Page 9 of The Lion in the Library

“This is Leo,” I introduced him. “Leo, this is Mrs. Martinez, my neighbor and lifesaver.”

Leo extended his hand, which Mrs. Martinez took with a little too much enthusiasm. “Encantada,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You’re Leo Ramirez, aren’t you? You play for the Real León FC, yes? My husband is a big fan.”

I glanced at Leo, surprised. I knew he played professionally, but I hadn’t realized he was well-known enough to be recognized on sight.

“Yes, that’s right,” Leo confirmed, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Mrs. Martinez beamed. “My Carlos will be so jealous. Perhaps you could sign something for him?”

“Of course,” Leo agreed graciously. “Next time.”

After Mrs. Martinez left, still fanning herself with excitement, I turned to Leo with a raised eyebrow. “Just how famous are you, exactly?”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “Famous enough to be recognized sometimes, not famous enough to be mobbed on the street. At least not here in the States.”

“He’s really, really famous, Mamá!” Luz interjected, apparently having overcome her initial shyness. “Juan at school brought a poster of him to show and tell. He’s a super, enormous, gigantic, really, really big football star!”

I looked at Leo with new appreciation. “A super, really, really big football star, hmm? And here I thought you were just a struggling writer.”

He grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I am a struggling writer. The football just pays the bills.”

Pedro, who had been watching our exchange with wide eyes, suddenly darted forward and tugged on Leo’s pant leg. “Do you know how to play with cars?” he asked, his English careful and precise.

Leo’s face softened as he knelt to Pedro’s level. “I know lots of games with cars. Would you like to show me yours?”

Pedro nodded eagerly, taking Leo’s hand and pulling him toward the corner where his collection of toy cars was neatly arranged. I watched, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in my chest, as this apparently famous athlete sat cross-legged on my worn carpet, making engine noises and crash sounds that delighted my normally reserved son.

Luz sidled up to me, her expression thoughtful. “I like him, Mami,” she whispered. “He looks at you the way Robin Hood looks at Maid Marion, and he plays with Pedro like a real papá.”

I smoothed her hair, unsure how to respond to her innocent observation. My children had seen too many men come and go in their short lives. Their respective fathers, my second husband, various directors and co-stars who had briefly been part of our world. I couldn’t allow them to become attached to Leo only to have him disappear when he tired of our chaos, as men inevitably did.

“He’s just being friendly, mi amor,” I said softly. “Why don’t you show him how pretty the butterfly clip that he found looks in your hair?”

As Luz skipped over to join the car game, proudly displaying her recovered treasure, I retreated to the kitchen, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. Through the doorway, I could see Leo fully engaged with my children, his face animated as he admired Luz’s clip and then returned to racing cars with Pedro.

It was a domestic scene that stirred longings I had thought long buried—not just for romance, but for partnership, for someone who would embrace not just me but the entire package of our little family.

But I had learned the hard way that fairy tales were just that—tales. Real life was messier, less predictable, and far less kind to women who dared to hope for happily ever after.

LA LOTERÍA

LEO

Ididn’t want to leave.

As the evening progressed, I found myself increasingly enchanted by the cozy world Estrella had created in this modest apartment. We ordered pizza, the children’s excited request, and ate at the small kitchen table, Luz and Pedro chattering away in a charming mix of English and Spanish, with interestingly, a touch of French every once in a while. Estrella watched them with a mother’s pride and occasional gentle corrections to their English pronunciation.

“You’re very good with them,” she commented as I helped Pedro cut his pizza into manageable bites.

I smiled, feeling oddly at home in this domestic scene. “I have nieces and nephews. I don’t see them as often as I’d like, but when I do, it’s always chaos and pizza and sticky fingers.”

“Do you miss them? Your family in Spain?” she asked.

“They aren’t in Spain. I was recruited there a good ten years ago. But I grew up in Oaxaca.” I’d already hidden too much from her and I didn’t want to do that anymore. “I miss them more now, with my future so uncertain.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Uncertain? I thought you were a super, really, really big star with... who was it again? Real Madrid?”

She really didn’t follow football. “Real León FC, who are also out of Madrid.” I hesitated, aware of the children listening. “But, it’s complicated.”