Page 28 of My Spanish Love Affair

“And you’re you. That’s why I’m asking.”

The words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t think of a single response.

We start walking slowly, moving toward the corner as I try to gather my thoughts. He matches his pace with mine, his hands still in his pockets as he glances over at me.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says after a beat, his tone almost teasing. “But I’d like to get to know you. Outside of school gates and coffee shops.”

I laugh despite myself, glancing up at him. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” he says, flashing that grin again. “Not everything has to be complicated, Olivia.”

My heart stumbles over the sound of my name on his lips, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to fight my smile.

“I... I don’t know,” I say again, though the hesitation in my voice feels thinner this time, less sure.

“It’s just dinner,” he repeats. “No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me, having a meal. You’ve got to eat, right?”

I glance at him, and the corner of his mouth quirks up as if he knows I’m on the verge of caving.

“Friday night?” I hear myself say before I can stop.

His smile broadens, lighting up his entire face.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says, his voice rich with satisfaction.

Before I can second-guess my decision, he steps a little closer. His fingers brush lightly against my arm - a simple, fleeting gesture that makes my breath hitch all the same - as he leans down, his movements slow and deliberate.

He presses a quick kiss to each of my cheeks, his stubble brushing against my skin. His cologne lingers between us, warm and woodsy, and my knees feel just the tiniest bit unsteady.

Ridiculous.

“Friday at seven,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, his green eyes holding mine for just a moment longer than necessary. “Don’t stand me up, profesora.”

A playful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and before I can even think of a response, he straightens up and takes a step back.

“See you soon, Olivia,” he says, his tone easy but full of intent.

I stand there, rooted to the spot, as he turns and heads in the opposite direction, his stride casual yet purposeful. It’s then that I notice his black sports car -anything but discrete -practically glistening under the Spanish sun. He climbs in, and with one last glance in my direction, he gives a small wave before pulling away from the curb.

The faint hum of the engine fades into the distance, but the warmth of his touch and the press of his lips against my cheeks linger far, far longer.

I exhale slowly, my heart racing as I finally will my feet to move, heading in the direction of my humble little home.

I try not to think about him as I walk, truly I do, but it’s no use. My imagination swirls as I replay our conversation over and over, romanticising it a little more each time.

More than anything, I can’t quite believe what I’ve just agreed to.

Friday night. Dinner with Santiago Ortiz.

What on earth am I getting myself into?

Chapter Twelve

The sun filters through my apartment windows as I finish curling the ends of my long, blonde hair in the mirror.

Spring in Spain feels more like summer in England, with balmy days that invite flowy dresses and cooler evenings that are perfect for alfresco dinners. My wardrobe has evolved with my new city, and I step into a simple pastel blue sundressthat skims my mid-thighs. It’s light and airy against the warmth that lingers even as the sun begins to set, and a pair of tan sandals completes the look along with the denim jacket draped over my arm in case the evening air cools.

I’ve touched up my make-up twice already, and as I swipe on a final coat of soft pink lipstick, my mind begins to wander.

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