“Especially if he called me querida again.”

“Querida. You make me ache”

“Querida, it's alright," he said. "No one has hurt me in years.""Hey, you're supposed to be my brother," I said, trying to joke. "Brother's don't hold their sisters' hands or call them querida."Seb smiled, his hazel eyes starting to dance. "Yes, they do," he said. "This happens all the time.""Well I guess things are different in Mexico then," I said. "Because in America, no way. And I'm an American.""But you're in Mexico now," he pointed out."Right. And you're saying here, boys holds hands with their sisters and call them sweetheart.""Oh yes. We're very friendly, we Mexicans.”

“Querida”

“Is that your cheap way of telling me you want to kiss me?”He looks into my eyes, his dark gaze capturing mine. “Querida, I always want to kiss you.”

“That hurt querida, that really hurt”