Alejandra cleared her throat. “Still waiting on my thank-you basket for that PR stunt suggestion.”
“I thanked you at the wedding.”
“Not enough. I need it daily,” Alejandra teased. “But I should thank you too, for being Team Cale even when I wasn’t.”
Sofia smiled. “You just needed a push.”
“Maybe we both did. I’ll be forever thankful to have you in my life. We know each other so well, we see what the other needs, sometimes even before we know it ourselves.”
Sofia’s eyes shimmered. “You’re my best friend. And… Layla’s godmother, if you want to be.”
Alejandra’s eyes widened. “Are you baptizing her?”
“No, but I want to do a ceremony. A blessing.”
“A hippie one?”
“Maybe. Mamma’s already started the Catholic guilt, telling me if she’s not baptized she’ll go to hell and won’t see nonno.”
“Ugh. Classic Catholic blackmail.”
Sofia chuckled. “I just want the best for her. And with you, Ilias, Callum, our families… Layla will be safe. Loved.”
“She already is.” Then Alejandra added, “Remember Leonor, Callum’s half-sister?”
Sofia nodded.
“She said she’s a lone wolf. And I think… if I hadn’t met you, I could’ve been one too. The people around us shape us, and you’ve shaped me more than anyone.”
Sofia’s eyes welled up. “And you’ve shaped me. I love you, Alejandra.”
“I love you, Sofi.” They awkwardly hugged across their boards, Layla floating in the middle of them.
“Happy birthday,” Sofia beamed at her.
“Thanks. Thought you forgot.”
“No. I was waiting for the right moment. I’m proud of everything you’ve done this year. What you’ve overcome. You’re strong, Alejandra. Much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“You’re making me cry.”
“I’m just telling the truth.”
They surfed for about an hour before the tide shifted and the waves began to soften, the ocean slowly losing its early-morning edge. They paddled back in, boards under arms, laughing and shivering slightly in the breeze as the sun climbed higher over Conil.
By the time they reached the house, the smell of breakfast was already drifting out onto the patio.
Callum and her parents were in charge.
Callum stood at the outdoor stove wearing an apron that looked far too domestic on him—dark fabric tied loosely at his waist, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from probably an early dip into the pool. He was focused, turning something in a pan with the kind of concentration he usually reserved for when he went down on her, and it was absurd how natural he looked doing it.
The sexiest chef alive,she thought instantly, and almost laughed at herself.
Her mother was beside him, moving around the kitchen space with effortless familiarity, correcting him every now and then with a quick gesture or a comment in Spanish that made him shake his head and smile. Her father, on the other hand, had upgraded his hobby for photography into video and was now recording everything that moved.
The rest of them were already scattered across the patio.
Sofia had discarded the board and was sitting cross-legged on a chair, hair still wild from the surf, talking animatedly to Ilias, who had one arm draped behind her chair and the other resting protectively over her stomach whenever he remembered. He was grinning in that quiet, content way of someone who had just won something bigger than a trophy and still hadn’t fully processed it.
