Diego knew it was going to be hot today, but damn, his eyes watered as he shielded them with his palm. This was a whole different kind of heat. He went back to his work, shirtless, his arms slightly dirty, and his garden jumpsuit wrapped around his legs.

He grunted, following Mrs. Dawson’s instructions. He worked for the wealthy Dawson family—he needed the money, even if they couldn’t agree on which orchids to pick this year. He picked up two heavy pots of orchids, narrowly dodging a few kids running by. “Oye! Watch the path, rascals!” he muttered with a grin.

That’s when Mrs. Dawson—the wife—walked up, yapping on her phone. She turned to glance at the flowers, sneering as she kept talking.

She put the phone to her chest and looked down at Diego. “Maybe let’s do red instead, Diego. I’m not feeling the purple ones anymore. They’re not cheerful enough.” She gestured at the flowers. “I want bold excitement, not pitiful smiles.” Before he could reply, she nodded at him and walked off, already back on the phone, chatting again.

He exhaled down and moved the heavy pots again, damn this heat.