Page 91 of My Spanish Love Affair

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches over, his hand warm and steady as it finds mine.

“You know you can talk to me about things if they’re bothering you, right?” he says, his voice low and earnest. “Anything at all.”

I nod, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go. “I know. It’s just… yeah. I need some time to process. That’s all.”

“Okay,” he says softly, his hand returning to the steering wheel. “So long as you know that whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

I lean back against the seat, the hum of the engine filling the silence as we drive through the quiet streets.

Even as Santi’s presence soothes me, the lingering unease from the evening refuses to let go.

The bathroom encounter replays in my mind, the woman’s prying questions, the blinking red light of her recording device.

I tell myself I’ll be fine, that I handled it.

But the knot in my chest suggests otherwise.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The air in my classroom is filled with the familiar hum of ongoing work. Three girls are arguing in hushed tones about the proper use of an irregular verb, and one of my quieter boys is chewing the end of his pen as he concentrates on his worksheet.

For the first time in what feels like weeks, I feel like I’m in control.

Throwing myself into my work has always been my way of regaining balance. The whispers in the staff room have mostly quieted after our night out, and though some of my colleagues still shoot me curious looks now and then, they’ve been nothing but professional.

“Profe?” A voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up to see Irene, one of my more confident students, standing by my desk. “Can you check this for me?”

“Of course,” I say, smiling as I take the worksheet from her.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of lessons and planning, and by the time the final bell rings, I feel a small sense of accomplishment.

But as I pack up my things and prepare to head home, I’m stopped by the deputy headteacher, Marcus, just outside my classroom.

“Olivia,” he says warmly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Do you have a moment?”

“Oh - hi. Yes, of course,” I reply.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “We’ve been discussing ways to engage the students over the summer break, and we were thinking about different programmes we could create. Then, we got thinking: what about a programme to help our students with their language skills? Especially the new ones who will be joining us at the end of August.”

“Yes, that sounds really interesting,” I nod.

“I’m glad you think so, too. You see, we - the senior leadership team, I should add - all feel that you’ve done such excellent work with your classes, and though I know Sarah will be back with us for the new term, I was wondering if you’d be interested in taking the lead on this initiative?”

I blink in surprise, the weight of his words sinking in.

“You’d like me to… lead it?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “We were thinking that we could offer a combination of English, French and German - link the language department together as one. Of course, we’d give you full support; but the creative direction would be yours.”

A combination of pride and nerves swirls through me. Carlos from the agency will be thrilled to hear about this!

“I’d love to,” I say, my voice steady. “And - thank you. For trusting me with this.”

“Excellent,” Marcus says with a broad smile. “I’ll let the others know, and we can all meet later in the week to discuss details. Have a good evening, Olivia.”

He walks away, and as I head home for the evening, my mindimmediately begins to wander to thoughts of lesson plans, creative ideas and group projects.

A spark of excitement shoots through me.

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