Oh, for fuck sakes. A handshake?! Really?!
“Santiago,” he replies, taking my hand in his much larger one. His firm grip gives a further inkling of how strong he must be, and his touch lingers for a little longer than necessary. “Although my friends call me Santi.”
“Santi,” I repeat, testing out the sound of it on my tongue.
Something unfamiliar flashes in his lovely green eyes, and I clear my throat as I attempt to keep the conversation light.
“So, Santi. Are you in the habit of bumping into strangers on terraces?”
What a way to break the ice, Olivia!
“Only the ones who look like they might have interesting stories to tell,” he smirks.
“Oh really?” I say, a little surprised by his statement. “Well, what makes you think I have interesting stories?”
“Because you’re here,” he says simply, gesturing to the terracearound us. “Most people are inside, enjoying the party. But you…”
He pauses, and I raise an encouraging eyebrow.
“I…” I say, dragging out the sound in what I hope is a teasing prompt.
He grins, detecting the soft playfulness in my tone. “You look like you’re still figuring it all out.”
I take a sip of my drink.
Huh. He’s… perceptive.
“Well, you’re not exactly wrong,” I admit. “I actually moved here last week, so I am very much in the process of ‘figuring it all out’.”
“A new adventure, then,” he says.
He shuffles ever so slightly closer, and my treacherous heart practically skips a beat in excitement.
“So,Olivia. What brought you to Valencia?”
The sound of him saying my name in his deep voice with that lovely, thick accent is so undeniably sexy.
Still, I hesitate, not wanting to dive into the whole story of my breakup and impulsive decision to leave the UK.
“Let’s just say I needed a change,” I say instead.
Santi nods as though he understands completely. “Change is good,” he comments. “It keeps life interesting. Like this, right now. Meeting you. That’s something I didn’t expect.”
I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks.
Ah, Spanish men: ever so charming.
No wonder Sarah got pregnant so quickly!
“What about you?” I ask, eager to shift the focus. “What’s yourstory?”
He leans casually against the railing, his smile turning playful as he turns his head to face me. There’s a playful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, mine’s not that interesting,” he says with a wave of one of his large hands. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.”
I’m immediately intrigued by his deflection.
“Try me,” I challenge. “I’m pretty good at deciding what’s interesting and what’s not.”