“Why the left over the right?”
“Because I’d like to try some hot cider.” He points to a queue about ten people deep. “If the line’s long, you know it tastes good.”
“I like your logic.” We share a laugh, making our way to the end of the line. “While we’re waiting, let’s take some couple selfies too. We’ve been slacking in that department.”
“You’re right,” he groans. “Mamá is pestering me for some photos. I’ve been stalling. I don’t know how much longer I can put her off. She’s not a woman I can say no to.”
We turn backward, and I loop my arm around his back. We squeeze in together and he snaps a few images of us with the tree in the background.
“How did it turn out?”
He hands me his phone. “See for yourself.”
I tap the burst of images. The two of us are smiling and look happy, but to me it’s obvious we’re a fake couple. “They’re okay, but we’re too stiff and formal.”
He squints at the screen. “You think it’s decent enough to fool Mamá and the tías?”
I chew on my lip. “I doubt it.”
“How can we fix it?”
I take a moment to consider his question. “We need to be relaxed. Maybe we buy one of the jokes and have the stall owner take some pictures or a video of us opening it up and reading it?”
“I see where you’re going with this. We need to be doing stuff where we can be more candid.” His eyes dart around the market. “There’s a lot of places around here we can play with, like riding the carousel, taking a photo with Papá Noel, and even ice skating.”
My pulse quickens and my voice comes out shaky as I say, “Yes, to the first two, but ice skating?”
His face falls when he sees my stiff reaction. Quickly, he adds, “If we go skating, I’ll have your back the entire time. I promise, I won’t let you fall. But there’s no pressure.”
Skating with Fernando is tempting, especially when it means being in his arms for an hour or two. However, I also don’t fancymaking a fool of myself in front of him. “I’ll think about it,” I say softly.
“That’s all I ask.”
We’ve played around the market over the last three hours, capturing photos of us trying everything there is to do until all that’s left is stepping foot on the ice.
“Come on, Ava, youneedthe full experience,” Fernando says to me. “If there is anything that will convince my family we’re a couple, it’s me and you on the ice together.”
I don’t have a counterargument to that, so we head to the rink. He’s right. A real girlfriend would absolutely take advantage of having a boyfriend who’s a professional ice skater.
My breath hitches as I secure my laces. I can’t believe I let Fernando talk me into this. “Have I done this right?” I ask, staring down at the teal-colored plastic rental skate.
He scoots closer and leans over to inspect my handiwork. He slips his hand into the skate and checks the pressure. “This feels secure. Try standing and let me know what you think.”
Getting to his feet, he offers me his hand. It takes two seconds for me to feel like I’m wearing a pair of clown shoes that are two sizes too big. My ankles roll inward, and I place all my weight on Fernando. The top edges of the skate dig into the tender skin above the bone. “Um, not good.” I grit my teeth.
He helps me sit back down, then kneels, checking the fit again. “What size did you ask for?”
“I think I asked for a thirty-eight. It was weird when I did the conversion on my phone. It said European shoes don’t come in half sizes.”
“They normally don’t, but in skates, they do.” He frowns. “What’s your American shoe size?”
“Six and a half.”
“Then we need to try a thirty-six, thirty-six and a half, and a thirty-seven on you. You usually size down in skates, but with rentals it’s a toss-up. Your skates hurt because they’re too big. This is an easy fix.” He unties the skates and collects them. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks to the counter in his own rental skates with the ease of a model wearing high heels. His jeans hug his butt, giving him a perfect peach shape. Can he skate in something that tight? I hope they don’t rip on him. Although if they do, I’d get a chance to see what’s underneath. If it’s anything like his arms, I’m sure he’s ripped. My body warms like a tea kettle on the stove. I don’t really want to share that with the rest of Madrid though. I want to be the only person to enjoy it.
Turning my attention to the ice, I watch as the people glide past me. Some of the skaters are gripping the wall for dear life like I would. They’re using their arms to pull themselves along, giving themselves an intense arm workout. A handful of kids hover near their parents, while others are racing one another, weaving in and out of the crowd.
