“Hola.”
I jolted. The diary slipped off my lap and landed in the grass. My breath caught as I lifted my gaze, and my heart flipped.
Asher stood inches away, black leather jacket over a white shirt, black jeans, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack. His shadow stretched across the bench. Holy shit. When had he gotten so tall? Was his skin really that golden, or was it the late sun?
My throat tightened with a hard swallow. Fool. Of course he was taller, stronger. We’d been kids the last time I saw him. Even then…say something, Kaia.
“Welcome,” I blurted.
Oh God.Welcome?Heat flamed my cheeks. I never blushed. Last week I told my therapist I’d caught Dad and Sharon naked, and I hadn’t blinked once.
Asher crouched, a smirk curving his mouth as he picked up my diary. “Here, take it.”
He handed me the notebook. “Thanks.” I pressed it to my chest. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
Better. Almost normal, despite my racing heart.
Asher straightened. His dark eyes skimmed over me, sending heat up my neck—but that couldn’t mean he found me attractive. “That’s the point,” he said. “I didn’t want my mother making a fuss. Is she home?”
“Out with my father.”
“I see. So, what were you doing here—besides the obvious?”
He nodded at the diary. For some reason, it didn’t feel invasive.
“Just passing the time,” I said.
“Don’t you have a party to be at or something?”
“Unfortunately not.”
Asher frowned. He dropped his backpack on the grass and sat beside me. “That’s a shame, peque. By the way, I brought you something.”
Peque.The little one. I bit back a smile, memory flashing: the first time I’d seen him in my garden, fresh from Spain with his mom. He’d looked angry, but then he asked aboutThe Little Princeand called me peque. Beneath the attitude, there’d been softness. Not anger, I realized later—hurt.
I blinked the memory away. As Asher unzipped his bag, the fresh, spicy scent of his cologne drifted over me. Tingles spread across my skin. No guy I knew smelled like that.
He pulled out a rectangular package and set it in my lap. I laid the diary aside and unwrapped it.
“I hope you still like it,” he said. “Happy birthday.”
My heart swelled. A hardback ofThe Little Prince. We hadn’t even kept in touch, but he’d remembered—and cared enough to bring me a Spanish edition. “Thank you,” I whispered, tracing the golden letters ofEl Principito. “I can’t wait to read it.”
“They teach you Spanish at your fancy school? Wow. They suck less than I thought, peque.”
In rare bravery, I nudged his thigh with my fist. “I’m not little anymore.”
He chuckled. “Sorry. You’re eighteen—and a few hours. When are our parents getting back? I’m jet-lagged as fuck.”
“Soon, I think. Are you going to live with us?” I asked, curiosity slipping out. Sharon hadn’t mentioned anything. She probably didn’t know he was coming today.
Asher snorted. “No. I’ll stay with Ale.”
“Who’s Ale?”
He raked both hands through his messy brown hair, pushing it back. “My agent. So don’t worry. I won’t invade your privacy.”
Tightness in my chest made me rub it as I looked away. Why had I expected he’d stay here? He’d turn twenty-one in December, and he probably made enough to rent an apartment, while I still needed thousands just to buy a secondhand car—even after working since I turned sixteen. I’d dreamed of turning eighteen for years. Now that I was technically an adult, I was still stuck with Dad and Sharon, and freedom felt as elusive as ever.
