Page 46 of A Winter Wish

She couldn’t see any sign of Theo. Maybe he’d gotten fed up with her and decided to leave her here. Well, that was fine, she knew the way back to the apartment. She blew out a breath and pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head before closing her eyes and tilting her head back to warm her face in the sun. She wasn’t even sure why she was so annoyed. Because Theo had seen something about the profit margins that she hadn’t? He was better at the business side of things, she knew that. Her dad must have known it, too, she thought. Was that why he’d paired them together? To even out each other’s gaps and continue the legacy of the company he’d created? Because he’d cared about the company, she knew that. More than he’d cared about either of his families, perhaps? And maybe that was why she was so annoyed.

“Here.” She opened her eyes to see Theo standing above her, holding a big plastic cup of something out to her. “It’s limonada. It’s the traditional—”

“—drink made with wine, lemon, sugar, and chopped fruits.” She reached up to take it. “I know—I did the research too, remember?” But now she was just being snippy, taking it out on him for no reason. “I mean, thank you,” she said, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

She took a sip—it really was delicious, like a brilliant wine cocktail that shouldn’t work but totally did. He sat next to her on the grass and leaned back on his elbows, shifting so that his legs stretched out in front of him. Maybe it was just the taste of citrus that was reminding her of what had happened in that hotel corridor in France, but she was suddenly aware of how little space was separating their thighs.

“Oh, I bought us some of these, too.” He reached behind his head for a paper bag full of little doughnuts. Rosquillas, Lexie remembered. There were different types, but these ones had powdered sugar. She took one, bit into it. It didn’t taste like any doughnut she’d tried before—it wasn’t quite as sweet, and it had a hint of anise, with a perfectly fluffy middle. It was great, actually, and she took another, then licked the sugar off her fingers.

She leaned back on her hands, feeling the tickle of grass on her palms. She could imagine bringing a group of people here, talking about the history of the festival, drinking limonada and eating a picnic made from local food, and giving everyone a chance to chat and bond. She felt sure this part of the itinerary, unlike the fountain, would be a winner.

“Maybe we could give people the option,” she said out loud. “Separate the group into those who want to go to the fountain and those who don’t. And we—or whoever—” she added, remembering it wouldn’t be her on these trips in the future, “can fill people in on the tradition and the history behind it regardless—and then all meet up here in the park.”

Theo grunted in what she thought might be agreement.

Lexie looked around. There were some people—locals, maybe—dressed in the proper traditional garb as they ate lunch. The chulapos and chulapas—she’d committed it all to memory. Apparently they’d initially been working-class people who were proud of where they came from and wanted to celebrate it with an elaborate style. The men were in trousers, a cap, shirt, and waistcoat—understated, she thought. But the women looked glamorous in their long skirts and shawls, with little bonnet-type things she couldn’t remember the name of on their heads. She’d seen some of the traditional outfits for sale as they’d wandered through the streets earlier and had been tempted by a pale blue one—but she knew she’d never wear it.

“This is in my wish jar,” she admitted into the quiet between them. “Coming here.”

Theo tilted his head to look at her. “To San Isidro?”

“No, not specifically. But to Madrid. My dad took his other family.” She frowned at how that sounded. “Rachel and her mum, I mean. He took them to Madrid on holiday. Or they went. Whatever. He said he’d take me too, but he didn’t—got cold feet about us all being together, I suppose.”

Theo’s eyes were still hidden, but she saw the way his brow was furrowed.

“What?” she asked, feeling a little self-conscious.

“Nothing. I just…It’s weird. The Richard I knew…I’m sort of figuring out he wasn’t just that Richard. He used to talk about you a lot.”

Lexie said nothing—though a part of her wanted to know.

“And he would mention memories, of a trip you guys had all taken. He talked about Rachel, too—and I saw him and Rachel together, so that never felt like it was in question. But the way he spoke about you—like he missed you, like he had all these great memories of you…”

Lexie pressed her lips together before speaking slowly. “That version of him…That’s not the version of him I knew. Not for the last fifteen-plus years, anyway. And I know you think it’s my fault, for not being around—”

“I’m sorry.” He sat up straight. “I never should have implied that. I was still reeling from losing him and I…” He gave a shrug that looked a little self-conscious. “I missed him. And I’d only seen Richard’s side of it and…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But regardless. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Richard, he used to talk about you—and I knew he wanted to talk to you. I didn’t know he was going to leave you half the company.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, not really believing him. He’d disliked her from the moment he’d first seen her, after all.

He plowed on, ignoring her reaction. “But it sounded like he thought highly of you, and I guess I just let myself believe that he was a father trying to reach out and you’d always been too busy.” He paused for a long moment. “You didn’t even know he was sick?” he said quietly.

She risked a quick glance at him, but his face gave nothing away. “No, I didn’t.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean…I mean that I assumed you had known.”

She pursed her lips. “You assumed he’d told me he was dying and I hadn’t come home to say goodbye?”

He grimaced. “God, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? But yeah. Something like that.”

Lexie blew out a breath. “Doesn’t paint me in a very good light, does it?”

“I figured it out. After you were around more, I realized I’d been wrong. And I had to…recalibrate. Which is totally my fault, not yours.” He sighed. “I don’t really have an apology that’s big enough, but in the aftermath, I was so mad and, I don’t know…” He waved a hand in the air. “Lost, I guess. He was the first person who seemed to give a shit about me—the me I actually am, I mean—and then he died, and he hadn’t told anyone how bad it was, not until the last moment. He’d kept it hidden. But despite that, I thought you would have known.”

She nodded slowly, trying to process that. An explanation, for how he’d been with her at the beginning.

“And then I saw you leaving the wake early and I…”

“You thought I didn’t care?” Lexie guessed.