Page 8 of The Lion in the Library

I watched as he took in the small living room with its worn furniture, the kitchen table covered in scripts and English language workbooks, the children’s toys neatly organized in a corner.

“It’s cozy,” he said, and I could tell he meant it. “Where are your children?”

“At a neighbor’s. They’ll be back soon.” I moved to the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink? Water, coffee...?”

“Water would be great.”

As I filled two glasses from the tap, I noticed him examining the framed photographs on my bookshelf. Me in costume for various roles, the children at different ages, a family portrait from happier times.

“You really were a star,” he said, picking up a magazine cover featuring me in a dramatic pose, my name emblazoned across the top.

“I still am,” I corrected him, a touch of pride in my voice. “Just... taking a different path now.”

He smiled, accepting the water I offered. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

We settled on the couch, a respectable distance between us. “So,” I said, “you were ‘in the neighborhood’?”

He had the grace to look sheepish again, and I savored a warmth pooling in my belly. “Not exactly. I wanted to see you, and I didn’t have your phone number.”

The directness of his admission caught me off guard. In my experience, men played games, hiding their intentions behind smooth words and calculated gestures. Leo’s honesty was refreshing.

“Why did you want to see me?” I asked, holding his gaze.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said simply. “Because talking with you is the most real conversation I’ve had in years. Because when I’m with you, I feel like myself, not like a character I’m playing.”

This man definitely did not play games. I’d never had anyone of the opposite sex shoot so straight with me. And... I think I fell a little bit in love with him for that.

His words echoed my own thoughts so perfectly that for a moment I could only stare at him, speechless.

“I’ve been through two marriages,” I said finally, my voice soft. “I have two children. My life is... complicated.”

“I know. And I’m not asking for anything,” he assured me quickly. “I just... I’d like to spend more time with you. Get to know you better.”

I studied him, this man who had appeared in my life like a character from one of my telenovelas. Handsome, thoughtful, seemingly too good to be true. In my experience, such perfect men always harbored dark secrets or hidden agendas.

“What’s the catch?” I asked bluntly.

He looked genuinely puzzled. “Catch?”

“With you,” I clarified. “Are you married? A man-whore? A serial killer?”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “None of the above. I’m just a man who plays soccer, tries to write, and finds himself captivated by a beautiful, strong woman who isn’t impressed by his minor celebrity.”

I felt myself softening, the walls I had carefully constructed around my heart beginning to crumble. “I should warn you, my life is not always as... calm... as it appears. The tabloids in Mexico called me ‘La Dramática’ for a reason.”

“I like a little drama,” he said with a grin. “It keeps life interesting.”

Before I could respond, the front door burst open, and Luz and Pedro tumbled in, followed by my neighbor, Mrs. Martinez.

“Mamá!” Luz exclaimed, then stopped short at the sight of Leo. “It’s the library man!”

Leo stood, smiling at my children. “Hello again.”

Pedro, typically shy with strangers, hid behind his sister, peeking out curiously.

“Thank you for watching them, Mrs. Martinez,” I said, moving to greet my neighbor.

She waved off my thanks, her eyes fixed on Leo with undisguised interest. “Any time, querida. And who is your... friend?”