Today, though, I was cooking for five, and voices drifting from the foyer confirmed my timing sucked.
Dawson and his goddamned punctuality.
***
Grandma clutched a bouquet of roses and a gift bag, deep in conversation with Dawson as I walked toward the table near the fountain in the courtyard. My white sneakers slapped against the terra-cotta tiles, but neither of them noticed me until I set thetortilladown, rattling Grandma’s china.
“There he is.” Dawson boomed with laughter, spreading his arms. “I was getting hungry. Come here.”
Five years ago, I would’ve flipped him off. Now, I let him hug me. Funny how his grip hurt less than Grandma’s, though he was taller and stronger.
Grandma smiled. “I’ll get water for the roses before Ale arrives. Javi must’ve gotten lost too.”
My agent, Alejandro—or Ale—was permanently late. And Javi? He probably got sidetracked.
Dawson and I sat. He smoothed a hand over his short, graying hair, eyes flicking toward the kitchen door. “Did you talk to Russell?”
“Not yet. You?”
“No. I was just wondering what you’re going to do now.”
Dawson loved Spain enough to learn the language and play cards with locals every evening in his neighborhood. He was my mechanic now, but Russell still signed his checks, and his stay in Spain depended on me.
Mine depended on finding a team. If I kept burning through my inheritance on racing expenses, Dad’s money would run out.
I rearranged my knife and fork, stomach tightening—not from hunger but nerves. “I want to talk to Ale after dinner.”
“¡Hola, chicos! ¡Qué bien huele aquí!”Hi, guys. Smells amazing.
As if summoned, Ale stepped from the arched gallery, Grandma and Javi close behind. He wore one of his trademark gray suits. Late, probably because of a meeting. Hopefully one about me.
Dawson chuckled. “It smells good because Asher made histortilla. I was about to sink my teeth in. You’re just in time.”
“Sorry.” Ale grimaced. “Last-minute call.”
Grandma set a charcuterie board of cheese, serrano ham, and chorizo in the center while Dawson opened a bottle of Taberner, our local wine. After he poured everyone a glass of deep red, I raised mine. “¡Felicidades, abuela!”
Ale, Javi, and Dawson joined in. I drank, the spiced berry flavor lingering on my tongue, then reached for the ham while the others gushed over mytortilla.
An hour later, dusk painted the October sky purple. Grandma lit a cigarette. Dawson refilled his glass, but when he tipped the bottle toward Ale’s, my agent pressed a palm over it. “Espera. I’m going to steal Ash for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
Javi shot me a hopeful look. Like me, he’d dedicated years to sport. But while I still chased the dream of professional racing, Javi was alreadythere—a pro footballer, his second division team newly promoted to the first.
“We’ll be here,” Grandma said.
Ale rose to his feet. He hadn’t even taken off his jacket, and his glass sat nearly full. Still in business mode. Wariness crept into my steps as I followed him through the gallery and out of the house.
We strolled down the street, dodging kids kicking a football and neighbors chatting in the middle of the narrow sidewalk. At the marina, I stopped. Ale stood beside me, gaze fixed on the yachts swaying over the calm water. “I’ve got news.”
My gut churned. “I figured. Good or bad?”
“Very good.” He flicked a glance my way, then back to the ocean as if he didn’t want me reading his face. “The Kawasaki team in Barcelona expressed interest after studying your portfolio. I’m still talking to them, but there’s also—”
“Ale.” I gripped the railing tighter. The wine buzz vanished in a whoosh, leaving me sober and anxious. “What about Forward Racing?”
Ale sighed. “They want you.”
My heart jolted, jump-started by excitement. The first team Dad raced for wanted me? Then why did Ale look like he’d delivered bad news?
