The young woman smiled, lighting up her face. “Excuse me,” she said in heavily accented Spanish. American perhaps. “Does anyone here speak English?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. She’d probably learned a few phrases on the plane and wouldn’t have understood either of their comments in Spanish.
“I do,” said Isaac, stepping forward. Vince shot him a surprised look. It wasn’t like him to be the first to speak. “We do,” Isaac amended with a small smile for his brother. “How can we help?”
Breath whooshed out of her as she swiveled to face both of them in their biking helmets and black and red spandex. “I’mlooking for a place to stay for a week or two. Someplace that won’t cost too much.”
“They almost always have a room or two at the Inn.” Vince’s English was the better of the two of them, and he’d proclaimed his interest first. That’s how the bro-code worked.
Isaac couldn’t help a twinge of disappointment at Vince’s slick offer of advice. He found it interesting that she didn’t have a reservation. These days, most travelers arrived with a destination and a room they’d booked online.
“Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?” She smoothed her wrinkled skirt and stretched, perhaps limbering up after the bus ride from the city. Her movements reminded him of an athlete and showed off a slim figure with curves in all the right places.
“I can show you.” Isaac turned to his brother. In Spanish, he said, “Don’t leave. I’ll be back in less than five minutes. I’m still going on the training ride.”
Vince responded in their language. “I’ll wait. Ask her round the house later for a drink with me.”
Why didn’t his brother ask her himself? They weren’t in middle school. Still, Isaac nodded. What harm could it do? Vince seemed serious. Pretty. American. Temporary. That checked a lot of boxes for his brother.
“Can you watch my bike?” Isaac asked his brother in English so the girl would understand. “I’m Isaac Vasquez, and this is my brother, Vince Vasquez.” He paused a heartbeat to see if she recognized his brother’s name, though as an American that might be a longshot. European women were more likely to follow their particular league of motorcycle racing.
Her cheerful smile remained the same. “I’m Anna.”
“Do you have more luggage?” said Isaac, expecting to collect a couple heavy suitcases from the bus luggage compartment.
“Just the one.” She indicated a small hard case by her feet.
“I’ll take it,” he said, crossing the pavement to collect it. Up close, her eyes had flecks of yellow in the brown that gave her an exotic look, like a rare bird. He hefted her suitcase, discovering it weighed less than expected. She couldn’t have much in it, which was intriguing. Most people over-packed for long trips. Maybe she was here on business, though he couldn’t imagine what business would take a week or two in Cervera in March, the off season.
Her ponytail swished back and forth when she hefted her laptop bag over her shoulder before picking up an airport shopping bag from Barcelona. He’d bet there was a story behind traveling this far with just carry-on baggage.
“Maybe you can also direct me toward a store or two. I brought a toothbrush, but my trip was spur of the moment.”
For a second, he didn’t recognize the expression. Americans had odd ways of saying so many things. Her trip had been unplanned. What would it be like to be so carefree? His life was accounted for in specific increments. He measured his time on the motorbike in blocks of forty-five minutes, laps by seconds, and races to the thousandth of a second—infinitesimal differences mattered.
“The inn is this way,” He extended his hand, offering to take her shopping tote bag since she’d insisted on keeping her laptop. She hesitated a second but handed it over, though he was a stranger. It, too, was light. Perhaps not much more than a couple books inside.
As they strolled down Primera Calle, or First Street, she said, “Is there anywhere in town to buy books in English? I hadn’t thought of that before I left Seattle.”
He shook his head. She must plan to spend time reading if the books she had weren’t enough for her week or two. He understood, as he was also an avid reader. “Perhaps online. You could read on your laptop.”
“I have an iPad too. It’s more portable,” she patted her laptop case. “Thanks. That’s a smart idea, even if I like the feel of paper books better.”
“Bigger cities, like Madrid or Barcelona, will have several bookstores with English titles,” he said, ambling at her side. He wanted to ask her to go to the city with him one day, but Vince would be upset if he thought Isaac was moving in on the pretty American. The bro-code meant if Vince was interested, Isaac backed off. It was kind of one-sided.
The white-washed Inn stood only two blocks from the town square, with a wrought iron arch out front that read, “La Posada.” In Spanish it meant simply, the Inn—not the most original name, but it fit. The building was a two-story villa in the village’s heart that had been converted to a bed-and-breakfast about ten years earlier. Because it was spring, they should still have rooms, even without a reservation.
He could have left Anna at the entrance, but wanting to make sure everything worked out, he accompanied her inside. A bell jangled as they crossed the cool tile floor and the temperature dropped by several degrees. Goosebumps rose on his bare arms. Though cool now, old buildings like this were a respite in the summer heat. An image of himself and Anna flashed through his mind—the two of them snuggling by the fireplace and watching a movie together. What was wrong with him?
Quick footsteps clicked toward them from the hallway ahead and the clerk arrived in the burgundy and tan lobby. Isaac smiled at the familiar young woman who slid behind the counter. He’d forgotten that Catarina Navarro worked here—taking over when her father had undergone cancer treatment. She’d been one of his friends growing up and Vince’s girlfriend for about a month, several years ago. They’d parted on amicable terms and remained friends. Not an easy feat, even for someone like Vince.
“Isaac,” Catarina said with a grin.
She came forward and kissed him on both cheeks. Though a common European practice, his face flamed with the pretty American at his side. Would she get the wrong impression about himself and Catarina? Despite Vince’s declaration, Isaac couldn’t deny his attraction.
“Who is this?” Catarina rested her hand on his arm.
He stepped back to put a little more distance between himself and his friend. “This is Anna,” he said, switching to English once more so the newcomer wouldn’t feel left out. “She just arrived on the bus and was hoping to find a place to stay for a week or two.” He looked at Anna for confirmation as he handed back her luggage. “This is Catarina. A friend.” Was he babbling?
