Page 20 of My Spanish Love Affair

“Looks like my time’s up,” I say.

“For now,” he responds, flashing me a confident smile.

As Ana pulls me away, I glance back over my shoulder to see him still leaning against the railing, watching me.

His smile lingers. I can’t help but wonder what he’s hiding -

And why I already want to find out.

Chapter Nine

Two weeks in Valencia, and I’m finally starting to feel a little more like I actually belong here.

The city has a rhythm of its own. Vibrant and alive, but relaxed at the same time. It’s almost like it’s in no rush to impress you because it knows it doesn’t need to.

Laura insists that she’s going to come and visit me soon, but for now, I’ve spent most of my free time exploring, letting myself get lost in the winding streets.

The Mercado Central has become one of my favorite spots. It’s a sprawling marketplace with beautiful stalls, and I’ve even started my own little ritual of buying a horchata from the same vendor just outside the market. It’s a sweet, creamy drink that’s becoming a regular indulgence, and I honestly don’t know how I’ll cope once I return to England and have to live without it.

Teaching has been its own kind of challenge, but one I think I’m really starting to get the hang of. The kids are lively - sometimes exhausting - but mostly eager to learn, which makes it all worth it. Plus, my colleagues are incredibly supportive. Yesterday, the headteacher, María, popped into my classroom unexpectedly to observe one of my lessons, and though I was nervous at first, by the end, she was smiling from ear to ear.

“Muy bien, Olivia,” she had said with a nod. “You have a good way with the students.”

I don’t know why, but that simple compliment buoyed me for the rest of the day. Like a little sign from the universe that I’m on the right track.

Tonight, though, it’s not about work. I’m heading out to dinner with Sarah to celebrate before she officially goes on maternity leave for the next four months. It means she won’t be back to teach the students until their new academic year after the summer holidays, so I’ll be covering until the summer.

She’s been a lifesaver over the course of these past two weeks, not just by showing me the ropes in the classroom, but also helping me navigate the nuances of Spanish life. I’m happy for her, but I’m really going to miss having her around.

Given that she knows the area much better than I do, Sarah picks out a restaurant for us. I’ve insisted that dinner is my treat, and I wanted no expense spared. After all, what are savings for?

We approach the restaurant together, and I think of how it looks like something out of a magazine.

The exterior is understated yet elegant, with pale stone walls adorned by wrought-iron lanterns casting a warm glow over the entryway. A sleek black awning hangs above the glass double doors with the restaurant’s name etched in gold cursive letters. Tall plants in matching black pots frame the entryway, swaying gently in the light evening breeze, and I’m already impressed.

We’re led to our table by a sharply dressed waiter, and despite the effort I’ve made in my appearance tonight, I still feel a little out of place. This is exactly what I wanted, though - it’s the kind of restaurant that feels like a treat, where you can pretend for an evening that life is as glamorous as the setting aroundyou.

Soft jazz plays in the background, lightly audible over the quiet hum of conversation, and chandeliers twinkle above. The walls are a mix of warm, golden hues and rich, dark wood paneling, while the tables are dressed in crisp white linens, each set with gleaming silverware and a single candle flickering at the center.

“This place is unbelievable,” I say as we settle into our table.

“I thought you’d like it,” Sarah replies. “It’s the perfect way to spend my last night out before I become a mother-slash-hermit.”

The waiter takes our drinks order and returns promptly. I raise my glass of white wine, and Sarah gently taps it against her own glass of sparkling water.

“To you and your little one,” I say. “May they inherit your sense of humour and not your spreadsheets.”

Sarah bursts out laughing. “Amen to that.”

We fall into easy conversation, reminiscing about the funny mishaps I’ve already had at work and the little victories that have come, too. She tells me about how she met her partner when she first moved to Spain, and how it felt to build a life here, far away from her family back in Bristol.

As the evening winds down, we order dessert and linger over the last of our drinks. When we finally ask for the bill, I feel a pang of bittersweetness.

“I’m going to miss you, you know,” I tell her as I place my card down on the table. “It’s been so lovely working with you.”

“Don’t go getting all sappy on me,” she says. “My hormones can’t take it!”

We step out of the restaurant shortly afterwards, and thecooler night air greets us. It’s certainly warmer than any February I’ve experienced back home, but I’m relieved to have a light jacket draped over my shoulders. I can hear the faint sounds of music from a nearby street performer, and the cobblestones glisten faintly under the streetlights.

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