CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Kaia
After a week in Madrid, Asher and I reached his grandma’s town, El Puerto de Santa María. It was past ten when he parked our rental car in the yard of a whitewashed two-story house. While he grabbed our luggage from the trunk, I took in the scene.
Everything felt different from Madrid—the white house with ochre shutters, the salty tang of the ocean carried on each gust of wind, the hush of the night broken only by voices drifting from the street where people still lingered.
“Is this what you expected?” Asher asked, draping an arm around my shoulders.
“Not really. But I love it.”
He smiled, then called out, “?Abuela!”
Shutters creaked open on the second floor, and a smiling woman leaned out. “?No tienes las llaves?” Don’t you have the keys?
I bit back a grin as Asher patted his jeans pockets.
“In the car?” I suggested.
With a groan, he trudged back to the Mercedes.
The front door opened, and his grandma stepped out, her tanned face still bright with a smile.
Stylish, with a chin-length bob and warm brown highlights, she beckoned me closer.
Golden rings glittered on her fingers under the yellow glow of the porch lamp.
I went to her, and she cupped my cheeks. “God, you’re beautiful. That picture doesn’t do you justice.”
That picture? I glanced at Asher. He held the keys aloft, winking. “Got them. Sorry it took us so long. I stopped to show Kaia some places on the way.”
“As you should,” his grandma said. “Well, Kaia, I am Maricarmen. Are you hungry?”
Her English carried only the faintest accent. Asher had told me she taught English, though most people here would speak only Spanish. That didn’t bother me.
“Not really,” I said. “Unless you want to eat?”
“Tomorrow.” She smoothed a hand over my hair with easy affection. “Asher will show you his room. Well, his and yours. But if you’d rather he left you alone, take any guest room you like.”
An annoyed huff came from behind me.
“I might.” I giggled.
“She won’t.” Asher wrapped his arm around my waist, tugging me against him.
His grandma shook her head, her smile returning. “Whatever you did to that cynic, Kaia, thank you.”
“Ya está. Buenas noches.” Asher kissed her cheek and tugged my hand, pulling me inside.
“That’s it—good night?” I teased as we stepped into the foyer. “Where are your manners, Asher Williams?”
“Too tired to be roasted, peque.” He led me up the stone staircase, his palm warm around mine. At the top, he stopped in front of a brown wooden door.
“Welcome,” Asher said, pushing it open.
Spaces felt like people sometimes. This one felt like him. A few trophies and books lined a shelf above a neatly made bed, and framed photos hung on the wall.
In one of them, Asher was with his dad. In the other, with his dad and his grandparents. No pictures with Sharon—sad but expected. She didn’t keep his photos in her bedroom either.
Asher wrapped his arms around me from behind. “This used to be Dad’s room. I took it when he died.”
I covered his hands with mine. “I’m sorry, peque.”
His breath gusted warm against my neck. “Me too.” He kissed my shoulder, then nudged me toward the bed. “Look who’s on my nightstand.”
My gaze drifted to the three framed photographs. I was in each—at the cabin after our first time, on his bike on Valentine’s Day, on the beach with him. He must have put them there while we were apart. My chest swelled; knowing how much I meant to him never lost its power.
Asher chuckled into my hair. “Grandma calls this display Kaia’s shrine.”
“I already love your grandma.”
“She loves you too.” He kissed the top of my head. “You don’t mind staying with her tomorrow, do you? I need to go to the track in Jerez. A racing gear brand wants some pictures after training. You could come, but you might get bored waiting.”
I turned in his arms and pecked his jaw. “Ash, it’s work. I’ll be fine with your grandma.”
This was my chance to know her better—and plan something for his birthday.
“Good.” He brushed my side with his thumb. “I’ll grab the suitcases. The shower’s yours.” He nodded toward the en suite, a devilish smile tugging at his mouth. “Don’t lock the door.”
***
I woke in the sunlit room alone. The clock across from the bed read eleven. I sat up quickly, rubbing the last of sleep from my eyes. After freshening up and brushing my teeth, I pulled on jeans, the sweater Alba had given me, and hurried downstairs.
Maricarmen sat in the courtyard with coffee at a small round table draped in a flowered cloth.
“Buenos días,” I said as I approached. “Sorry for sleeping in.”
“Hola, mi nina. Don’t apologize. Women need more sleep than men, and you should take it while you can. ?Un cafecito?”
She lifted the pot. The rich scent of fresh coffee drifted up, and I closed my eyes. “Please.”
“I knew you’d appreciate it.” She chuckled, pouring into a pretty ceramic cup. “Take some milk if you want. And a croissant unless you’d like something else.”
I reached for the plate. The pastry was still warm, and Maricarmen winked.
