Our fathers’ shared love for the region will live on in us.
He taught her to love flavor, to find meaning in every meal. Mine taught me how to discern the best grapes and find meaning in the soil.
It’s partially why I’ve brought her here, where everything worth tasting begins with time and care. Maybeshe’ll see us and our shared family’s history in the way this land endures.
At the very least, I hope she’ll understand how deeply she has changed me.
Despite our little hiccup a couple days ago, we’ve spent the past couple days fucking, feasting, and sleeping. She laughs easily, though her eyes sometimes gaze off into the distance when she thinks I’m not watching.
I’ve let the days pass without further discussion because I haven’t wanted to pressure her. The clock is ticking, though. Her flight is in five days. Seven until she returns to reopen the restaurant she says can’t run without her.
I hope she doesn’t slip back into a life she built out of fire and fear and never taking a breath and forget about me.
Shit. It’s impossible for me to stay quiet another moment.
I slide my hand over her knee. “You’re quiet today.”
“Just watching the world go by.” Her eyes flick toward me, then drop to where my hand rests.
“Thinking about home?” She nods. Barely.
I lean closer. “Can I ask you something?”
“You’re going to anyway.” Her lips twitch intoa smile.
I squeeze her knee. “Should we discuss what happens when you leave?”
“Well.” She straightens deliberately. “I go back to my life.”
“To youroldlife?”
Her fingers curl around the stem of the glass. “Well, yeah. To my restaurant. Prep lists and late nights and payroll and sixty-hour weeks, I guess.”
“Rosa.” I study her face and witness the tension gathering behind her lashes, which is the last thing I want to see. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know how to want anything else.” She looks back out the window.
I gently cup her chin and guide her eyes toward mine. “Not true and you know it.”
“No, it’s not.” She laughs sharply.
She picks up her wine and takes a large sip. Her hand is steady, but her chest rises and falls too fast. She’s stressed. I know her tells now. I’ve kissed it out of her too many times to count.
“I would never ask you to give it all up,” I say gently. “I’m not trying to trap you in Barcelona or chain you to my bed—though, for the record, you’re welcome to stay there forever. Making you come is my favorite thing in the world.”
She huffs, but I can tell by the flash in her eyes it’s one of her favorite things too.
“Our discussion was intense. In my mind, we’re building something real,” I continue. “This is not some fling with a return date.”
Her throat works around the swallow. “You’re still sure you want something real with me?”
“Yes. I want you.”
“That’s not a plan, though.”
“It’s a start.”
She leans back, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know how this will work, Santiago. I don’t know how to go home and run my restaurant and still find space for—this.”
