It looked like the set of one of those comforting films people watched when they wanted to believe families like this actually existed. Except this place felt too imperfect to be staged. The cushions on the sofa were slightly sunken with use, there were mugs abandoned on side tables, and handwritten notes tucked beneath magnets on the fridge. Everything carried the unmistakable feeling of being touched, used, loved.
Lived in.
Growing up in the south of Spain, Alejandra had always associated comfort with warmth—sun-bleached terraces, salt drying on her skin after long afternoons at the beach, the sound of ceiling fans humming through open windows while her mother cooked dinner downstairs. Then surfing had taken her everywhere: tropical islands, crowded coastal cities, tiny surf towns where summer never seemed to end. Most of the places she had lived in or passed through carried that same kind of heat. Open spaces. Brightness. Noise.
Wales was nothing like them.
The air here smelled of rain, earth, and woodsmoke instead of salt and sunscreen. The hills rolled endlessly beneath grey skies, and the stone houses looked as though they had grown directly from the landscape itself.
And yet, somehow, it still felt cozy.
Not in the familiar way Andalucía did, nor in the temporary comfort of hotel rooms and rented apartments she had drifted through for years while chasing competitions around the world. This felt quieter. Steadier. The kind of place that made people slow down without realizing it.
Maybe that was why stepping into Callum’s childhood home unsettled her a little. Because it didn’t feel temporary. It felt lived in. Rooted. Like a place someone always came back to.
Night had fallen, and Alejandra had offered to help Eira, but she’d declined—and thank fuck, because Alejandra hated cooking. She truly hoped that wouldn’t be a dealbreaker for Callum, wherever their relationship was headed.
Eira was fun, easy to talk to, a breath of fresh air. She reminded Alejandra of Callum, not just in mannerisms or accent, but in the way she laughed and the way she frowned. When Callum arrived with his grandfather, she saw it even more clearly. The man must have been as tall as Callum once, though now age had shortened him. His eyes were the same bright blue, his face clean-shaven, and he still had all his hair, now white, instead of Callum’s dark.
“Taid, I would like to introduce Alejandra. Alejandra, this is my taid,” Callum said, motioning toward her.
Alejandra rose from her chair and extended her hand.
The old man looked down at her, his smile warm. “Nice to meet you.” His handshake was weaker than expected, but still steady.
“Dad, come sit down for dinner so we can eat. They’re probably starving,” Eira said, helping her father to the head of the table. A bottle of wine sat in the center, and he filled everyone’s glass.
“You don’t have to drink it,” Callum whispered. “It’s just something he always does.”
“I’ll drink it. Don’t worry.”
They all sat down, and it was lovely seeing this new side of Callum. His relationship with Eira reminded Alejandra of her mother—a bond she missed dearly, one she was avoiding because she couldn’t admit to her family how scared she was of the one thing that had always brought in money. She kept texting them and kept them up to date to where she was. It had been less than a week, but to not be truthful with her parents and Carlos…well, it didn’t sit right with her, but at the same time, she was scared of telling them the truth.
Dinner passed with stories from Callum’s childhood. How he had started swimming during primary school, and Eira had known it was going to be hard to take him out of the water. How he had been a life guard on the beach for years before moving out to Harvard. And apparently, he’d tried surfing several times, but claimed he’d never been any good.
“Too tall,” he excused, but Alejandra quirked a brow.
“Ilias is tall and he’s amazing. What’s your excuse now?”
Callum dragged his foot up her leg—higher and higher—until she stopped him with her thighs. He let out a quiet laugh, unfazed. His taid asked her several times who she was, and she didn’t mind repeating it. Her own grandmother had suffered from Alzheimer’s; she understood the rhythm of it.
“I’m taking Dad to bed. You two are free to go,” Eira said, gently helping her father up.
“I can help clean up,” Alejandra offered.
“No, go. I know Callum wants to show you around Aber.” Eira smiled, and Callum handed her her coat.
“How do you feel?” he asked as they stepped outside into a street that looked like something out ofThe Holiday.
“Good. I love it here. Your family is very welcoming. How about you?”
“Glad you’re here,” he said honestly. “It’s hard seeing my taid like that.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m here for you.”
He kissed her, long and sweet, before guiding her into a lively pub filled with music and laughter. The scent of beer and fried food clung to the air, and voices in Welsh bounced around them. She caught some words here and there, but Callum leaned in to translate when needed.
A blonde woman burst out from behind the bar and threw her arms around her in a surprise hug, making her shoulder wince.
