Motorcycles zip past with the confidence of familiarity, while elderly men in pressed shirts sit outside cafés, nursing tiny cups of coffee and solving the world's problems one conversation at a time.
As we leave the city center behind, the roads begin to climb and curve through rolling hills dotted with olive groves that stretch toward the horizon like green velvet.Vineyards appear in neat rows, their leaves rustling in the warm breeze that carries the scent of wild herbs and distant ocean.
The landscape unfolds like pages in a well-loved book, each turn revealing another vista of Spain that looks exactly like the postcards but somehow more real, more alive.
We turn onto a narrow street lined with orange trees, their fruit heavy and bright against the afternoon sun.The car slows as we approach a villa that looks like it's been plucked from the pages of a Gabriel García Márquez novel.
Weathered stone walls climb three stories, covered in climbing jasmine that spills over wrought-iron balconies.It's the kind of house that carries stories in its bones, that has watched generations grow up within its walls.
"Nick bought this place about six years ago," Nate explains as he pulls into the gravel driveway.His hands still on the wheel for a moment, and I catch him studying the house like he's still amazed to be here.
"It was the closest one to Javier's.Nick said he wanted to make sure..."He trails off, running a hand through his hair—that gesture I remember from a thousand moments of uncertainty.
"Well, he wanted to make sure I had someone looking out for me but still giving me space to figure my shit out."
There's a vulnerability in his admission that makes me want to reach for his hand, but I settle for adjusting the hem of my shorts instead, smoothing the fabric between my fingers.
"Javier must be pretty special."
"They saved my life."
The words come out simple and direct, without the dramatic weight they could carry.
"When I got here I was barely a person.Just anger and pain walking around in a body that forgot how to feel anything else."His jaw clenches, and he looks away from me toward the house.
"I guess, Javier saw something worth saving when I couldn't see it myself."
We get out of the car and Nate moves to the trunk, pulling out our bags with easy familiarity.His t-shirt rides up slightly as he reaches, and I force myself to look away from the glimpse of skin, the way his muscles move beneath the fabric.My hands find their way to smoothing my hair, then adjusting my top, restless energy that has nowhere else to go.
The front door stands unlocked, and when I raise an eyebrow, Nate grins.
"There's no need to lock up around here.Everyone is either friends or family.It's one of the safest places in the world."
He pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter first, his free hand settling briefly against the small of my back—a touch so light and brief it could be accidental, but the way my skin tingles suggests otherwise.
Inside, the villa embraces us with cool stone floors and thick walls that have weathered centuries of Spanish summers.The ceilings are high and crossed with dark wooden beams that speak of craftsmanship from another era.
Whitewashed walls are broken up by archways that lead from room to room, creating a sense of flow and openness.Modern furniture sits comfortably alongside antique pieces—a sleek leather sofa facing an ornate wooden coffee table, contemporary art hanging next to traditional Spanish tiles.
It's clear the house has been loved through multiple renovations, each owner adding their own touch while respecting the bones of what came before.
Before I can respond, the front door opens and a man emerges who can only be Javier.He's probably in his fifties, with silver threading through dark hair and lines around his eyes that speak of laughter more than worry.
There's something immediately warm about him, the kind of presence that makes you feel safer just by proximity.
"Talking about me again, guerrero?"Javier calls out, his thick accent filling the air.
He approaches with easy confidence, and I can see why Nate gravitates toward him—there's a steadiness there that feels unshakeable.Nate's laugh is genuine as he moves around to greet Javier properly.
"Only good things, I promise."He gestures toward me with obvious pride.
"Javier, this is Nora.Nora, meet the man who put up with my sorry ass for eight months."
Javier's greeting is immediate and warm—kisses on both cheeks and a hug that envelops me completely.
"Bienvenida a España, Nora.This one," he gestures toward Nate with obvious affection and whispers to me, "he talks about you constantly."
I feel heat rise in my cheeks as Nate clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.His phone buzzes against his palm, saving him from my questioning look.
