"Have you called him yet?" Amira's asked me that question over text every day for the last week. Today, she's decided to bring it up while hanging about in my kitchen, refusing to leave despite my push for her to go out and live her own life.
This is what I get for becoming such close friends with my assistant.
"Amira," I warn, absolutely not in the mood for this today.
Elsie's been sick since the night we got back in Madrid and today's the first day she's felt well enough to go to school. Meaning this week has been absolute hell. And now I've got this to deal with in the place of a sick four year old.
"Oh, come on! Mara, he's fit," she starts, ticking off a finger, "taller than you, good with Elsie, and he's Spanish."
I roll my eyes, turning away to grab chilled water from the fridge, "What's his nationality got to do with anything?"
"You've got a thing for Spaniards." When I scoff, she goes in for the kill, "You've got a daughter to show for it." Pointing at Amira with the still closed bottle of water, I try to think of a retort good enough and fail miserably.
She snatches the bottle out of my hand, popping it open and pouring out two glasses before reluctantly handing it back.
It's not that I'm not interested in him...and Amira's right, he's exactly my type. He's the exact kind of guy I always found myself with when I lived in Madrid before Elsie and that's exactly why I can't end up with a guy like him again. It's why I've practically sworn off men all together.
Men like him aren't interested in mums. And if they are, and they're not fucked in the head, they've usually got their own issues a mile wide and I refuse to bring any sort of drama into my daughter's life.
"Have you at least looked him up?"
With a shake of my head, I leave the kitchen and head toward the living room.
The wide open space is a mess of toys and blankets and books. The whirlwind never ends with a four-year-old and I swear I spend more time putting her things away than she does using them.
Instead of helping, Amira plops onto the couch and pulls out her phone, likely trying to do exactly what she just recommended. When she tosses her phone away with a groan of frustration, I can't help but laugh. "Lots of handsome men named Carlos from Madrid, huh?"
I round toward the foyer, following the trail of toys leading to Elsie's 'door cubby'. She's got a habit of taking toys to and from school, so I bought a basket for her to keep them by the door.
A thump in the hall outside the flat draws my attention as I'm turning back toward the living room. Someone knocks on the neighbour's door, then again, then again, before finally coming to my flat.
Instead of letting them do the same annoying knocking and half out of habit, I open my door before they can lift their hand and give them a wave. The Bandit stuffie in my hand waves with me, although a bit more floppy than wavy.
"Can I help you?"
It's a DHL worker...a very annoyed DHL worker. "He's not there." A finger's pointed toward the only other door on the floor. "And someone needs to sign." The finger swings back and down onto the clipboard held out to me, insistently tapping the signature line.
"Oh! Well, I can sign and just keep whatever it is he got in my flat til he gets back." As I take the clipboard and sign it with a flourish, Amira pops her head out from behind me and scares the DHL man half to death. "Go get the package, Amira, and apologise to the nice man."
"Sorry!" She sings songs as she slips past him. "Holy shit these things are massive."
At that, I'm out the door as well and left completely floored at what I step out to see.
Piled around the neighbour's door and down the stairs at the next landing are six massive cardboard boxes, wrapped up and labelled with a variety of different brands plastered all over. "Neighbour must be a shopaholic," Amira grunts as she begins to push the first box toward my door. "Ha! Looks like he's one of Madrid's Carlos's!"
Leaning over to read one of the packages with a label facing up, I can't help the laugh that bubbles up, "Oh my god, you're right! Hey, Mr. DHL? Any chance your name is Carlos as well?"
He gives me a deadpan look, pushing another box over the threshold of my apartment before returning for the one in front of me. "My name is Mark."
"That's disappointing," Amira sighs as she moves past again for another box. "Have I brought in more packages than you?" She asks him, hoisting the second to last box up into her arms in a move that'll probably leave her sore tomorrow morning.
The DHL man, sorry, Mark, blinks. It's the usual effect Amira has on men, especially ones not used to her odd personality. While he's distracted, I start pushing the last box toward the door. When he realises what I'm trying to do, Mark and his bright red face take over for me.
"Thanks, Mark!" Amira cheers as he brings it in, setting it on top of another box before leaving without a response. "Bye, Mark!" The door slams shortly after, separating us from the delivery man.
"You're a menace."
"And you live next to one of Madrid's Carlos's. A Carlos named," she reads over the shipping label again, "Carlos Sainz, Jr. Ooh, he's named after his dad."
"You're on one today."
"I've been really bored without you in the office."
YOU ARE READING
solo / carlos sainz
Fanfiction'you're allowed to be more than just a mummy' above all else, mara walsh is a mother. for as long as her daughter's been in her life, she's raised her all on her own and done a damn good job of it. so what happens when carlos sainz comes into her li...
