“No stress allowed. You’re on vacation.” We make another left on a street so narrow that we’re forced to walk single file. “All you need is a little help. If you’re open to it, one of my bosses, Leslie, is a marketing genius. I’m sure she’d love to help you out. She’d be all over helping another female business owner.” He glances over his shoulder. “Leslie and her brother built up the business at the Sequoia Valley Ice Sports Complex from scratch. She’s the reason there’s always a waiting list for our hockey program.”
Ding. Ding. Ding. He just admitted he’s a hockey coach! I was close on the consultant thing. “She sounds like a force to be reckoned with,” I muse as I soak in the scene before us.
“She is, believe me.”
“If you think she’d be willing to offer some advice, I’ll take it.”
“Perfécto. Remind me and I’ll give you her contact information as soon as you’re back.”
“I will.”
At the top of a hill, we reach a majestic vista point overlooking the city. The view takes my breath away: red-tiled roofs stretching out to meet the Tagus River, the bridge arching over the water in the distance, and beyond it, the soft rise of the hills.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
“Sí, it is.”
We stand in silence, each lost in our thoughts. I should besoaking in Lisbon, but my mind is whirling with thoughts about Fernando. I steal a glance in his direction. His sculpted arms are resting on the safety railing. The morning light is half hitting his face like a spotlight, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and lightening his dark-brown locks. If I saw a photo of him like this on a dating app, I wouldn’t hesitate to click on his profile.
I study his body again. He has massive legs to go with his imposing upper body. I bet he was an international star. I don’t know much about hockey, but I might have just found a reason to start watching a few games.
We spend the next couple of hours hopping from one place to the next without any clear plans or destination in mind. We see the famous Belém Tower, its stone arches and turrets rising proudly against the backdrop of the Tagus River, and the beautiful Gothic spires and intricate stonework of the Jerónimos Monastery.
By the late afternoon, we’re in the heart of the old town, Praça do Comércio. It’s a massive open square by the river with views that stretch to the hills. Street musicians play softly nearby, the warm breeze carrying the melody as we sit on a bench, sharing more pastel de natas.
“How are you doing, Ava? Is my aimless wandering stressing you out?” Fernando asks, polishing off the last pastry in the takeaway bag.
“I’m enjoying myself more than I have in a long time. I thought I might get FOMO, but Lisbon is a lot more fun when you don’t have to rush from site to site,” I answer honestly, watching some ships slowly sail past us in the distance.
This morning, it was a struggle to not look at a map or pull out my phone every time we got lost, but now that it’s been a couple hours, it’s starting to feel more natural.
“What’s FOMO?” Fernando wrinkles his forehead. “I’ve never heard that before.”
“The fear of missing out.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” He chuckles. “Even after all this time, there’s still some English words that are foreign to me. Usually, it’s something the kids at work say, like bruh or rizz. By the time I learn what it means, those slang terms are out.”
“Do you ever try to use them in a sentence?” I joke.
“Once or twice, but all I got were blank stares.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what either of those words mean.” As I finish my snack, I take inventory of my body. My eyes itch, my feet are sore, and I can’t stop yawning. “I think after this, I’ll be ready to head to the car. The jet lag is starting to catch up with me.”
“You’re the boss.” He starts to collect some of our garbage. “I’ll leave it up to you, but when we leave Lisbon, there are two different routes we could take. We could travel up Portugal’s coast toward Porto, or we can travel south and into Spain.”
“Fernando,” I whine. “That’s stressful. Can’t you make the decision for me?”
“Nuh-uh. This adventure is foryou.You’re the one who makes the call.”
I huff and rub my temples. “I’m starting to get a headache just thinking about it. I guess I’d better check the guidebook.”
“No.” He places a hand on mine to stop me from reaching inside my bag. It’s warm and sends a few tingles up my arm. “You don’t want to give yourself FODO. Go with your first instinct.”
“It’s FOMO, and way to use my words against me.”
He shrugs in a silent apology.
I take a deep breath. Most of the reading I did on the plane was on Portugal. It has so much unique history and quite a few cities and places I definitely want to visit again in the future. Spending the rest of the day driving up Portugal’s coast could scratch some of that itch,but I came here for Spain. I’ve already lost a day thanks to the flight cancellation. I don’t want any more of my short time here to get eaten up. “We’ll go southeast into Spain.”
