Page 23 of Hidden Memories

I chase him down and catch him just as he’s turned the corner and Theo and Julia are out of sight.

“Santi!”

He spins. His nostrils flare. He hooks his thumbs in his jeans pockets and gazes at me; maybe it’s a glare. His jaw tics. A thousand emotions swirl inside me. I’m angry he’s acting like I did something wrong. I’m grateful he helped bring me here. And… I’m still finding him painfully attractive.Damn it.

A customer walks behind him, heading into the shop, and greets him. “Hey there, Santi.”

The tall, dark cowboy in front of me doesn’t twist, he doesn’t take his eyes off me, just speaks. “Afternoon, Ken.”

Kendisappears through the door.

I don’t know what I’m going to say. It’s not like I’m going to hash out what happened thirteen years ago now. Or even really ask him what’s crawled up his ass. Now that I’m here, fist clenched, Theo calls Keeper’s name behind me, and I’m reminded of what’s more important than anything. This job. My son. Our financial independence. A fresh start.

It’s more important than winning right now. It’s moreimportant than reciting the fuck-you speech I still have memorized from thirteen years ago.

Santi got me this much-needed opportunity. He’s clearly good friends with Julia. I don’t need to ruffle feathers in our new community. So I bite back my anger.

“Thank you. For getting me this job.”

He swallows, and I trace the movement of his Adam’s apple up and down his strong, tanned neck. His words are rough. And painful.

“Well.” The pause is thick with accusation. “Some of us keep our promises.”

Then he leaves, his adoring dog following him back to the life we never had together.

Chapter Six

PAST

The sharedcustody arrangement at that tree? It wasn’t good enough for me.

Up until I met Kat, I didn’t even think I had room in my shriveled-up heart for love anymore. My mom passed not long ago. After that, my heart seemed to shrink day by day. By the time the most beautiful girl in the world rocked up on that fancy steed of hers, I was pretty sure I was completely incapable of feeling.

I had shut down. Dulled my senses with beer whenever grief started to scratch at my chest.

And I thought I was okay with that.

Until Kat.

The first time she sat with me beneath this tree, something changed. I brought two beers like always, a ritual to keep the emotions away, but that afternoon I never cracked open the second.

I didn’t need it.

I was too busy listening to her voice, watching her hands move on that pad of paper of hers, seeing her create something from nothing, feeling her magic pull me in.

Somehow, after months of being unnaturally quiet—I was never known for my silence—I started talking again.

It didn’t feel forced like the times women chatted me up at bars. It didn’t feel awkward like me dancing around my dad’s depression.

No, with Kat, it felt easy again.

So easy that it was like she’d cast some kind of spell, lifting the fog that had settled around me, letting the light back in.

There was something about Kat—something just my type, though I couldn’t have described it in words even if I tried.

She was gorgeous, no doubt. Long, dark-brown hair, blue eyes that could knock the wind out of my chest, olive skin so smooth I had to ball my fists to stop from touching. And that voluptuous, hourglass figure? It made my fingertips tingle with want.

But it wasn’t her body, her piercing gaze, or the way her mouth quirked up like she was always hiding a secret smile. None of that was what had me showing up on her days at the tree.

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