Page 3 of The Lion in the Library

I picked it up, turning it over in my hand, chuckling. It must belong to her daughter. I slipped it into my bag. This gave me the perfect excuse to figure out how to see them again. I checked the schedule posted at the library entrance for their English conversation club. That was my best bet.

I would definitely be there.

The evening air was warm as I stepped outside, the Los Angeles sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. I had chosen to walk to the library today, enjoying the anonymity that Los Angeles sometimes afforded me. Here football wasn’t the religion it was in Europe. Here, I could sometimes be just a man, not Leo “The Lion” Ramírez, the Mexican midfielder known for his precision passes and unexpected goals.

As I walked toward the restaurant where I was meeting my agent, I found myself hoping that Estrella truly didn’t recognize me. The thought was both unsettling and exhilarating. Most of my relationships began with an awareness of who I was, what I did, what I was worth. The possibility of connecting with someone who saw me first as a struggling writer rather than a football star was... refreshing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. My agent, wondering where I was. I picked up my pace, but my mind remained in the library, with a woman whose eyes held both fire and vulnerability, and whose accent wrapped around English words like a caress.

Hunter De la Reine was already at our usual table when I arrived, a glass of wine half-empty before him.

“There he is,” he said, standing to greet me with a hearty slap on the back. “The Lion himself. Got another couple of winning seasons in you, my man?”

I smiled, the expected response, though we both knew that my best seasons were behind me. “If my knees cooperate,” I joked.

“Your knees, my blood pressure,” Hunter countered, gesturing for me to sit. “How’s the book coming along?”

I shrugged, accepting the menu from the waiter. “Slowly. It’s harder than I expected, finding the right words for everything.”

“You overthink, Leo. Always have. That’s what makes you a great strategist on the field, but it’s hell on deadlines, I’d imagine.”

I chuckled, unable to argue with his assessment.

“I met someone interesting today,” I found myself saying, surprising both of us with the change of subject.

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. “A woman?”

“An actress. She’s from Mexico, recently moved here with her children.”

“Children,” Hunter repeated, his expression cautious. “Leo...”

I knew what he was thinking. The tabloids had always painted me as a bachelor, a playboy. The truth was more complicated. I had never found someone who saw beyond the persona, who understood the loneliness that came with a life lived in the spotlight.

“It’s not like that,” I assured him, though I wasn’t entirely sure what ‘it’ was. “We just talked briefly. She didn’t seem to recognize me.”

“A rare creature indeed,” Hunter mused, lifting his glass. “To new beginnings, then.” I raised my water glass in return, thoughts of Estrella still swirling in my mind. “To new beginnings.”

BEDTIME STORIES

ESTRELLA

“Mami, can we go back to the library tomorrow? I miss my lion.” Luz asked as I tucked her into bed that night.

I smiled, brushing her dark hair from her forehead. “Not tomorrow, mi amor. Tomorrow, Mamá has to work.”

Her small face fell, and I felt the familiar pang of guilt that had been my constant companion since the divorce. My children had already endured so much change—two fathers, two countries, countless nannies and housekeepers as my career demanded more and more of my time.

“But,” I continued, unable to bear her disappointment, “we can go back the day after tomorrow. And guess what? There’s a special club where Mamá can practice her English.”

Her face brightened. “Can I come too? I will help you with your English.”

The one thing I’d done right for my sweet babies was to get them those French au pairs. They’d taken to French so easily, and now English just as quickly.

“It’s for grown-ups,” I explained gently. “But there’s a special program for children at the same time. You and Pedro can make crafts and hear more stories. Perhaps you can make something new for your lion to wear.”

She nodded, satisfied with this compromise. “I liked the library. And I think the man with the glasses like my lion’s liked you.”

I felt my cheeks warm again, grateful for the dim light of her bedside lamp. “What makes you say that, chiquita?”