“Sí, we do,” Fernando agrees. “I’ve forgotten how much I love Don Antonio’s cooking. It’s the first time I’ve been back here in three years. I don’t get to Madrid too often unless it’s to see family or for a skating engagement.”
“You seemed to be in your element when we were walking around. What lured you away from the city?”
He sets his fork and knife down on the plate and wipes his mouth on his napkin. “I loved living here, but when the coach I was training under decided he wanted to relocate to the mountains, the choice was either follow him or find a new coach. My partner at the time, Sylvie, made it clear she was following our coach. Without her, I couldn’t skate. So I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“That must have been a big adjustment to go from living in a big city to a small town.”
“It was.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Bosque-Beret is a lot smaller than Sequoia Valley. Most of the residents up there were competitive skiers, snowboarders, or coaches. I think during the peak of the winter season, there might’ve been about two hundred people living there.”
“That’s tiny!”
“It is.” He nods. “There wasn’t much to do either. We had a hotel, a post office, a ski shop, the rink, a tiny convenience store, and a petrol station.”
“There wasn’t even a coffee shop?”
“Nope,” he says. “I mean, there was one inside the hotel, but it was overpriced. A coffee should never cost four euros.”
“Could you escape to the next closest town?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “It was too far away—about an hour by car. And that’s without any heavy snowfall.”
“Ouch,” I hiss.
“Uh-huh.” He picks up his cutlery and stabs a piece of his omelet. “Sylvie and our coach claimed it was the perfect training environment since we couldn’t get distracted.” He sighs. “It was like the cruise ship for me. I told myself I’d try and stick it out for six months, but I barely made it to two.” He sighs. “When I broke the news to Sylvie that I wanted to move back to Madrid, we decided to end our partnership. That was the end of my competitive skating career.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” He chuckles. “We were never a good fit to begin with. She was all business, I wasn’t. She wanted to go to Worlds and the Olympics, I didn’t. Going our separate ways was the best thing for both of us. It led me to the cruise line and allowed her to find someone who shared the same goals she did.” He takes a long sip of water. “You look confused.”
“I am,” I admit. “I guess I’m surprised she wouldn’t try and fight harder to save your partnership. It can’t be easy starting with a new guy from scratch.”
“You’re right, it’s like finding the right person to date. When you’re looking for a partner, there’s a lot of boxes that have to be checked. For example, you want someone with a similar technique to yours. If not, it takes months to marry your skills together so you’re both on the same page.”
“Wow.”
Fernando spends the remainder of our meal filling me in on the challenges of finding a pairs partner. I learn that there are way more female skaters than male partners available and that it’s notuncommon for skaters at the highest level to have to relocate and change nationalities to pursue their skating dreams.
In Fernando’s case, his old partner ended up moving to France to skate, while he decided not to bother with another partner. He knew he wanted to pursue show skating.
“That’s a lot to sacrifice,” I tell him. “You have to want it pretty badly to go to extremes like those.”
“Indeed. There are times I’ve wondered if becoming a skater was all worth it. It’s made my personal life a mess. But on the other hand, it’s also given me a lot of opportunities too, like traveling the world.”
Is he alluding to his romantic life? If he is, I’m baffled. This man is a hidden gem. Or as the Cave of Wonders fromAladdinmight say, “A diamond in the rough.” In all the time I’ve spent with him, he always looks so sad whenever I bring up dating or the past. What happened? And will he ever be able to find his own happy ending?
Chapter Fifteen
After settling the bill and letting Don Antonio know how much we enjoyed his food, we finally arrive at the Mercado de Navidad, the annual Christmas market held in Madrid’s main square, Plaza Mayor.
“Does this look like it beats the holiday craft market from back home?” Fernando jokes.
I slowly nod, overwhelmed by what I’m seeing. “So much better.”
Although it’s still early in the afternoon, the market is bustling with crowds. There are about a hundred booths trimmed in red lights lining the perimeter of the square. They’re selling everything from food and drinks to practical jokes. In the center of the Plaza Mayor, there’s a towering fifty-foot Christmas tree also decorated with ruby-red lights and glistening gold stars. Loudspeakers play holiday-themed music.
“Where do we start?” I mutter.
“As your tour guide, I say let’s go left and make a giant circle.”
