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“You made dessert too?” I stared at Maria in disbelief. “When did you even have time to—”

“Ah, cariño, a proper celebration needs proper dessert!” She disappeared into the kitchen, still talking. “And none of Jorge’s fancy modern nonsense. Traditional almond cake, like my abuela used to make!”

“Mycrema catalanais not ‘fancy nonsense,’” Jorge muttered, but his protest lacked heat. He was already clearing plates with the efficiency of someone who knew better than to get between Maria and her dessert mission.

Thetarta de Santiagoarrived like a work of art, dusted with powdered sugar in an intricate cross pattern that looked too perfect to eat. The rich scent of almonds and citrus made my mouth water, even though I was already stuffed from dinner.

“The cross pattern is traditional,” Marcus explained, noticing my admiration of the design. “It’s named after Saint James—Santiago in Spanish.”

“Show-off.” Caleb nudged me with his shoulder. “He just wants you to think he’s cultured.”

“As opposed to you, who just wants me to think you’re…” I trailed off, realizing I was maybe getting a little too comfortablewith the flirting. But Caleb’s delighted laugh and Marcus’ amused huff made my cheeks heat pleasantly.

Maria cut generous slices for everyone, and oh my God. The cake was somehow both dense and light, rich with ground almonds and bright with citrus zest. Each bite melted in my mouth, making me forget I’d sworn I couldn’t eat another bite.

“This is incredible,” I managed. “How are you all not the size of houses eating like this?”

“Good genes.” Caleb winked, and Marcus almost choked on his cake, throwing his brother a sharp glare that clearly said ‘watch it.’

A particularly loud crack of thunder made me glance at the windows again. The rain was coming down in sheets now, drumming against the glass. Somewhere out there, Derek was… what? Working? Running? The cake suddenly felt heavy in my stomach.

“He knows these woods better than anyone,” Caleb said softly, his usual playful tone serious for once. “Trust me.”

I wanted to ask how they always seemed to know what I was thinking. Wanted to demand real answers about where Derek was. Wanted to understand why I cared so much about someone I barely knew.

Instead, I took another bite of cake and tried to focus on Maria’s story about the first time she attempted this recipe as a young bride. But my eyes kept drifting to that empty chair, and not even the world’s best almond cake could fill the strange hollow feeling it left behind.

Chapter 19

Maria’s idea of “a few leftovers” apparently meant enough food to feed a small army. Or at least one very hungry bookstore employee for approximately three months.

“This is just a little bit,” she insisted, stacking container after container into my arms while Jorge kept appearing with more from seemingly nowhere. “The seafood stew, some lamb—good heavens! And the chicken, you barely touched the chicken!”

“Maria, I can’t possibly—” I started, only to have another container shoved at me.

“Nonsense! A growing boy needs proper food. Look at you! So skinny!” She poked my ribs through Miguel’s borrowed t-shirt accusingly. “Those university people, feeding you nothing but instant noodles. It’s shameful!”

I wanted to point out that I was twenty-two, hardly a “growing boy,” but arguing with Maria was like trying to fight a tornado with a paper fan. Pointless and likely to end with you getting swept away anyway.

“And these,” she announced, wheeling out an actual suitcase. “Some of Caleb’s old things. Good quality, perfect for work. Much better than those clothes you mentioned earlier—” Sheshook her head, clearly remembering my earlier admission about my limited wardrobe of worn jeans and old t-shirts. “No, no, no. Cannot have you starting your new job dressed like that.”

“Maria, you really don’t have to—”

“They’re just gathering dust,” Caleb cut in, appearing at my elbow and grinning at my predicament. “Besides, they’re from my awkward teenage phase. Way too small for me now.”

The clothes, when Maria proudly displayed them, were not what I’d expect from anyone’s “awkward phase.” Designer labels and perfect condition.

“I can’t accept—”

“Of course you can, cariño!” Maria declared with the finality of a judge delivering a death sentence. “No more arguments! Now, one more container of the almond cake…”

By the time we made it to Caleb’s car, the back seat looked like we’d robbed a high-end department store and a five-star restaurant simultaneously. Scout darted past us, somehow managing to claim the perfect spot among the containers and luggage before I could even protest his apparent self-invitation. The rain was still coming down in sheets, drumming against the roof of the car like nature’s own percussion section.

“You know she’s adopted you now, right?” Caleb’s eyes danced with amusement as he started the engine. “There’s no escape.”

“I gathered that somewhere between the third Tupperware of lamb and the designer suit,” I said dryly but couldn’t help smiling. “Does she do this to everyone?”

“Nope.” He turned slightly in his seat toward me, his presence filling the small space with warmth. “You’re special.”

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