Page 36 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

NINETEEN

The drive from Albuquerque to Taos winds through familiar landscapes—pinon-dotted hills giving way to the vast Rio Grande Valley before rising into the embrace of the Sangre de Cristo mountains.

I’ve made this journey countless times over the years, but today it feels different. The road stretches ahead, carrying me back to my clinic and patients, but my mind remains three hours behind with Andrea.

It’s been less than twelve hours since I left her apartment, the warmth of her embrace still lingering on my skin. Less than a day since I drove down to Albuquerque the moment I heard she was back from Hawaii, unable to wait another moment to see her after our time on the island.

“You drove three hours just to see me?” she’d asked when she opened her door, surprise and pleasure mingling in her expression.

“I would have driven longer,” I’d admitted, pulling her into my arms, breathing in the scent of her—tropical shampoo and that indefinable essence that is uniquely Andrea.

Two days we’d spent together, stealing precious hours between her clinic responsibilities and patient obligations, rediscovering each other in the familiar setting of her Albuquerque home rather than an island paradise.

Finding with relief and wonder that what bloomed between us in Hawaii wasn’t merely vacation magic but something real and enduring.

Even now, as the miles accumulate between us, I can feel the phantom weight of her head on my chest as we drifted to sleep, can hear the quiet murmur of her voice as she talked about her family’s last days in Hawaii, can taste the coffee she brewed for me this morning before dawn broke and reality intruded.

My phone buzzes on the passenger seat, Daniel’s name lighting up the screen. I connect it through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Perfect timing,” I say by way of greeting. “Just passing the Welcome to Taos sign.”

“Good drive?” Daniel asks, straight to business as always.

“As good as a three-hour stretch can be,” I reply, stifling a yawn.

Despite the tiredness from my quick trip to Albuquerque and back, a pleasant energy hums through me—the aftereffects of time with Andrea, perhaps, or the quiet certainty that what we’ve found together is worth every mile of highway between us.

“I’ll need you at the office tomorrow morning,” Daniel says. “The IRS called.”

Something in his tone makes me grip the steering wheel tighter. “Problem with the application?”

“The opposite, actually. They want to schedule the final review.”

“That’s good news,” I say, relief washing through me. The nonprofit status for the clinic’s community health wing has been in bureaucratic limbo for months.

“It gets better,” Daniel continues. “They’ve offered us a face-to-face meeting in DC. Apparently, your application caught the attention of someone high up who’s interested in our hybrid model.”

I navigate around a slow-moving truck before responding. “When’s the meeting?”

“That’s the catch. Monday morning. Which means flying out Sunday night at the latest.”

I do the mental calculations. It’s Thursday now. Andrea and I have barely had forty-eight hours together since Hawaii, and now I’ll be gone again.

“I’ll have the plane ready,” Daniel says, correctly interpreting my silence. “Private jet makes it more palatable than commercial, at least.”

The casual mention of his personal jet—a luxury that still occasionally catches me off guard despite years of partnership with the wealthy businessman—barely registers as I consider the implications.

“I’ll be ready,” I promise, pushing aside personal disappointment. This meeting is crucial for the clinic—for the hundreds of uninsured patients who depend on our services. “Send me the briefing materials tonight so I can prepare.”

“Already in your inbox,” Daniel replies. “And Gabe? Dax mentioned you should stop by Nana’s tonight. Some kind of family dinner.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “Did I forget something?”

“Not that I know of,” Daniel says. “Though you might want to prepare yourself. Word about you and Dr. Martin seems to have spread.”

I suppress a groan. Of course it has. Between Tristy’s viral Instagram post and the small-town nature of Taos, our relationship status has probably become the topic of every conversation from the plaza to the ski valley.

“Wonderful,” I mutter, taking the turn that leads to my neighborhood. “I’ll deal with it.”

“See you tomorrow,” Daniel says, disconnecting with his usual abruptness.

I pull into my driveway, the familiar sight of my adobe home—a modest three-bedroom a few minutes from the plaza—providing little of the comfort it usually does.

The house feels too quiet, too empty after the last two days with Andrea, our reunion after Hawaii confirming everything I’d hoped—that what sparked between us on the island wasn’t just a vacation romance but the natural evolution of years of friendship into something deeper.

