I take a long sip from the cold hotel coffee I brewed an hour ago. Its bitter taste settles on my tongue. “Dreams on Ice... is that the show with all the fairy-tale characters like Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella?” I vaguely remember Daphne taking the kids to see something like that in Fresno a couple months ago.
“Uh-huh. Gemma was Cinderella. And my other friend who lives in Sequoia Valley, Frankie, she was Belle.”
“And who were you?”
“I think the better question is who didn’t I play. I’ve been Prince Charming, the Beast, Aladdin. The list goes on and on. We had more girls than guys, so we always had to double up our roles.”
“Go figure,” I say, trying to picture him in one of those costumes. “You’re full of surprises.”
“Yes, I am,” he boasts, puffing his chest out.
There are so many questions floating through my head. Skating professionally sounds fascinating. “How long did you tour?”
“Ten years, give or take. One with the cruise line and nine with DOI. It was the best way to get out of Spain and see the world. It’s funny, I never saw myself becoming a coach, but there aren’t many alternative jobs if I want to stay involved in skating.”
I knit my eyebrows together. “Oh. I thought you’d enjoy coaching.”
“I do now, but when I was younger, I couldn’t stand the thought of be being stuck in a rink teaching my students the samethings day after day. I wanted to get out in front of a crowd and perform.”
I nod. “I can understand that. I spent so many hours locked away in libraries studying when I was an undergrad and in vet school that I couldn’t wait to be done and get out into the field. Even if somebody paid me a million dollars, I’d never want to go back to a classroom and become a teacher or researcher. I’ve done enough studying to last a lifetime.” I take another drink of my awful coffee. It gets worse with each sip. “I guess my next question is what changed your mind?”
“I matured. The last couple of years I was with Dreams on Ice, I ended up teaching the incoming skaters some of the tricks I’d picked up over the years. And I enjoyed it. I learned I was dead wrong about coaching. You don’t do the same things every day. Every student is an individual. They have different skill levels and learn at different paces.”
“I’m happy it’s worked out for you.”
“Me too. So far, living and working in Sequoia Valley has been better than I ever could’ve imagined.”
Arriving in Seville around midday, we find another hotel and grab some lunch before setting out to explore the city.
“I don’t know what I was expecting, but Seville is so different compared to Lisbon.” I take out my camera and snap a photo of a couple of orange trees, their branches filled with baby fruits. Fernando, however, is less impressed, mentioning that his hometown has oranges that taste much sweeter.
Just like our last city, we forego using a map and ramble around. Our first stop ends up being one of Seville’s main squares, the Plaza de España. My eyes widen as I take in the wide canal and brightly colored mosaic tiles on the surrounding walls. “How many are there?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but I think there’s close to fifty.”Fernando rubs the back of his neck. “From what I remember, each scene is supposed to represent a different aspect of the region’s food and culture. It was built for a World’s Fair back in the 1920s.”
“When was the last time you were here?”
“When I was fifteen or sixteen. Mamá loves this city. We used to vacation here once a year.”
I study his facial features, noting the lines on his forehead. “You didn’t enjoy it much?”
“It was all right. We came in summer, and it was hot, hot, hot. I remember always feeling sick everywhere we went and counting down the minutes until we could go back to our hotel room, not that there was much relief there either. Most hotels in Europe don’t have air conditioning.” He grimaces. “I don’t like the heat. I’m cold-blooded, like a reptile. I guess that’s why I love skating.”
“Ouch. I’m not a fan of hot weather either.”
He nods. “One thing I love about living in America is that there’s AC everywhere. I don’t know how I went so long without it!”
I make my own mental note to avoid a return trip to Europe in the summer. Crowds and heat are not my vibes. There’s a reason I’ve always preferred living in the mountains.
We stroll along the water’s edge, passing rowboats drifting lazily under the arched bridges. The sunlight reflects off the water, casting rippling patterns on the ceramic tiles. I stop every few steps to snap photos, each angle more beautiful than the last.
As we turn the corner, we hear the sound of flamenco music. A small crowd has gathered in front of a talented street performer playing a guitar. A few people are dancing.
The upbeat melody has me tapping my hand against my thigh to the beat. “This guy is good.”
“He is,” Fernando agrees, tossing a few euros into his guitar case. The man tips his cap to us in thanks. Fernando turns to me. “Would you care to dance, Ava?”
“Dance?” I sputter. I can’t imagine a worse way to embarrassmyself in public. “Like I said the other day, I’m not coordinated.” I point to my sneakers. “I was born with two left feet.”
