Page 23 of My Spanish Love Affair

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Later that afternoon, I head to a small café that I discoveredlast week. It’s tucked away on a quiet side street, far from the touristy bustle of Valencia’s city center.

I wanted to go somewhere peaceful to focus on planning next week’s lessons - but somewhere that I could be topped up with coffee and snacks as I went on - and this place is perfect.

Most of the customers are seated outside, but since I’m going to be here for a while, I settle into a booth by the window, spreading out my notes and opening my laptop. Sunlight streams through the large glass panes, casting warm, golden rays across the mismatched tables and chairs.

I sip my coffee and nibble on my croissant, feeling like I’ve found a little slice of heaven.

I’m deep into deciding how to make a lesson on irregular verbs remotely interesting when a deep voice pulls me out of my focus.

“Busy at work, huh?”

Shit.

I know that voice.

I glance up, not quite believing what I’m hearing.

“Santi?” I blink in surprise.

He’s standing at the edge of my booth, looking as devilishly handsome - and muscular - as ever. He’s wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low over his hair, but there’s no mistaking that grin.

“I - ah. Hi!” I say, hating the way that I stutter and stumble. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, not seeming bothered by my presence in the slightest as he leans against the edge of my booth.

“Having coffee, like a normal person. What about you?” Hisexpression grows playfully sombre. “Don’t tell me you’re stalking me.”

I laugh, gesturing to the pile of lesson plans in front of me.

“Right. Because stalking you is definitely on my to-do list,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Clearly, I’m here for work.”

“Work, sure,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me without asking. He lifts up some of my notes and scans over them. “Seems…interesting.No wonder you didn’t even notice me when I walked in.”

“Exactly!” I say, throwing up my hands. “Which I would argue makesyouthe stalker, doesn’t it?”

He leans back, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Hm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re just predictable.”

“Predictable?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“Don’t I?” he asks.

His tone is light but his gaze is steady. I roll my eyes, trying not to let his confidence (and ridiculously handsome face) faze me.

“Santi, please - you don’t know me at all! Besides, I’mnotpredictable. You’re just lucky this café happens to be the perfect place to plan lessons.”

“Or maybe fate just keeps throwing us together,” he smirks.

I bark out a quick laugh before I neutralise my expression and blink at him.

“That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“You laughed,” he points out. “So, it worked.”

I pause, giving him a mock-serious look.

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