I shuffle through the mail that accumulated during my absence, then send a quick text to Andrea: Made it home. House feels too empty without you.

Her reply comes faster than expected: Still smiling from your visit. Mom called right after you left and heard something in my voice. Now she’s asking questions.

I smile despite my exhaustion, imagining Andrea fielding interrogations from her formidable Filipino mother. Tell her I’m a perfect gentleman and have only the purest intentions.

Liar , comes her immediate response, followed by a heart emoji that somehow carries more intimacy than any explicit message could.

Before I can reply, a second text appears: Patient files calling my name. Talk later?

I’ll be here , I respond, the simple domesticity of our exchange settling something in me. This is new territory for us, but the foundation of friendship that underlies it all provides steady ground beneath the uncertain terrain.

I’m halfway through unpacking my overnight bag when my phone buzzes.

Papa’s name flashes on the screen, and I briefly consider letting it go to voicemail.

After our tense conversation during the Hawaii trip—his dismissive comments about Andrea’s age, his assumptions about my life choices—I’m not eager for round two.

But ignoring him will only delay the inevitable.

With a sigh, I accept the call. “Hey, Pa.”

“Mijo! You’re back in town. Your mother said you were in Albuquerque.” His voice carries that familiar forced joviality that always precedes an agenda. “Visiting that doctor friend of yours, I assume?”

“Her name is Andrea, Papa. And yes, I was visiting her.” I zip my toiletry bag with more force than necessary. “Is there something you needed?”

“Come by the house.” It’s not a request. “I have someone I want you to meet. A nice girl. Daughter of Robert Martinez—you remember him from church? She just finished her master’s at UNM.”

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Papa, I’m seeing Andie. I’ve told you this.”

“Gabriel,” he says, his voice taking on that patronizing tone I’ve grown to detest, “you’re not thinking clearly. This infatuation with a woman your mother’s age—it’s not healthy. You need someone young, someone who can give you children. Not someone who’s already raised hers.”

My grip tightens on the phone. “I’m not having this conversation again.”

“Just come by. One hour. What harm can it do to meet Carolina? She’s beautiful, smart, from a good Catholic family. The kind of girl who would make a proper wife, not some career woman who?—“

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I interrupt, knowing the fastest way to end this is to face it head-on. “But I’m not staying long.”

I hang up before he can respond, already regretting my decision. But it’s time to settle this once and for all, especially now that things with Andrea have evolved from pretense to something real and precious.

Twenty minutes later, I pull into my parents’ driveway in Santa Fe, noting the unfamiliar silver BMW parked in the guest spot. Great. He’s already got her here, waiting like a prize heifer at auction.

My mother opens the door before I can knock, her expression a mixture of sympathy and resignation. “Gabriel,” she says softly, kissing my cheek. “I told him not to do this.”

“It’s okay, Mama,” I assure her, though we both know it’s not. “Better to clear the air now.”

The living room tableau is exactly what I expected—my father holding court from his favorite armchair, while a young woman perches nervously on the edge of the sofa.

She can’t be more than twenty-five, with the kind of conventional beauty my father has always approved of—straight dark hair, modest makeup, a conservative dress that reveals nothing but suggests everything.

“There he is!” Papa booms, rising to clap me on the shoulder. Some of my patients say I got my smile from him, but I’ve always hoped that’s where the similarities end. “Carolina, this is my son, Dr. Gabriel Vasquez. Best physician in northern New Mexico.”

The young woman—Carolina—stands gracefully, extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Vasquez. Your father speaks very highly of you.”

“Please, call me Gabe,” I say automatically, years of social conditioning kicking in despite my irritation. “Though I should mention that my father failed to tell you I’m in a committed relationship.”

Papa waves this away like an annoying insect. “Gabriel is being modest. He’s recently become available again.” He turns to me, his expression hardening slightly. “Isn’t that right, mijo?”

“No, it’s not,” I reply firmly. “In fact, I just drove back from spending two days with Andrea in Albuquerque.”

Carolina’s discomfort is palpable now, her gaze darting between me and my father as she realizes she’s been brought into a family dispute.

“Perhaps I should go,” she suggests, already reaching for her purse. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding.”