Page 10 of The Lost Guardian

He quickly threw on clothes, sliding the necklace underneath his shirt. He wasn’t sure how he was going to start the conversation with his friend, but he didn’t want her asking questions before he was ready to answer them.

Santiago moved to the kitchen and found Brooke flopped on the living room couch. He scanned his countertops, frowning when he didn’t see the container of tacos he’d grabbed on his way home.

“Oh, I got hungry while I waited for you and ate your carne asada,” Brooke called to him. The open concept of his apartment meant he had a clear view of her propping her sneakers up on his wooden coffee table.

“Dude,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Seriously?”

She grinned, completely unrepentant. He did always tell Brooke to make herself at home when he wasn’t there, but eating his dinner was on a whole different level. Sighing, he contemplated whether to burn or bury her body.

Come to Peru, mijo, and lay an old man to rest. He shuddered against the pang in his chest.

“I’m kidding!” Brooke stopped him with a chuckle, holding up the Styrofoam container. “I only sampled it.”

“Brat!” he yelled at her, lunging for his tacos.

Brooke only laughed.

“Do you want anything else, Your Highness?” Santiago asked her as he grabbed his dinner.

“I brought a bottle of wine!” she yelled. “We’re celebrating, right?”

Santiago turned toward the kitchen, then scanned the inside of his fridge—Brooke had indeed begun chilling her white. He quietly wrestled with the corkscrew.

“Santi?” Brooke asked again, looking up from her phone. “We are celebrating, right?”

The cork loosened with an audible pop, and he heavy-poured them two glasses.

“Oh, Santi.” Brooke sighed as she accepted one, patting the seat next to her. Santiago slunk down dejectedly. “Tell me what happened.”

He did. Some of it. Santiago told her about his morning, his delay, and Dr. Silva’s gentle but mortifying reprimands. Then he explained the project she’d dropped in his lap.

“By the time I could even think to remind her of our meeting, she was halfway down the hall,” he finished glumly, sipping the too-sweet wine. He was more of a beer guy.

“So that’s it?” Brooke asked, setting her glass down. Santiago quickly grabbed a coaster and slipped it underneath. “You’re just not going to go?” she continued. “Santi, you’ve been dreaming about this forever!”

“I know,” Santiago groaned, throwing his head back. “And I want to go, I really do! But…”

“But what?” Brooke pressed.

Santiago hesitated. He wanted to confide in Brooke, but he’d been putting it off for a reason. His feelings toward Abuelo Manco were complicated yesterday. Now? He hardly knew where to begin.

“I may need some time off for a different sort of trip,” he finally said.

Brooke frowned.

“What trip?”

With a heavy sigh, Santiago told her. He explained about the strange letter he had received. He didn’t go into detail, just the news of his grandfather’s passing and his wish that Santiago lay the old man to rest.

“Oh God, Santi, I’m so sorry,” Brooke said, setting down her wine to throw her arms around him. “I know you two weren’t close, but that really sucks. It’s okay to be upset about it.”

Santiago let himself sink into her hug. It helped—a little.

“So you need to request time off to go pay respects to your abuelo?”

Santi nodded.

“Is that what you want?” she asked him softly.