Page 27 of Misbooked for Love

“Okay,” I say, with no intention of following through, but knowing quite well that she will barge into my parents’ house if I don’t text her back.

When I finally arrive home after what felt like the longest flight, I drop my suitcase in the entryway and glance around the house. It’s big but cozy, and usually makes me feel safe, but this morning it feels empty. With a sigh, I kick off my shoes, make myself a cup of coffee, and settle on the couch, clutching the mug Tom bought me from that little market like my life depends on it. I rub my thumb over its ceramic handle, and suddenly, memories flood back—thewarmth of his hand, his laugh echoing across the room, the way he looked at me like I was all he wanted in the world.

For a moment, I consider calling him, just to hear his voice, to bridge the distance between us. But what would I say? I miss you? I think I might have fallen in love with you over these past few days? I’m not ready to admit that out loud yet—not to him, and maybe not even to myself.

For the rest of the day, I replay every stolen glance, every laugh, and every quiet moment, and it drives me insane. He’s like a shadow, following me around as I try to get back to my routine, reminding me of what I let slip away. And, if I’m being honest, what I wasn’t brave enough to fight for.

Instead, I call Sofía. If anyone can talk some sense into me, it’s her.

“Hey,” she answers, her voice a little groggy with sleep. It’s early evening now, but you can’t tell, the last of the long summer days still clinging. “Are you here?”

“No, just wanted to check if you were up.”

“I’m up,” she replies immediately. “Come over. The house’s a mess and I haven’t unpacked, but I have drinks, and we can order food, or go to the little restaurant you like around the corner.”

An hour later, I’m sitting across from Sofía in her living room, a glass of white wine in hand and a look of concern mixed with excitement on her face. “What the fuck happened in Canada?” she asks, lifting herknees to her chest and wrapping one arm around them. The other remains in the air, the glass of wine sloshing around with her enthusiasm.

I laugh, but it’s forced. “I met someone.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She laughs.

“Actually, more than met—let’s just say it’s…complicated.”

Sofía raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“His name is Tom, and he’s…” I take a deep breath. “Everything I didn’t expect to find on this trip. We’re so different, but somehow, it worked? But he’s got a whole life somewhere else, a daughter, and I have mine here. How could we possibly make this work?”

Sofía takes a sip of her wine, nodding thoughtfully. Her dark blonde hair moves with her and she narrows her green eyes at me. “So, you’re telling me you’re just going to give up because it’s complicated?”

“The whole thing with Santiag?—”

“No. I’m sorry, but no.” She drops her legs to the floor and sets her wine on the coffee table in front of her. For a brief second, I think she’s going to stand up and start pacing the length of the room, but instead, she turns to face me. “Fuck Santiago, and I mean it with all the love in the world. He was great, but he was an asshole and he didn’t handle things correctly. And listen, he was right about following his gut, so maybe you need to follow yours a little, too.”

I sigh, tracing the rim of my glass. “It’s not thatsimple,” I retort. “He has a family to think about, a business… Like, I can’t ask him to uproot everything to move here to just be with me. That’s silly.”

“You’re assuming he’d have to,” Sofía says, shrugging. “Have you considered that he might be feeling the exact same way as you? Look, Clara, I know you like stability and routine, especially after the few years you’ve had, but maybe it’s time to shake things up a bit. Take a risk. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I stare at her, the idea of it settling uncomfortably in my mind. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s worth the risk. But that doesn’t change the fact that there are things here I need to do before I can think about building something new with Tom.

“Let me see him,” she says as she extends her hand my way.

“No,” I say firmly, but smile in her direction. “You’re going to stalk him and then you’re going to start liking his old photos like a weirdo, and I don’t want to be associated with your lunatic behavior.”

Sofía cackles but sits next to me on the couch as I navigate to the app where I have his profile already pulled up. It’s mostly pictures of him when he was still playing polo, a few brand deals, and a very old picture of his small family from years ago when he was still married and Ellie was still a baby.

“Girl,” Sofía says with a gasp and settles deeper into the couch. “What the fuck.”

“I know,” I say with a groan.

“No, but seriously,” she adds as she scrolls through the thousands of pictures on his feed.

“Ya se, Sofi,” I repeat.

“Boluda,what are you waiting for? Just call him.”

”Yeah? And then what? I have nothing to say to him.”

“Bullshit. Stop sabotaging yourself.”

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