“How did your parents take to it?” I ask.
“My madre was supportive.”
“And your dad?”
“He accepted the idea eventually.” Fernando hesitates for a beat too long. “He had hopes of me becoming a footballer, playing basketball, or even tennis. But figure skating... it was a shock to his system.” He takes a deep breath. “We don’t talk about it much.”
My chest tightens at the sadness in his voice. “That must’ve been hard.”
Fernando shrugs again, but it feels forced. “It is what it is.”
The car remains silent except for the sound of the GPS warning us to look for a junction ahead in ten kilometers.
There are so many more layers to the man sitting next to me than I ever imagined. Just as I feel like I’m beginning to get to know him, he surprises me. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s awesome that you ice skate. Maybe someday I can talk you into giving me a lesson. I’m terrible.”
His grip on the wheel loosens. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “And I’d be happy to anytime.”
“It might come sooner than you think. My niece and nephew go every holiday season, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out of it again this year. I’m running out of excuses,” I joke.
His eyes shift in my direction. “When was the last time you went?”
“I think I was in high school? So ten-plus years?”
His eyes widen. “That long?”
“Yeah. I’m not very coordinated. The last time I went, it was like I had a pair of bananas tied to my feet. I fell so many times, even gripping the wall.”
“I can fix that,” he says with an air of confidence.
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
“How do you know I’m not a lost cause?”
His eyes glimmer. “Because I’m a great coach.”
“Mm-hmm.” I chuckle. “We’ll see about that.” I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m not good. I’m terrible. After my last time, I swore I’d avoid ice skating again at all costs, but the competitor inside of me is always up for a challenge.
Chapter Eleven
We make it to the small town of Tavira in two hours. I enjoy our conversation so much that I don’t realize we’re here until Fernando’s phone says, “Arrived at your destination.”
We agree to stop at the first hotel we find that looks halfway decent along the main road. Luckily it doesn’t take long. We promptly book two rooms, bid one another good night, and crash. My body is so exhausted by this point that I don’t even bother removing my clothes before I fall asleep.
It’s around ten the next morning by the time we’re ready to get back on the road.
“How did you sleep last night, Ava?” Fernando asks me.
“Like Sleeping Beauty. I could’ve slept a hundred years.” I cover a yawn with my hand. “I’m still tired now.”
“That’s the jet lag talking. Trust me, from experience, once we get to Seville and you start walking around, you’ll be wide awake,” he says.
This morning, Fernando hasn’t bothered to shave. His jaw is coated in a thin layer of stubble. It’s a good look for him. I take adeep breath and admire the way the maroon cable-knit sweater and jeans fit him. Late December in Spain is just as cool as Sequoia Valley. It’s in the low sixties.
“Would that be from the experience of traveling for competitions?”
“Yes and no. I did some traveling when I competed, but most of what I know comes from skating with Dreams on Ice. We’d go to a new city every few days. It wasn’t bad in North America, but in Europe it could be tough. There are a lot of time zones spread out over a small area.”
