Fired Up

Valeria's POV

I barely had time to settle back in before the doorbell rang. Mateo had just walked into the house after school, kicking off his little sneakers by the door, when the sound of the bell made us both pause.

"¿Quién es, mamá?" (Who is it, mamá?) Mateo asked, peeking up at me with curious eyes.

I knew exactly who it was.

Before I could answer, Mateo hurried ahead and pulled the door open, revealing Lewis standing there, looking as relaxed as ever in jeans and a white t-shirt. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw me behind Mateo, but then his gaze flickered downward, locking onto my son.

I watched as Lewis's expression changed—something unreadable passing over his face. He hadn't expected to see Mateo here. He still wasn't used to the idea of me being a mother, and now, faced with my son right in front of him, he seemed momentarily caught off guard.

Mateo, however, remained still, eyeing Lewis with suspicion.

"Hola, campeón." (Hey, champ.) Lewis greeted, his voice warm but unsure.

Mateo didn't answer. Instead, he turned and walked back inside, his small arms crossed over his chest in a way that reminded me of Alejandro when he was irritated.

I sighed, stepping aside to let Lewis in.

"Sorry," I murmured as he brushed past me, his fingers grazing mine for a brief second. "He's... still adjusting."

Lewis didn't look upset, just thoughtful. "I get it."

As soon as Mateo disappeared upstairs, Lewis turned to me, his teasing demeanor reappearing. Without a word, he cupped my face in his hands and pulled me into a kiss—deep, slow, and consuming.

I melted into him, gripping onto his arms for balance. He kissed me like he'd been waiting for this moment all week. Like he needed to feel me again after the days apart.

When we pulled away, I exhaled shakily.

"Well, hello to you too," I murmured, my lips still tingling.

Lewis smirked. "Missed me?"

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't lie—I had.
____

Dinner was tense.

Mateo sat at the table, barely eating, occasionally glancing at Lewis but never addressing him. Every time Lewis spoke, Mateo's little face scrunched up in thought, as if he were analyzing every word.

"Did you have fun at school today, buddy?" Lewis asked, trying to engage with him.

Mateo just poked at his food with his fork, not looking up.

"Mateo," I warned softly.

He sighed dramatically before answering in Spanish, completely ignoring that Lewis couldn't understand.

"No quiero hablar con él." (I don't want to talk to him.)

I inhaled sharply, giving him a look. "Mateo..."

But Lewis just chuckled, glancing between us. "I have no idea what he just said, but I don't think it was friendly."

I hesitated, but before I could translate, Mateo spoke again, keeping his voice low so only I could hear.

"No me gusta cómo te mira." (I don't like how he looks at you.)

My lips parted slightly in surprise. He wasn't just jealous. He was protective.

I reached across the table, squeezing his tiny hand. "Mateo, cariño, Lewis es mi amigo." (Mateo, sweetheart, Lewis is my friend.)

Mateo frowned, his eyes darting to Lewis, who was still watching us in confusion, clearly left out of the conversation.

"¿Es como papá?" (Is he like Dad?) Mateo asked quietly.

My heart clenched.

"No," I whispered back firmly, brushing a curl from his forehead. "Es diferente." (He's different.)

Mateo studied me for a moment before looking at Lewis again, as if deciding whether he believed me or not. Then, without another word, he went back to eating, his walls still up, but the tension easing just slightly.

I glanced at Lewis, who raised an eyebrow. "Everything good?"

I forced a small smile. "Yeah, just... Mateo being Mateo."

Lewis gave me a knowing look but didn't press.

As the night continued, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of Mateo's tests. Lewis had gained my trust—but earning Mateo's was going to take time.