She hesitated. “But—”
“No buts. It’s all in your head,” he said gently, but without coddling. “Tell me the truth, do you feel good when we’re together?”
“Yes,” she said instantly. “I do. A lot.” She paused. “I’ve only ever dated other athletes. It was always about timing, performance, training schedules.”
“And I was one,” he reminded her. “I know exactly what this feels like. When I lost my shot at the Olympics, I was in a dark place too. But I had someone who helped me stay afloat. I’ll never forget what that meant. I’d be honored if I could be that person for you.”
Her breath caught. For a moment, she didn’t say anything.
Then: “So… when can I come?”
“Tomorrow. Now. Whenever you want.” His voice dropped, warm and certain. “My house is your house.. Or—how do you say it in Spanish?Mi casa es tu casa?”
She chuckled. “Butchered the pronunciation, but yeah, close enough.Mi casa es tu casa.I’ll check flights from Seville and text you the details, alright?”
“Perfect.” He paused before hanging up. “This is even better than winning Board Night.”
When the call ended, Alejandra stared at the ceiling again, but now her heart was thudding—light, fast, hopeful. She found herself smiling wildly.
She was going to London. No waves. No ocean. Just Callum. And somehow that felt okay. She knew that the therapist being in London was just an excuse, but she needed one to go there and to her family, she would just tell them that she wanted to meet him again, which was the reality. She felt so confused under many aspects, her future being the major point, and yet, when it came to Callum, she had known since the first time she had seen him in Tarifa that he wasn’t going to be a quick parenthesis in her life. No, he carved a place in her heart, and the more she got to know him, the more she realized that there was more than the Superman looks. He was such a sweet guy, and she needed sweet. Sweet and rough, like he was.
36
CALLUM
Be Mine - GIO DARA
He wasas nervous as a kid on Christmas morning. Alejandra was about to land in a matter of minutes, and Callum had taken the day off—thanks to Leif because Asma didn’t understand why Alejandra couldn’t grab a taxi—to go and pick her up from the airport.
Gatwick was nearly an hour from his house in Victoria Park, and even if he’d booked a transfer, there was no guarantee the driver would help her with her luggage, especially with her shoulder still recovering. Plus, he wanted to be there. He wanted to greet her. Nobody had ever picked him up from the airport before. Not when he came home from Harvard, not when he moved back to the UK. It had always been trains, long walks, and empty platforms. He remembered dragging his bags through Euston, then onto a number of packed train to Aberystwyth. No one waiting. No one calling his name.
So now, as he stood in arrivals, watching the flood of people reuniting, he couldn’t help the slight tremble in his hand. Parents embraced teary kids, couples kissed with relief, friends shouted and waved. He’d always thought arrivals were the happiest part of airports. You welcomed back the people you loved. Departures were always messier—hope mixed with sadness, tear-streaked cheeks, and forced smiles. His mam had cried when she left him at Heathrow the first and only time. His taid—his grandfather—had too, even though he pretended he wasn’t. They waved like they’d never see him again, and at the time, it had felt that way. Now, goodbyes were easier. London was closer. But every time he hugged his grandfather, he still wondered if it would be the last.
His phone buzzed.
Just landed ??
He took a picture of the arrivals area, trying to distract himself. But his heart was hammering. He had rehearsed how he was going to greet her. No more half-hearted cheek kisses or brushing around how they felt. This time, he was going in for a real kiss. One that saidyou’re mine, even if they hadn’t said the words out loud yet.
As the first wave of passengers came through the doors, he stood taller, an advantage of being 6’4. He scanned every face, waiting for the one that stopped his heart.
And then, there she was.
A smile bloomed across her lips the moment their eyes locked. Her wavy black hair was pulled into a messy high bun, a bright blue open cardigan layered over a white tank top and linen pants. Her carry-on bag was slung over her right shoulder, her suitcase dragged with her good arm, her coat draped over her left. She winced slightly when someone bumped her injured shoulder, but she kept her eyes locked on him like he was the only one there.
Callum pushed through the crowd, reaching her in seconds. Before she could stop moving, he grabbed the bag from her shoulder, slung it over his own, and cupped her cheeks with both hands.
He kissed her.
No hesitation. No caution. Just lips on lips, a warm, real kiss that rooted him in place.
She melted into him, her right hand fisting the front of his jersey as their mouths moved together. Her scent wrapped around him—salt, citrus, something undeniably her. When he finally pulled away, he kept his forehead resting against hers.
“Hello, cariad. Welcome to London.”
Her grin was instant, wide and real. “Best welcome ever,” she said softly, eyes shining. “Even though I was fully expecting you with a ridiculous sign.”
“That’s next time,” he smiled, stealing one quicker kiss. “Give me your suitcase. I’m carrying everything. How’s your shoulder?”
