Page 5 of After the Fire
Santiago and I met on our first day of law school. We were both enrolled in the same history class our first year, and we sat close to each other on that gloomy Tuesday morning. He had just moved to the city after growing up in a different part of the country and didn’t know many people. Like me, Santiago came from a long line of lawyers, and in a way, we were both fulfilling our legacies. Except that he was (and I would never admit this in public) much smarter than me and had a passion that I couldn’t even begin to put into words. What I had in determination and responsibility, he made up for in talent.
I felt like a fish out of water; he moved like a shark amongst a school of fish. In a good sense. He was a natural at what we did and had an uncanny ability to remember small details. It almost felt like the man had eyes in the back of his head because he could recall everything, including things I had witnessed but had no memory of whatsoever.
“Cat got your tongue?” I said after what seemed like the world’s longest and most uncomfortable silence. He had always been so smug and cocky, winking at me when he passed me by in the hallways, or smiling his stupidly big smile when he saw me in class. He oozed charm from every single cell of his being, and he never had to work too hard in order to be liked by people. It was annoying to no end, because the only reason I had an in most of the time with anyone was because of my last name and what that meant. I doubted peoplelikedme for me. And peoplelikedhim. A lot. No doubt this man made me see red. He was absolutely and irrevocably infuriating; his long pauses were the death of me.
But then.
Then he smiled a slow smile that reached his eyes. And he expelled the loudest, most exasperatingly pleasing laughter I’d heard in years, probably since the last time I saw him.
“Well, considering you’re in my hometown, maybe you should be answering first? What brings you to our lovely neck of the woods?”
He didn’t know?
I cocked my head. “I didn’t know you were from here,” I said. I vaguely remembered talking to him about where he was from but never paying close attention. Those types of details were never too interesting to me, especially since I went to college with a plan—make it in, excel, get out—and mostly stuck to it, except for Cata. I never had a lot of time for friends or acquaintances. Or any interests, really. Susana always said that I needed to focus on my studies and the rest would come later, naturally.
He narrowed his eyes.
I sat up straight, lifting my chin in defiance. “It’s none of your business,” I said with my most saccharine smile, despite the obvious puffiness of my eyes and the tears still lingering around my eyelashes. I shook my head and cleared my throat. “I’m on vacation.”
He stiffened, his spine straightening. I could see it in his look. The pity. And I immediately felt all the color drain from my face because his expression made it evident that he knew I hadn’t gotten married. All it took was probably a text message from one of our former classmates. Or not even that. I was sure my name was trending on social media.
The thought made me cringe. My family was socially notorious. Some of my cousins were occasionally followed by cameras and appeared in magazines when they went to large events. We were recognized. It was fine; we learned to live with it. But it wasn’t fine when your life turned upside down so much that you had to flee on your wedding day.
“Who told you?” I asked him, avoiding his gentle eyes. “Actually, please don’t tell me.”
He took a step back and cleared his throat, then did a once-over and looked both ways. He was holding a paper bag in his hand, his long fingers clutching the handles tightly. He tilted his head and looked into my eyes, holding his gaze there for a minute. I swallowed at the intimacy and looked away, running my hands on my thighs.
The waitress came back to take my order and stopped short at the sight of Santiago.
“Hey, Santi,” she said with a bright smile. “I didn’t know you were coming over for dinner tonight.” She turned to look at me and narrowed her eyes, possibly trying to understand what this man was doing talking to the human wreck that I was. Maybe also trying to place me—this outsider that showed up to the small, sleepy town with a large suitcase and makeup running down her cheeks.
“No, I’m just saying hello to my friend here,” he said, without taking his eyes off me. “I’m headed to the inn tonight.”
“Ah, gotcha,” the waitress said, her smile softening. She then turned to me. “You ready to order?”
“I’ll have the house salad with grilled chicken,” I said as I handed her the specials menu. Santiago’s gaze was still parked on my face, and I could feel his eyes searching for answers. “Thanks.”
“You got it.”
As soon as the waitress walked away, I turned to face Santiago. He was still stiff, his hand clutching on the paper bag like his life depended on it. I took a moment to study him and assessed how he had changed since we last saw each other. The wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced, and he had bulked up. His shoulders were broad, his shirt tight across his chest. He looked happy, but probably anyone would look happy in comparison to me.
“What’s this about an inn?” I raised one eyebrow at him. His jaw clenched, but then he relaxed his shoulders. He looked behind him to the next block over, and I followed his eyes. I could see a wooden sign hanging from a metal bracket with the wordsThe Inncarved into it. The building occupied the whole block, and the large front door was right in the middle, flanked by symmetrical windows on either side.
“An inn,” he said, a small smile on his lips. From my seated position, I had to crane my neck to be able to look at his face. His profile was breathtaking—a sharp jawline with a perfectly proportioned nose. The streetlights were shining on part of his face, creating large shadows under his dark, long eyelashes. He pointed with his thumb to the big structure and then turned to look at me. “Over there.”
I rolled my eyes at him, trying with everything I had to avoid laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Ah, a hidden gem, clearly,” I said flatly.
“I’ll let you eat,” he said suddenly, just as the waitress approached the table with my food. “See you around?” He rapped his knuckles on the table once, twice, then dropped his hand to his side.
I nodded, and he turned around and walked in the direction of the inn, his paper bag still clutched tightly in his other hand. I took a deep breath and turned to my meal, sighing at the first sight of food I’d had all day.
While eating, I looked around. Catalina was right: the town was picturesque. It looked almost like the English countryside, except that all of the houses were painted in different shades of white and only a few of the larger homes had stone exteriors. The town square seemed to be at the center, and the streets were laid in a grid pattern around it. Across the street from the restaurant was a small, inconspicuous trailhead in between two medium-sized bushes. The night was getting darker, but I could barely make out some hills on the horizon.
Once I’d settled the bill, I grabbed my things and headed towards the inn. It was the next logical step in this highly improvised plan I was slowly devising. Maybe if I kept enough distance, I would be able to figure out what my next step would be.
As soon as I walked in the door at the inn, I felt the strangest feeling of being home. The lobby was small and welcoming, and the large reception desk floated on the right side of the room. I could hear chatter coming from the left, most likely from a restaurant, judging by the sounds of silverware against plates. There was a loud, booming laugh, followed by a few people cackling at whatever joke was said. It was familiar, intimate. Like this town was one big family, and this was where they got together on the weekends.
I approached the receptionist, an older woman wearing a tight bun and standing in front of a computer, her eyes moving fast across the screen. As soon as she heard me stop in front of her, she lifted her face and smiled.
