His gaze lands on your table, and his whole body freezes at the sight of three identical blonde heads bent over hot chocolate and you sitting with them, half amused, half stunned.
“Oh no,” Renata murmurs.
“He is here,” Valentina says with satisfaction.
Lucía smiles like a mastermind.
“Mission accomplished.”
He walks toward your table like time has slowed down just to let him suffer properly.
When he reaches you, his voice comes out cracked and apologetic.
“I am so sorry,” he blurts. “I am Mateo Granados. I had no idea they would do this.”
He looks at his daughters like he cannot decide whether to scold them or hug them until they squeak.
“There was an emergency at work, and everything went sideways,” he continues, running a hand through his already messy hair.
You lift a hand, playful but honest.
“So you are the man who stood me up,” you say.
Mateo’s face collapses into pure embarrassment.
“It was not on purpose,” he swears. “I was going to call. I promise.”
Renata speaks softly, as if she is managing his panic.
“She is not mad, Dad.”
Valentina adds, “We explained everything.”
Lucía finishes like a judge delivering a verdict.
“And she likes us.”
Mateo looks at you with equal parts hope and horror, and you see it clearly now.
He is not a careless man. He is a man carrying fear, the kind that makes you overthink and mess up and still show up anyway.
His apology is real, not performative.
You soften without trying, because cruelty has taught you to recognize sincerity like a rare language.
“How did you want tonight to go?” you ask.
Mateo drags a hand through his hair again.
“More normal,” he admits. “Less like this.”
