Page 118 of Dream Chaser

“I will,” I promised. “How’s everything been here?”

“The usual,” Dad said. “Finished making oil the other day. Need to prune the trees soon.”

After years of grueling factory shifts, my father couldn’t laze around. Home repairs. Gardening. And now, olive oil production. Not for sale—just for us.

“Guess who I saw in Jerez last week,” Dad said.

I shifted in my chair. “Who?”

“Your ex-boss. He didn’t even stop to chat. He must be mad at you for leaving.”

My parents had met Ignacio. He’d had dinner with us a few times and told them what a great son they had, charming them with his impeccable manners and smiles. When I’d announced I was going to leave Deportes Espinosa, it’d come as a shock. Wouldn’t have been surprising if I’d disclosed the reason.

“It’s been a long time.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “He’s doing fine without me.”

Dad took another sip, then stared off into the distance like he was pondering his next words. “I never liked him.”

I arched a brow, my heart pumping blood faster. The apprehension on Dad’s face when I’d told him I was setting up my business was still vivid in my memory. I would’ve bet anything he’d rather I work for someone like he did instead of taking the huge risk of a solo venture.

“You never told me that,” I said.

He folded his arms across his chest. “You looked up to him. And I didn’t really know him that well, but something just felt off.” He rubbed his gray beard, a bit longer than mine. “I’m right, aren’t I? That’s why you left his agency.”

“Yeah. And here I was thinking that you wanted me to keep working for him.”

Dad tapped his foot on the tile. “I wanted you to be happy, Ale. That’s my only worry. You’re smart and sensible. I’ve always known you’d succeed. So, are you happy?”

“The agency’s thriving,” I said. “A sports magazine did a feature the other day. They already sent me the pictures. Look.”

I found the email in my inbox and turned the phone toward my father. Instead of looking at the screen, he was still looking at me. Then he sighed, taking the phone from my hand.

“My staff,” I said.

He grabbed his reading glasses from the table and slid them on. “Ahh.” His lips twitched. “I see. Who’s she?”

His finger pointed at Nova. Heat flooded my face like I was a fucking teenager.

Dad’s chuckle echoed in the kitchen. “See, that’s what I meant. When are we going to meet her?”

“Meet who?” Mom walked into the room, smiling.

“Buenos días, corazón,” Dad said, bracing his hands on his knees as he rose from the chair. Good morning, sweetheart. He kissed Mom’s lips, and she laughed, pushing him away. “No delante del niño.”

Not in front of the boy? I snorted, downing the last bit of my cold coffee.

Dad handed Mom my phone. “Look. Next to Ale.”

Fucking fantastic.

“She’s beautiful,” Mom said. “Ale, you should’ve brought her home for Christmas. What’s her name?”

I swallowed a groan. “Nova.”

It was official—I’d lost my goddamn mind—the only logical reason I hadn’t set them straight.

Except then, I watched them laugh as they started getting things ready for lunch. Forty years together. Two kids. One grandchild. Lots of hardships, but also the quiet, underrated kind of happiness that comes from knowing they had each other no matter what.

Then it hit me—I wanted that.