loves telenovelas. I don't think I've ever seen one and when she suggests we do a movie night, I jitter with excitement.

It was just unfortunate that for all of the excitement I felt about spending more time with her, I felt guilt fighting for a dominant spot.

It was senseless and frustrating because I knew what I was doing wasn't wrong. I knew Kyla wouldn't be upset. I knew I was allowed to move on. But it just wouldn't give up and I didn't know what to do.

"You need an icebreaker fuck," Lucas said through the screen on Sunday morning. "You need to get that initial first screw out of the way so you're not all hung up and sad about moving on."

"Do you ever have suggestions that don't involve sex?"

"You could have called Abby," he scoffed, leaning an arm on his desk. Behind him I saw Mills cross the room with a sheet wrapped around her. I pretended as if I hadn't seen her. "You called me because I'm right and she's got advice that might be useful if you could decipher her subtle riddles."

"True," I raised a brow. She did have a habit of wording things so she didn't get into trouble if you took her advice and it blew up in your face. "Still. I don't think having sex with someone else is the answer."

"Of course it is," he rubbed his bare chest and I noticed the football tattoo on his chest that Amalia had designed for him back in high school.

"Listen," he continued. "You're a romantic dude. I get it. And I know you're feeling a little something something for Amalia. Which is awesome. But this guilt thing is going to make it difficult to give her a real chance. Go out and bang some babe. Get it out of your system and then give all of your time and attention to a real relationship. Simple."

"Luc—"

"There's nothing wrong with meaningless sex, Max," he basically shouted, staring up at the ceiling. "People do it all the time. What's wrong is leading a girl on, having sex with her and then bouncing. As long as she's on the same page - which FYI, a lot of girls are into using males for nothing more than a quick fuck these days - then there's no issue."

"Is that a fact, is it?" I gave him a flat stare. "A lot of girl's are into using us for a quick fuck?"

"It's true," he said. "We're not wanted any more. We can't be trusted. We're assholes. So if girls aren't switching teams, they're using our penises and disregarding our existence in all other aspects."

"Okay. I still don't think that sounds like something I want to do."

"Bro," he leaned forward. "Just shag a damn girl - as long as she's on the same page - and be done with it. The guilt will hold you back from the real deal. You don't want that."

"Since when do you use the word shag?"

"Since my future wife is British and I love the words she uses. Honestly, she talks so dirty with that tongue of hers and it is fuc—"

"Lucas," I said and shook my head. "Please. I don't need to know. I don't think Mills wants me to know either."

"Eh," he shrugged. "She doesn't care. She's right there."

He and his future wife were the sort of insufferable couple I was immensely happy for and both disgusted at.

Before we ended our call, Lucas reminded me about thanksgiving.

We planned on going to watch the Cowboys game in the VIP box. The entire crew. Afterwards we went home and ate too much food, watched home movies and camped out in the living room.

It was tradition. Halloween came first of course and Luc asked if I had plans for that.

I skipped it last year. Due to Kyla having just passed. To be honest, there was no burning desire to dress up this year either.

Lucas said his dorm at Baylor were hosting a huge fright night with costumes and dancing and trick or treating for adults.

Instead of handing out candy, there were condoms, or miniature bottles of alcohol or subscriptions to porn or foils or cigarettes. It all sounded fun but that meant spending the weekend with Lucas and Milly and that sounded exhausting.

I was sure what he said about getting the guilt out of my system made sense to him. And he was right, consensual, understanding, one night stands were harmless.

But it was something that if I was going to do it, I should have done it before I met Amalia. I'd feel sort of weird doing it now that we'd had one date and planned on spending time together again.

Plus, I had never slept with a stranger before. It made me wince to imagine the sort of game I'd need to even pull that off.

I wanted a clear, fresh start with Amalia. One that wasn't plagued with festering guilt. I just didn't know how best to achieve that.