“It’s like in the movies,” Alejandra said, from the other side of the car, eyes fixed on the view.
“Which movies?” he asked, curious.
“I don’t know… likeThe Holidayand those English countryside things.” She grinned. “It doesn’t look even a little bit like Spain, which is good. Maybe it’ll help.”
“Callum!” his mam called from the front door, arms wide open, her smile already glowing. She was always happiest when she saw him. He motioned to Alejandra to follow him and walked into her embrace.
She was small, barely 5 feet, with black hair now streaked with silver and cut short. Her dark brown eyes scanned him from head to toe with maternal precision. He must have taken after his unknown father, but he always liked to think he got his height and blue eyes from his taid.
“You cut your hair again,” she scolded, narrowing her eyes. “I love your waves.”
“I gotta agree,” Alejandra chimed in playfully from behind him.
His mam turned to take her in. Alejandra stepped forward, offering a bouquet of flowers and a bag with two books. He’d told her his mother loved Jane Austen, and despite his protests that a gift wasn’t necessary, her beaming face now said it had been worth it.
“You must be Alejandra,” his mother stated, butchering the name. She didn’t seem to mind, she smiled and leaned in to hug her.
“This is for you.” She handed over the gifts.
“You didn’t have to! Oh my god—Jane Austen.I love her,” his mam lit up.
“Me too.” Alejandra smiled back.
“You can call me Eira,” she offered, then looked at him with raised brows. “You could’ve told me she was this gorgeous.”
Alejandra grinned. “How could you forget?”
Callum chuckled. “I’ll grab the bags. You two go inside.”
“Taid’s down at the pub under Rhiannon’s supervision,” Eira said. “Why don’t you go check on him while I finish dinner and get to know Alejandra?”
“You sure?” he looked between them. Alejandra nodded.
“Go. Find your taid,” she said, shooing him away with a smile. He kissed her softly, catching a flush in her cheeks before heading down the familiar winding road to the pub.
The scent hit him before the door even opened—beer, meat, and years of laughter baked into the wood and stone. The clinking of glasses sounded like a lullaby.
There weren’t many patrons at this hour. Behind the counter, Rhiannon—his childhood friend—was cleaning pint glasses, keeping an eye on the elderly man slouched at a nearby stool, blankly facing the television.
His taid looked older. Smaller. Glassy eyed. Watching, but not really seeing.
Rhiannon spotted him and grinned. “I can’t believe who just stepped into my pub. Callum Jeremy Evans!”
Heads turned. He ignored them as she came around the counter and hugged him tight. She’d grown into a strong woman—broad shoulders, shoulder-length blonde hair, fair skin, and sharp brown eyes that still read him too well.
“I missed you, dude.”
“I missed you too.” He squeezed her.
“What brings you back?”
“Calan Mai,” he said quietly, then glanced at his taid. “And him.”
Rhiannon’s smile softened. “We’ve all been keeping an eye on him.”
“And I’ll always be grateful for that.”
“How’s life in London?”
