Page 35 of After the Fire
“What’s that snort for? It’s abundantly obvious that your family adores you—adores each other—and then there’s Clara, and your sister and brothers are also wonderful and even this freaking town, everyone seems to love you, and then who do I have?” The tears were falling now, even with my eyes closed. “My grandmother? My ex-fiancé? My father is an alcoholic, and my brother is very much doing his own thing. Catalina is my only friend, and she’s drifting away; her life is changing drastically right in front of my eyes. Pedro… I don’t even know any more.”
“We can work on that,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s late.”
He walked me to my room and waited patiently until I unlocked it. I felt his lips on my forehead, a small and familiar peck, like we’d been doing this for years, decades even. Casual yet charged with an unexplained energy. My breath caught in my throat, but I didn’t react.
“Hasta mañana, Santiago,” I murmured, walking in without looking back at him. Not allowing myself to fall deeper.
18
THE INVITATION
“What are you doing here?”I asked without even having to turn my head. I could feel him standing behind me, the hairs on the back of my neck alerting me to his presence. I could confidently bet my life savings that he was standing in the doorway, one of his big hands grabbing the frame, the other one tucked in the pocket of his jeans.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, smiling. At this point I hadn’t turned around yet, but my body had a way of telling me he was close. His footsteps were steady behind me, soft on the carpet of the hotel’s sitting room. “You weren’t up in your room.”
I’d been holed up in the hotel’s sitting room all morning, going through my work emails to keep me distracted. The entire journey I’d been on to finally discover that my grandfather was dead had drained me, both physically and emotionally. And being in close proximity with Santiago meant being vulnerable—even if that wasn’t my intention at all. When I was close to him, all the walls I’d constructed year after year vanished.
I had managed to avoid him for a full day. It was a first, for sure, because he seemed to be everywhere in this town. Two nights ago, he had walked me to my room, kissed the top of my head, and left me there pondering what the hell I was doing.
He stood in front of me, taking me in. His gaze moved from my face to the computer on my lap, to the pages and pages of my legal documents on the coffee table, full of notes in the margins. “Why are you working?” he asked, immediately recognizing what I was doing.
“Just reviewing a few things. I have some cases that needed a little help in my absence,” I said without even looking at him, my eyes glued to my screen to avoid him.
“Where did you even find a printer?” he said, taking a seat to my left. His smell followed him all the way down to where I sat. I bit the inside of my mouth to avoid smiling. He looked good, like always. He wore black jeans and a tight-fitting gray T-shirt. His tattoo peeked out of his shirt sleeve. He ran his fingers through his hair, and his bicep tightened. I sighed.
“Are you done?” he asked, smiling.
Ogling? Never.
“Working? No,” I replied quickly. I felt my cheeks blush, so I turned to my right and pretended to straighten the documents that were on the wood side table next to the sofa. I could feel his eyes on me, following my movements. “I actually want to read a few things that Catalina sent me yesterday. Haven’t gotten around to it just yet.”
I cleared my throat and turned to him, shutting my laptop and placing it on the coffee table in front of us. I crossed my legs, then uncrossed them, unable to find a comfortable position under his intent gaze. I cocked my head and lifted my eyebrows in question.
He grinned. The silence stretched for minutes; our eyes locked together.
“Wanna go for a drink?” he asked suddenly.
“Santiago, it’s eleven o’clock!” I wanted to smile so hard. It almost felt like our bodies kept finding each other, gravitating towards this. Like magnets. He lifted one of his hands and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his hand gently touching my neck. My breath caught with the intimacy of the action.
“Besides, I’m having lunch with your sister,” I croaked, my voice much lower than normal. His hands lingered on my arm, making a slow and torturous way down to my hand. I wanted to touch his warm skin, tuck my head under his chin, and stay there for eternity. Safe. “I’m meeting her at noon at your parents’ house, and then we’re driving to who knows where for lunch. And I need to read those files too. Busy afternoon and all.”
I shrugged and stood. He stared.
“Actually, I should go get ready,” I said, looking at his handsome face. His stubble was back, and he looked delicious, his whole look put together but effortless at the same time. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and he brushed it back with his fingers, the movement lifting the hem of his shirt and flashing me with a bit of tight abdomen. I swallowed hard. “Rain check?”
I needed to get out of there before he consumed me. This man was pure fire, setting me ablaze from the inside out. I grabbed my things in a haste, hurrying to leave his side.
“Vee?” he said from behind me. I was almost at the door and turned to face him, several meters of distance between us; there was too much nervous energy in the room. “Do you want to get a drink tonight?”
Like a date?
“Yes.” My eyes bugged out as he uttered the words. “A date.”
Did I say that out loud?
Santiago laughed, one of his carefree and happy laughs. He looked at me and smiled wide. “Yes.”
“I don—”
