Page 85 of Better Late Than Never

“Ugh,” Alex grumbled. “I forgot how hot it was.”

“Right? Stupid… August.”

He snorted and we continued through the courtyard in search of some refuge from the sun. We found it in the shade of an orange tree, and as we cooled off a little, Alex checked his phone. “Everything’s going to be closing for siesta soon. We should grab some water while we can.”

Just the thought of drinking something cold right then made my mouth water. “Good idea. Let’s go.”

We left the Mezquita and stepped out onto one of the narrow surrounding streets. I was a little disoriented, and I wasn’t exactly sure which side we were on now, but Alex confidently strode toward some shops across the street. He seemed to know where we were, so I let him take the lead. Worst case, we had GPS on our phones.

I followed him into a small shop full of tourist tchotchkes and souvenirs, and we fished a couple of bottles of water from a refrigerated case. Then we were back outside in the scorching heat, but with the relief that came from those bottles.

“Oh, God,” I said after a couple of deep swallows. “I needed that.”

“Me too.” He tilted the bottle toward a nearby café. “This is also one of those times I love that almost every Spanish café has fresh-squeezed orange juice. Like they literally squeeze it after you order it.” He took another swig of water. “It’s not super cold, but holy crap, it hits the spot on a day like this.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I gestured with my bottle. “This is exactly what I need right now.”

“Same,” he said, before swallowing some more water. “I will never understand the people who day drink in Spain. The heat gets to me enough when I’m not drinking.”

“You and me both. I swear every Monday morning, I’ve got two or three young guys—because somehow it’salwaysthe guys—coming in for sick call because they’re more hungover than they should be.” I rolled my eyes. “No shit, junior. Your blood is half alcohol, half energy drinks, and you’ve been sweating your balls off in the heat. What do you expect?”

Alex barked a laugh. “They always have to learn the hard way, don’t they?”

“Didn’t we all?”

“Hey. I resemble that.”

I snickered. “I had one kid come in like half a dozen times because his heart was racing and he was sweating like crazy. Thought he was having heatstroke from being out on the flightline.” I tsked. “The last time, I finally told him that if he doesn’t stop mainlining energy drinks, the next time I see him will probably be for a kidney stone.”

Alex grimaced. “Think that got through?”

“Well, let’s give it a week or two.” I raised my half-empty water bottle. “If he doesn’t come back in for ‘heat exhaustion’, then maybe he got the message?”

“Fingers crossed.” He shuddered. “I’ve seen so many people with those, I’m terrified of getting one.”

“Yeah, they’re no picnic,” I muttered.

His eyes widened. “Speaking from personal or professional experience?”

“Both.” It was my turn to shudder. “I thought I was literally dying with the first one.”

“Just the first one?”

I shrugged. “Well, the second time, Iwantedto die, but I knew pretty quickly what it was. That is a pain youdonotforget.”

“Ugh. No, thanks. I swear to God, every time I see a patient with a stone, I go and chug a bottle of water while praying to everyone who might be listening.”

Laughing, I said, “Honestly, having been there done that—I don’t blame you at all.” I toasted with my water bottle before bringing it to my lips. “Bottoms up.”

He chuckled and took another drink from his own.

We still had a half hour or so before everything slammed shut for siesta, so we wandered in and out of a few shops. Given the heat—and the conversation about kidney stones—we each grabbed a second bottle of water, too, and we sipped those while we perused souvenirs. I picked up a couple of things my sons might like—a hilariously tacky picture frame and a funny T-shirt for Quinn, a book about the Mezquita for Landon. I wanted to get something for Quinn’s girlfriend, too, but I didn’t see anything here that would be to her taste.

“She’s a tough one to shop for,” I explained to Alex. “She doesn’t like the kitschy stuff, and I’m not sure what shirts or whatever would be her style.” I peered at a display of gorgeous ceramic plates and bowls. “And she’s not into really brightly colored stuff like this.”

Alex eyed the display. Then he gestured to one at the end of the aisle. “What about some of the unglazed pottery?”

I followed where he’d indicated, and oh, this looked a bit more promising. It was mostly plates and saucers along with some small tagines, and they were more muted colors—plain terra cotta, mostly. “Okay, this is definitely closer to what she likes.” I glanced at Alex. “Do you think they’ll hold up on the ride home?”

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