I led him to our small crowd. “Enzo’s waiting for you. Mila is taking a nap.”
He scooped Enzo first.
“Papi!” our son squealed, clinging to Asher’s neck. Mila was already awake in Maricarmen’s arms. Asher took her too, balancing her on his hip.
“Need help?” I asked as he smothered their cheeks with kisses.
He winked. “Dad’s strong. Strong enough to hug you too. Come here, peque.”
I folded into all three of them. In my peripheral vision, Maricarmen dabbed tears from her eyes. Miguel stood nearby with a wistful smile, as if he were seeing his best friend again.
Uncle Miguel, Enzo called him. And Asher had never regretted letting him back into his life.
There had been countless races, countless victories—but the real win was here. The happiness of the family we were born into, and the one we had chosen.
***
Candles cast an amber glow across the kitchen. The kids were asleep, the ocean hummed beyond the windows, and Asher and I savored the quiet evening.
“God, this is so good.” I moaned around a bite of Asher’s tortilla, perched on the kitchen island.
He chuckled, stirring the stew he was making for tomorrow’s party with family and friends. Javi and Alba were coming from Madrid, andwe’d invited Roy, his wife, and their boys. Rys was swamped in Ellingworth and couldn’t make the trip, but we’d see him soon.
“Good to know I still got it. Try this.” Asher held out a spoonful of stew.
I chewed, eyes closed. “Meat and vegetables. My favorite.”
“I thought I was your favorite.”
“You are. My favorite dessert.” I hopped off the island and crossed to him.
Asher hummed as I kissed his back. “Careful, peque, or I’ll burn it.”
“Let it burn.” My hands slipped under his shirt, fingers splayed over his abs.
He glanced over his shoulder, gaze molten.
“Kidding,” I whispered.
Laughing, he brushed a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Knew it. It’ll be ready soon, anyway. How’s the homework going?”
I was finishing my master’s degree in literary translation while teaching dance and Spanish part-time. When Enzo and Mila were older, I wanted to open my own studio. Dancing had always been my escape, and Imani’s place had felt like home. I wanted to build the same kind of haven for other kids.
I also wanted to translate books.
And Asher always told me I could do it all.
“Almost done,” I said. “One paragraph left to translate. I’ll read it to you—I need to hear how it sounds.”
“Deal.” He lowered the heat and gave the stew another stir. “Just a few minutes left.”
“It smells delicious.” I sighed as he hugged me. “Do you know what you’ll tell Ale?”
Asher had gotten an offer from an excellent Spanish team last week. He was happy at Vortex, but we loved Spain too. Maricarmen and Dawson would be thrilled to spend more time with the kids, and we’d finally have the support system we never had in the States.
Our parents were no longer in our lives. Obligatory birthday texts were the closest thing to contact, but they’d never apologized. They hadn’t been at our wedding.
We didn’t want them near our kids either—not that they’d ever shown interest.
