Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, Elías “Lalo” Cárdenas is all three.
When a summer night market mix-up forces Fabian to share booth space with Lalo’s family raspado stand, their years-long neighborhood beef turns into the hottest attraction in the East Bay. Customers come for the shaved ice, but stay for the bickering, the tension, and the very real possibility that one of them might finally snap.
Fabian does snap.
He kisses Lalo behind the stand after closing.
Then immediately blames the heat.
But one bad decision turns into two. Two turns into a secret. And Fabian starts to realize regret has never looked better in slutty little glasses and five-inch inseam shorts.
Raspados & Regret is a spicy MM second-chance romance with family chisme, messy feelings, bilingual heat, public claiming, soft boys who deserve better, and grown men realizing love does, in fact, require emotional accountability
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Juniper
The sad little grocery store cake sitting on my counter summed up my life right now. I made cakes for a living, so I knew exactly what I was looking at. Shortening-based buttercream, whipped too fast so it held those little air pockets that collapsed if you pressed a finger in. Red gel piping simply said “Happy Birthday” and skipped my name entirely, because a name is an upcharge, and apparently I wasn’t worth the extra four dollars. Twenty-one candles would’ve cost more too. There were no candles.
That morning I’d spent six hours at my own shop building a dinosaur cake for a five-year-old named Milo. The creation had hand-piped scales on a fondant T-rex while his mom hovered by the register asking if I could make the teeth “less scary, but still cool.” I believed, the whole time I worked, that tonight would be mine. That somebody would finally build me something special for my birthday.
I closed the shop two hours early. Cooked pork chops with the mustard cream sauce that Brett loved so much. I set the good plates from his mother that I was always terrified I’d chip.
He’d come in forty minutes late, jacket still buttoned like he hadn’t decided if he was staying, studying his phone like it held the secrets of the universe. “You would not believe this lake listing,” he said, dropping into his chair, not even glancing my way. “Guy wants two point one for a place that’s basically standing on a septic field. I told him, I said, ‘Gary, I can sell water to a drowning man, but I can’t sell delusion’.” He laughed at his own line. I simply looked at him, trying to talk myself into being cheerful.
I cut into my chop and waited for a gap in his running monologue. “So I made this dinosaur cake today,” I said, “for this kid, Milo, and his mom wanted the teeth less scary but still --”
“Yeah, that reminds me, Gary’s brother-in-law does teeth, actually, orthodontist, and get this --” and he was off again, and I just… let him go on. Because why not? I picked my fork back up and took a bite while he rambled on. He still hadn’t told me happy birthday.
His phone buzzed and he glanced down before turning it over. After a while, it buzzed again.
“Hey,” I said, and I tried to keep it light, “We said no phones tonight. Right?”
He didn’t answer right away as color swept his neck to his face and a flash of annoyance crossed his features. Then he gave me a “sorry for you” smile. “Junie,” he said, setting his fork down carefully. “Can I say something, and I need you to just hear it, not react to it?”
“Um, sure.” My stomach started to roll. I recognized his tone and I knew this would be a twenty-first birthday I’d rather forget.
“You’re a lot,” he said, simply. “I don’t mean that as an insult. You’re needy in a way you probably don’t even realize. Phones-away requests, the whole birthday production, the plates. It’s a lot of ask-for, given we’re barely even in a relationship.” He cleared his throat. “And you’re emotional. Everything’s a whole thing with you. I can’t mention anything without you needing your turn.”
I opened my mouth but couldn’t form words. My throat tightened with emotion, and I could feel tears forming behind my eyes.
“And I’ll be honest,” he continued, “because I think you’d rather I was honest, you’re kind of boring, Junie. Same shop, same recipes, same everything. Your five-year plan is a second oven. I used to think that was cute, but I thought you’d grow out of it once you ran out of money and got a real job. I don’t think it’s cute anymore. I need a woman with a little ambition. I’m going places, and you’re… not. Dinosaur cake? Really, Junie?”
Somewhere deep inside me, a voice was screaming, actually screaming, say something, say anything, throw the water glass, throw a pork chop at him, ask him who’s texting him at eight-fifteen on your birthday, and what came out of my mouth, soft and stupid, was, “The pork chops are getting cold.”
“Juniper. I think we both know this has been coming.”
I looked down at my plate so he wouldn’t see my eyes. I didn’t trust what my face was doing. No way was I going to give him the satisfaction. I forced the smallest shrug I could manage.
He pushed his chair back, slow and deliberate, like he wanted me to watch every little thing. “Look, Junie, you’re a great girl. You really are. But we’re just not… compatible.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “It’s not the end of the world. You’ll land on your feet. I mean, you already have your little cake shop, right?”