“Thank you,” I whisper.
As if he knows I can’t make my feet budge, he entwines our fingers together and leads me out of the bathroom and back to the first floor.
At the bottom of the staircase, we meet Santiago and Walker. I’m momentarily struck by the sight of their styled hair and lack of cowboy hats. Each man wears the same thing as Levi–something I doubt they did on purpose. Secretly, I’m hoping they don’t notice it either.
“Damn,” Walker mutters under his breath as his eyes land on me, but still loud enough for me to hear him.
Walker’s curse causes Santiago to turn toward me, and his jaw drops. “Esto es el paraíso.”This is paradise.
Their praise and appreciation give me the boost of confidence I need. Straightening my posture, I descend the last few steps, feeling like a million bucks.
“Put your tongues back in your mouths,” I tease as I strut toward the exit.
Walker’s hand finds the handle to the door and opens it for me.
“Thank you, handsome,” I say with a wink as I cross the threshold.
Santiago and Levi do their little bit of debating over whose truck to take. The one thing we all agree on is that we're not piling in Walker’s truck.
After an infamous game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, we end up in Levi’s F250 with Levi driving, Bear nestled between Santiago and Walker in the backseat, and me in the passenger seat.
Tired of the silence, I ask, “What was Santi like as a kid?”
Levi and Walker answer at the same time.
“Loud.”
“Sticky.”
Santiago makes an indignant sound. “Rude.”
“More like accurate,” Walker retorts.
“Sticky?” I roll my lips to hold in a laugh.
Levi answers, keeping his eyes on the dirt road. “He was one of those kids who somehow always had sticky hands. It was like he put his hand in a jar of honey and let it dry.”
Failing miserably, a laugh bursts from me. Santiago pouts in the back seat while Levi and Walker join me.
Levi slows the truck as we pull up to a single-story ranch home sitting back from the road beneath a cluster of towering whitebark pine trees. It isn’t large or flashy. It’s a modest home wrapped in faded cedar siding with a deep front porch stretching across the entire length. Rocking chairs flank the front door, and a wooden porch swing on the far right gently creaks in the breeze.
As Levi brings the car to a stop, I turn toward the back. “Anything I need to know before we go inside?”
“Be yourself,” Santiago answers immediately.
“I’m serious.” I lift my brows for emphasis.
“So am I.” His warm smile gives me a sense of comfort.
We exit the vehicle, marching through the snow-covered path and up the porch to the front door. I expect one of them to knock, but they step right on it. Even Bear shows no hesitation.
Striking honey-colored oak floors that stretch through the main living area are softened by woven rugs. A fire lights a river-rock fireplace anchored to one wall, its mantel crowded with framed family photos instead of decorations. The deep cognac leather couches appear crisp and clean, the cushions sinking just enough to hint at their years of use.
One wall holds a plethora of family photos–Santiago as a kid covered in mud, a family of three riding horses across a pasture, a teenage Santiago and a middle-aged woman who I assume is his mother. A pair of muddy work boots rest on a rubber mat just inside the front door, and Navajo-style blankets are draped across the back of each couch.
Levi, Santiago, and Walker each slip off their boots, placing them next to the first pair on the mat like this is their ritual. Awkwardly, I do the same as if I were going to take my shoes off all along.
“Mis hijos.” A man strolls from around the corner, holding out his arms.My sons.