“I didn’t make it. The bakery’s down the street. They have the best bread too.”
“Thank you for buying it anyway,” I said, biting into the golden crust. The croissant tasted as good as it looked—sweet and buttery. “Do they also have cakes? I’d bake one for Ash, but I’m not that great at it.”
“We’ll order his favorite today.” Maricarmen sipped her coffee. “You can help me cook a special birthday lunch. Don’t tell Ash, but Javi is coming, and Ale too.”
“He’ll be so happy.”
“That’s the whole point.” She twirled a ring on her index finger. “When he came here after your breakup, I told him you were his reason to sink.”
His reason for sinking? Was that what Maricarmen thought of us—that I was bad for Ash? I’d had enough of his mother blaming me for their fractured relationship. “I really hope not,” I said, lowering my gaze to the coffee in my cup. “I’d rather be his—”
“Joy,” Maricarmen said softly. “Peace. His safe haven. His reason to live, like he said. I didn’t mean it badly. I just know he’d do anything for you, and now I see why.”
She must have read the question in my eyes, because she went on, “It’s in how you talk about him.
In how you look at each other. I’ve seen many versions of my grandson—the angry one, the grieving one, the competitive one.
But since his father’s death, I hadn’t seen the one I wanted to see.
Yesterday, I finally did.” She covered my hand with hers.
“He’s happy. You make him happy, Kaia. The happy version of Asher exists because of you.
No matter how much all of us tried, nothing worked until you forgave him. ”
Relief loosened the tightness in my chest. “So, you don’t think I’m bad for him—or that we’re bad for each other?”
Maricarmen rose from her chair, the fabric of her dress rustling as she circled the table. “Cuánto dano te han hecho, mi nina,” she whispered, pulling me into a hug. How much they’ve hurt you, my little girl. “No, I don’t think that. Whoever told you so is wrong. Finish breakfast, and let’s walk.”
She kissed the top of my head and slipped into the kitchen. As soon as I finished my coffee and croissant, she reappeared in the courtyard. “Leave the dishes. We’ll tidy later. No time to waste.”
I followed her onto the street. We strolled the narrow cobbled sidewalk, passing rows of white houses. A tall older man in a cap mowed a lawn, whistling a cheerful tune, and my heart jolted.
He looked like Dawson—which was absurd, about as likely as running into my father here in Spain.
The man rounded the house and vanished. A laugh slipped from me.
“Kaia? What’s wrong?” Maricarmen called from a few steps ahead.
I swallowed and caught up. “Nothing. I just… thought I saw someone I know.”
She arched a brow, clutching the strap of her purse. “Someone you know? Who?”
“Dawson. Odd, right?”
She slid her slender fingers around my forearm and nodded toward the end of the street. “The bakery’s here. Let’s order the cake for Ash.”
Inside, she chatted with the smiling woman behind the counter, but something about her felt off. For someone so composed, she seemed flustered, fingers drifting to the golden pendant at her throat every few seconds. Her tanned cheeks even carried a faint blush.
Later, she led me to the promenade along Valdelagrana beach. The ocean stretched out, sparkling under the midday sun. Surfers rode the gusts of wind farther down the shore.
Maricarmen slowed and gripped the railing. “You were right,” she said.
I stepped beside her. “About what?”
“The man you saw. It was Dawson.”
I could only stare. “But he was…” Supposed to be in the States. Supposed to be with Forward Racing. None of it left my mouth. Hugging myself, I looked at her. She chuckled softly.
“Busted. I know. I’m not proud.”
“Wait,” I whispered. “Are you two…?”
She sighed, tapping her nails on the railing.
“When Dawson came here with Ash all those years ago, we became friends. I taught him Spanish. We connected over our common worry—Ash—and our shared pasts. He lost his wife; I lost my husband. Evenings often ended with us talking about life and loss. Later, he moved back to the States, but we stayed in touch.”
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “And you fell in love?”
“Neither of us wanted to call it that.” A smile softened her face.
“But things grew into something more. He came last year and asked me to give him a chance. I said not yet. Ash was still angry and broken. Neither of us wanted to add to his pain. But we’re getting older.
Life is like a book—you turn the pages, eager to see what’s next, until suddenly there are only a handful left.
Then you slow down, savor every word. That’s where Dawson and I are.
I want to enjoy those last pages with him.
” Her dark eyes met mine. “But I need to talk to Ash first. I don’t want him to think we betrayed him. ”
“He won’t think that. He loves you, and he wants you to be happy.”
She pulled me into a warm hug. “I know. But if you can, it’s always better to make the right choice. Am I right?”
“You are. And he’ll appreciate your honesty.”
Especially because Asher and I had both lived through the lack of it—and though the wound healed, the scar remained, jagged and unyielding.