Page 57 of The Lost Guardian

Looking at the decadent spread, Santiago had to agree. The scrambled eggs sat beside a platter of small sausages on the kitchen table.

He smelled salty chicharrón and fried sweet potato, warring with the scent of strong coffee. Bread, butters, jams, and an array of sauces and spices bigger than Santiago’s own pantry back home were arranged beside them. His mouth watered, and his stomach emitted an audible, longing call.

By the way Ali’s eyes traced the dishes, he could tell she felt the same.

“Coffee?” she asked from her place beside the pot.

He hurried forward. “Yes, but I can get my own, thank you.”

“I know you can, Rios. It’s no trouble.” She brought him a fresh cup, pushing a small jar of milk and a bowl of sugar toward him.

Santiago couldn’t help but remember their conversation from last night—about a young woman’s offered drink being tantamount to a proposal.

Oh, stop it, he chided himself. She’s just being polite.

“Thank you,” he replied, touched nonetheless. He sat and splashed some milk in his cup, blowing on its surface before taking a sip.

Perfect.

“I bet you were really good at taking care of your sister,” he said as they began filling their plates. He wasn’t sure where the thought had come from.

Maybe from the fact that no one had brought him a cup of coffee in the morning in a very long time. Maybe it was how she placed a few pieces of bread and a pat of butter—the only things on the table he wouldn’t be able to reach—on a plate next to him. Santiago couldn’t remember the last time someone considered him like that, without being asked, instead of the other way around.

Ali looked surprised at his statement, then smiled. His heart tripped in his chest.

Nah, just heartburn from the chicha.

Her expression left almost as quickly as it had come. Ali schooled her features back into the casual indifference he was used to. He lowered his gaze back down to his food, taking a large bite.

“Oh God.” He moaned as the combination of flavors hit his tongue. He could see Ali shaking her head, amused, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It might be the best breakfast he’d ever had.

“So, are you going to tell me what she said?” he asked in between mouthfuls.

“Who?” Ali asked.

Santiago motioned to the door, where the young woman had left from.

“Oh,” she replied, grinning mischievously. “She said that my boyfriend was a very good dancer.”

Santiago choked.

The bread stuck in his throat, and he tried washing it down with a healthy swig of coffee. He burned his tongue in the process, but at least he could breathe again.

“Let’s talk about the plan for today,” Ali said. Her words were nonchalant, but there was a teasing glint in her angular eyes. “I think we can get to Cajamarca in about six hours, and we should head straight for the Ransom Room. We’ve taken too long already.”

“Agreed,” Santiago rasped.

Ali finished her own breakfast quickly, then headed for the door. “I’ll find Alfredo and tell him we’re ready to leave whenever he is.”

It wasn’t until she walked away that he noticed she still wore his flannel.

…

A little more than an hour later, Alfredo ushered Santiago and Ali—along with four other young men and a new tire—back to their broken-down car. Thankfully, it was just as they’d left it, and the boys made quick work of setting it to rights.

Ali insisted they take some money, though they accepted far less than Santiago thought all of their hospitality and assistance were worth. The group bid them a very affectionate farewell, waving and whistling heartily, then drove back to town.

Ali maneuvered them back onto the lonely highway, muscles tense. Santi couldn’t help but agree. But when it seemed the vehicle had no further plans of sabotage, they both relaxed.