“Are you ready for our road trip?” I open the passenger door of Santiago’s G-Wagon. Thank God I have long legs because this SUV is a monster. I grab the hem of my boho skirt and use the step to hop inside the car.
“It’s less than two hours away. I drove in races longer than that.”
“Oh okay, Mr. I’m a famous racer, hear me brag. Are you forgetting I grew up in New York? I never went anywhere!”
Santiago gets into the driver’s seat and slides on a pair of Ray Bans. My eighties-obsessed heart sings at the sight. He’s a mix-up of every John Hughes’ character I love watching.
Please don’t get me started on his new look. I knew Santiago was sexy before, but I didn’t realize he was that sexy under his beard and long hair. Seriously, I don’t think I have enough self-control to make it through a car ride next to him, let alone a whole weekend.
Santiago starts the car. “Is this your first time traveling outside of America?”
“This is my first time out of New York. Period. I’ve never been anywhere else besides here and the four-hour layover in Portugal. So technically speaking, I’ve visited two other places now besides New York.”
“You can’t count a layover as visiting another country. That’s just sad.”
“No. It’s just the truth.” I cross my arms and look out the window. It’s not as if Santiago means to judge, but it comes off that way.
The air shifts between us as I remain quiet. I can spend two hours in silence as long as he doesn’t play jazz music. That’s a hard limit.
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry if what I said came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
“It’s fine.”
“Uh-oh.”
I shift in my seat, turning to face him. “What?”
“‘Fine’ is code for I’m not fine and if you ignore it, I’ll tell you just how not fine I am a few hours from now and you’ll wish you had asked more from the get-go.”
I snort. “What? Who told you such classified information?”
“I grew up with a sister. She taught me the basics by the time I was a teenager.”
“Okay, your comment bothered me a little bit—”
He raises a brow.
“Okay, a lot. But it’s not your fault. It just reminds me of everything I missed out on that others have experienced. Growing up the way I did left much to be desired for.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad because you haven’t traveled. Especially not because of your circumstance.”
“It’s okay. No big deal.” I smile.
He bites down on his bottom lip in a way that isn’t meant to be sexy but is hot enough to break a glass thermometer. “So… What did you used to enjoy doing in your free time besides working?”
Great. He’s trying to be polite and I’m here lusting after him. “Besides embroidering? I mean, I don’t exactly have much free time to begin with.”
“Tell me more about that then.”
I rear back in my chair in surprise, banging my head against the headrest like a dork. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, how did you get into that kind of hobby?”
“Well, I used to have some anger issues.”
“I find that very hard to believe.” He attempts to keep a straight face but laughs anyway.
“It’s true.” I punch him in the arm for emphasis.
He only laughs harder.
“So my social worker took me to the hobby store one day after an incident.” I shiver at the reminder of the day I lost my mom, my home, and my last ounce of innocence. “She told me I could pick anything from the store, but I had to agree it would be my outlet for my emotions rather than anything physical.”
“And what made you pick that?”
“She thought it would help for me to stab something. The needle seemed like a safe option.”
Santiago’s laugh bounces off the roof of the car. “I would’ve never guessed you had this much pent-up aggression.”
“I was pretty mad at the world as a teenager.”
His smile drops. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It is what is.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make everything seem like it’s okay?”
I shrug. “Because it is. I can’t do anything to change the past, so why continue to let it bother me?”
He nods and focuses his attention back on the road. The lakeside town disappears as we drive through the winding roads toward Monza.
“Are you any good at it?” He breaks the silence.
“Embroidering?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not one to show off, but I’m wearing one of the pieces I made now.” I point down at my embroidered T-shirt. It’s a basic pocket tee, with a bunch of multicolored dainty flowers designed above the pocket. It was a total nightmare to design, but I love it all the more because of how hard it was to make.
“Wow. I thought you bought that.”
I shake my head, hiding my smile. “No. I like designing pieces like this.”
“Have you ever thought of selling them to the public?”
I snort. “Not really. I’ve never had the time or money to start my own Etsy shop.”
“Would you be interested? If you had time, that is?”
I pause and consider it. Thinking up designs feeds the creative side I’ve neglected throughout the years while overworking myself. I love the thrill I get when drawing out my creations on the fabric and bringing them to life. The peace from the process and the sense of accomplishment once the piece is done is another bonus.
I love it all. From beginning to end.
“I mean, in a perfect world where I had limitless money and didn’t have to work as much, sure. But the world is far from flawless, so I’ll stick to the things I know will support me.”
“You should consider making more time for your hobby.”
“Why?”
“Because if you love something enough to smile like you are right now, then you should pursue it before it’s too late.”
I press a hand to my lips. “I don’t have the time.”
“And you never will if you keep finding reasons not to.”
Whoa. Here I’ve been pushing Santiago out of his comfort zone, only to have him do the same. Santiago is embroidering himself into my skin like the designs I love so much, and I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do about it.
