Page 19 of My Spanish Love Affair

“Alright,” he says with a chuckle, leaning casually against the railing. “Let’s just say… I keep busy.”

“That’s so incredibly vague,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest before resting them on the railing. “What aren’t you telling me? Oh my god - do you moonlight as a secret agent or something?!”

He chuckles again, shaking his head from side to side. His smile is dazzling, and his side profile allows me a better view of his neatly-cut stubble.

He’s so perfect, it’s practically unfair.

“Not quite. Though I’d make a terrible spy,” he says. “Too tall, too wide and too heavy. Not a good combination for sneaking around.”

“I can see that,” I say, sizing him up with a smirk. “You’d be terrible at blending in.”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes that suggests he’s more than receptive to my light flirting, but he doesn’t offer any more details or insight into himself. Instead, he shifts the conversation back to me.

“And what about you, Olivia? What’s the grand plan now you’re here?”

I glance out at the city lights, suddenly feeling more self-aware under his gaze.

“Honestly… I don’t have much of a plan,” I admit. “I needed to get away, and Spain felt as good as anywhere for a fresh start. I started off in Madrid, but I was offered an opportunity that I really couldn’t refuse teaching English in one of the local secundaria’s. But beyond that…”

I trail off, shrugging my shoulders.

“Well, no plan means no limits,” Santi says with finality. “You could end up anywhere, doing anything.”

Or anyone…

Holy crap - where on earth did that come from?!

“Or I could end up back home in a few months, eating beans on toast and regretting everything,” I say, trying to distract myself from my filthy thoughts.

After all, there’s nothing sexy about beans on toast.

“Somehow, I don’t see that happening,” he says, his voice confident. “You don’t seem like the type to give up that easily.”

A strange flutter rushes through me at the way he speaks as though he actually knows me, like he’s already figured me out.

“Bold of you to assume the type of person I am,” I deflect, trying to play it cool.

The last thing I want to do is give anything away. After all, this man is unfairly stunning. He probably has women fawning all over him left, right and centre, and I don’t want to boost his ego any further by doing the same.

“On first impressions, of course,” he says. “Tell me, what type do I strike you as?”

“Hmm,” I say, raising a finger to my chin and pretending tothink for a moment. “The smooth-talking charmer type. You know, ones who bump into women on terraces for fun.”

He places a hand onto his broad chest. “Wow. You wound me, Olivia.”

We laugh in sync, and the sound surprises me.

Other than Ben - who wasverystrictly a friend - I can’t recall the last time that I got along so well with a man.

(That includes my ex-boyfriend).

Before I can say anything else, Ana appears at my side from seemingly nowhere, grabbing my arm tightly.

“Olivia! There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Comeon- dance floor. Now.”

She’s using her best teacher voice and not giving me much wiggle room to argue with her. While I’m admittedly a little disappointed to part ways with this ridiculously handsome stranger, the last thing I’m going to do is sell-out my new friends and colleagues for a man I’ve just met.

So, I turn back to Santi and shoot him an apologetic smile.

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