Page 39 of After the Fire
“What do I do?” There was nothing to do, of course. “The little shit. How did I not see this coming, Cata? Ugh. I’m an idiot.”
I ran to the door after noting the time on the phone screen and absentmindedly grabbing my purse. I took one last look in the mirror by the closet in the entry.
“Hey, I-I have to go,” I said quickly. I wasn’t ready for my best friend to listen to this just yet, especially if the man in question was standing right there. “I’ll call you later,beso.”
Oomph.
“Shit, sorry, I didn’t see you there.” I lifted my head and Santiago was standing there outside my door, looking as delicious as that morning, when he’d shown up with the purpose of asking me out on a date. I smiled. “Hey, I thought we were meeting downstairs.”
“I don’t mind coming up here to pick you up.” He was wearing those dark jeans that looked so good on him, a light blue button-down that did wonderful things for his arms, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a cardigan draped around his shoulders. “Are you ready?”
“Where are we going?” I asked. He was being a little mysterious about this whole thing. I mean, the whole town knew what was happening except for me. “And also, how is this any different from what we’ve done since I got here? Because if I recall correctly, we’ve had dinner together a bunch of times already.”
He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners like always. Pure joy. “You look good,” he said, looking me up and down while we walked out of the hotel. I was wearing a tight pair of jeans and a loose dark gray sweater, a repeat outfit since I’d only packed a few options that were appropriate for this weather. The night was a little chilly, nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year, according to Lucía. “I like when you wear your hair down.”
He noticed that I started wearing my hair down. I had, up until this point, religiously worn my hair up. I never learned how to manage my hair—maybe because Susana always wore it up. “It’s a sign of elegance,” she would say. Or maybe because I had more important things than to figure out what to do.
We walked in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, crossing the town square in the direction of his parents’ house, past the restaurant and the small dive bar that was mostly for tourists. My mind was still reeling with the fact that Manuel had hidden all that from me. It was clear it had been deliberate.
“Manuel moved to Australia,” I blurted. I was angry at that idiot of a man who had messed up my plans, but somehow relieved because it had led me tothis.This is what you want. A man that looks at you this way.“He moved to Australia.”
“What?” There was confusion in his voice. “When?”
I narrowed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it because I’m still fuming. Cata told me just now.” I stopped abruptly. “Fuck, sorry.”
He reached over to me and pulled me to him, kissing my head before saying, “I’m so sorry, Vee. That sucks.”
I blinked. “Like…” I sighed. “This was deliberate. He took a job there and never told me. The fucking coward.Un cagón. He made me waste so much time.” I rested my head on his chest—his smell there, everywhere—and I yelled into him. I could feel his body shaking with laughter at my frustration. I didn’t need to look up to know that his eyes were crinkling at the corners and his head was tilted back. “Don’t laugh at me!” I swatted at his chest but smiled nonetheless. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be such a downer. I’m just so angry, Santiago. Because, ugh, so fucking inconsiderate.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the block. “Forget about him.”
You’re better, I wanted to say.You make me feel wanted.I hoped I wasn’t reading things wrong.
“What is this?” I said as I inspected the small one-level house tucked in one of the side streets of the town’s square. The walk from the hotel was short, and we had chitchatted and discussed trivial things, like the weather.Eye roll.The house was dark except for a faint warm light visible from the entryway. It smelled like fresh paint and newly refinished hardwood floors.
“It’s my house,” Santiago replied, opening the door wider to let me in. He followed me and took off his shoes. I mimicked his movement while keeping my eyes on the bare walls and the empty space.
“Wait, you have a house?” He took a step further into the room, where there was a large living area with a fireplace in the center and a blanket and pillows just a few meters from it, on the floor. “I thought you were staying with your parents.”
“I am staying with my parents.” He smirked. “I also have a house.” His eyes were shining with amusement, something I’d come to notice was a very Santiago thing to do when he was trying to tease me. As we got closer to the center of the room, I could hear the fire crackle.
I halted and turned to face him. “Not funny,” I said with a small smile on my lips. “What is this place?”
“I told you,” he replied, reaching for my face. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and moved a half step closer. “It’s my house. Would you like a tour?”
The kitchen was tucked to the side, and it had a large sliding door that opened to a large back patio. It looked like there was still work being done. Pavers were lined up against one of the sides of the house, and a few bags of sand were piled neatly next to them. The lot backed up to a section of brush with large, mature trees that towered over the neighborhood. It was so quiet; the stars were almost like fireflies in the dark sky. I could hear my breath and the insects around me. The motions of the town were faint over the sounds of nature.
“If you sit still and really, really quiet, you can hear the creek.” He stood behind me, his shoulders relaxed, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck. “I got the keys a few weeks ago, and we’ve been doing some work on it.”
I cocked my head and turned to look at him. “Is this like an investment property?” I asked, trying to grasp what he was telling me. “Or, like, are you keeping it for when you visit?”
He smiled and took a step forward. “Something like that.” He extended his left arm and pointed back to the sliding door. “Wine? I stole a few bottles from my grandparents’ house because I wasn’t sure what you wanted to drink, so I have a few options inside for you to pick.”
I wanted to scream at him. This was more attention to detail in a few short weeks than I managed to get from my ex in seven years. He would come home from the store with six-packs of beer and say that he got the kind I liked, even though I hated beer and preferred wine, always. “This is fine, thanks.”
“Also, I have some appetizers inside, or we can bring them outside and sit here?”
“Can I ask you something?” I whispered, taken aback by the sudden urge to ask him a million questions, starting withwhat in the actual hell are we doing?I took a moment to look at him, then cleared my throat. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but why did you buy this house?”
