Page 90 of Hidden Memories

Santi chuckles. “It’s all good.” He scratches behind our pup’s ear. “Welcome to the home of muddy boots, horse hair and dog slobber.”

Theo bounces his butt on the bed next to Keeper and scratches him, too. Santi puts Theo at ease, and it makes my heart grow two sizes bigger.

As Theo settles in, unpacking his bag and exploring the book on whittling Santi left next to the tools, Santi steps back into the hallway with me. The moment the door closes behind us, the space between charges with static electricity. His presence is too close, his gaze too steady.

This man’s confidence has always been both disconcerting and irresistibly sexy. It’s impossible not to feel alive around him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say quietly.

He shrugs, his eyes searching mine. “Yes, I did. Theo is the kind of kid where you need to make the first move. I get it. Owen is similar.”

“Will he be around at all in the next few days? Theo has asked about him a few times.”

“I set up a ride tomorrow for all of us. If you’re up for it?”

It’s as if he’s reaching for something inside me I’ve kept buried for too long. The intensity of his gaze is setting me on fire. I want him to kissme again…

Just then, Theo calls out from the room. “Santi? Can you help me with this?”

Santi glances at me, his lips twitching into a small smile that sends an unexpected warmth through my chest.

“I’ll be right there,” he says.

He asked for Santi, not me.

“Duty calls…” he says, his dimple making a timely appearance and sending that heat from my chest right down between my thighs.

It doesn’t escape me that now, we’re in the same house, without Julia to wake if… My mind instantly flies back to being in college, slipping into my car and driving a hundred miles an hour to our secret spot under the tree, touching each other until morning in our private sanctuary.

“If you’re starting that whittling project,” I tease, “I want ten fingers returned to me.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Even the pinkies?”

I play slap him on his chest, and my palm is met with steely muscle.Fuck me.

Santi steps back inside Theo’s room. He crouches beside my little boy and guides his hands with quiet patience, murmuring encouragement in that low, effortless way that makes everything seem so simple. So… right.

It’s too easy to imagine him doing this forever. To let my mind slip into a place where Santi is always there, where this isn’t borrowed time.

But the sight is disarming. He’s so gentle with Theo, so attuned to his needs, that it stirs something deep and unshakable in me. My doubts start to crack, just a little, as I watch them together. The way Santi gazes at Theo like he’s the most important person in the world, makes my heart ache in a way I can’t quite explain.

Maybe this is what trust looks like. Or what love is—nottaking or demanding, giving freely. I’m not used to seeing it. But the only times I have experienced it is with these two people before me.

I watch the pair from the doorjamb, leaning, mesmerized until my foot falls asleep and I move to the bed. A strange sense of calm settles over me.

Eventually, Santi turns around. “Sorry,Michi, I forgot to show you your room.”

He’s so relaxed he doesn’t realize he’s just called meMichiin front of Theo. My son quirks an eyebrow but thankfully doesn’t ask.

“Let me grab your bag…” Santi starts to get up.

“No, I got it. You two keep it up. That pig is starting to take shape.”

“You sure?”

"I got it.”

“Okay then, yours is the door at the end of the hall on the right.”

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