Page 45 of My Spanish Love Affair

“Sí, he’s the best!” Martín exclaims, clearly forgetting my English-only rule.

“Who is?” asks another boy, tilting his head in genuine curiosity as he joins the conversation.

“Santiago Ortiz,” Javier says proudly, his voice lowering as if revealing a secret. “You know, the rugby player.”

I keep my expression neutral as I continue to wander around the room, trying not to show how much I’m eavesdropping.

“He’s from here, you know,” Martín adds. “He went to school not far from here.”

“Local?” another boy, Andrés, perks up. “Really? Still?”

“Sí,” Javier says, slipping back into Spanish before catching himself. “I mean, yes! My cousin has seen him driving around a few times.”

“That’s so cool,” Andrés says, his eyes widening. “He’s famous, right? Like on TV and everything?”

“Claro -” Javier clears his throat. “I mean, of course! He’s beenon sports shows, magazines, everything. He’s a really good player.”

I grip my lesson plan a little tighter, trying not to let their words distract me. The idea of Santi being discussed in such a casual, admiring way feels surreal, like two parts of my life suddenly colliding.

“Miss?” Javier’s voice jolts me back to the present.

“Yes?” I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Who’s your hero?” he asks, his face lighting up with curiosity.

“Good question,” I say, buying myself a moment to refocus. “I would probably say… my father. But today isn’t about my hero!” I quickly add. “It’s about yours. Keep going - I want to see some brilliant answers when we share.”

As I move on to walk by another group, my thoughts linger on the boys’ conversation. The more I learn about Santi, the more I realise how much he’s rooted in this city, in this community.

It’s no wonder the kids look up to him.

And as much as I try to stay professional, I can’t help but feel a flicker of pride. Because even though Santi’s world feels larger than life, there’s a part of him that’s grounded in the same place I’m beginning to call home.

Chapter Sixteen

The city is alive with energy.

I’ve seen Valencia buzzing before, but tonight, it’s on another level.

The streets are packed with people, laughter and music spilling out from every corner. The scent of churros and gunpowder mingles in the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos and magic.

Las Fallas.

Santi keeps a firm grip on my hand as we navigate the crowd. His tall, athletic frame acts like a beacon, cutting through the sea of people. Every so often, he glances back at me, his green eyes alight with excitement.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice warm and steady despite the noise surrounding us.

“I’m fine,” I reply, smiling. “This is amazing.”

Fallas is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

Around every street corner areninots: enormous, intricately designed sculptures made of paper-mâché and wood. Some are satirical, poking tongue-in-cheek fun at politicians or pop culture, while others are breathtaking works of art depicting mythical creatures, made-up characters and historical figures.

Santi pulls me toward one of the larger ninots, a toweringfigure of a dragon wrapped around a castle. The detail is incredible, from the scales on the dragon’s body to the expressions of the knights attempting to fend it off, and he points towards the sign in front of it.

“This one’s my favorite,” Santi says, his voice tinged with pride. “It’s from one of the neighborhoods I grew up near. They always put so much effort into their design.”

I tilt my head, taking in the spectacle.

---