Page 15 of Better Late Than Never

“Oh, I do. But Sevilla’s closer.”

He frowned. “Closer means a bigger risk of running into…” He circled his finger in the air as if to encompass the hospital where we worked.

I laughed softly. “You haven’t traveled much outside of this area yet, have you?” I paused. “And this is your first overseas duty station, isn’t it?”

Marks blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Because rule number one of living overseas? Go off-base and drive more than twenty klicks in any direction, and suddenly there isn’t an American in sight.”

“I’ve heard that. Kind of figured it was an exaggeration, though. Like how they say Norfolk is full of signs that say‘no dogs or sailors on the grass’?”

I barked a laugh. “It’s no exaggeration, trust me. Especially in a place like this where the language barrier is such an issue.”

He cocked a brow. “Even with translator apps?”

“Pfft. Okay, obviously you’re new here because you haven’t been using them long enough to develop trust issues.”

“You don’t use them?”

“Oh, I do. Sometimes they’re a necessity. But when they’re wrong…” I whistled and shook my head.

His curious little grin was too damn cute. “I feel like there’s a story there.”

“Mmhmm. Two weeks after I got here, I saw chocos fritos on a menu. My stupid app told me it meant ‘fried chocolate.’”

Alarm raised his eyebrows. “What did it mean?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fried cuttlefish.”

“No shit?” He made a face even as he laughed. “Oh my God. That sounds…”

“I mean, it wasn’t bad? But it definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.” I waved a hand. “So yeah, even those of us who are adventurous enough to go off-base don’t completely trust the apps. The people who are too scared to go through the gate?” I shook my head.

Marks pursed his lips thoughtfully. “So… the odds of running into someone we know in Sevilla…”

“In agay barin Sevilla.”

“Right. Point taken.” He met my gaze. “And you said the place is called Castillo de Danza?”

I nodded, my pulse ticking up as I realized we were doing this. Then I remembered how he said he hadn’t done this before at all, and my stupid mouth moved before my brain could tell it not to: “Do you need advice on what to wear?”

He froze. “Oh. Uh. Yeah? Probably?” He grimaced. “I have a decent fashion sense, but I have no idea what people wear to a place like that.”

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I weighed the options. Finally, I offered, “If you want to send me pics of what you have, I can yay or nay them.”

“That could work. Or—” He hesitated.

I raised my eyebrows.

Marks fidgeted with renewed nerves. “You, uh… You could come by and tell me what works. Probably more efficient that way.”

Oh, fuck me.

Then he cringed. “That’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”

“I mean, it depends.”

“On?”

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