Rebeca closes her eyes for a moment. The wind ruffles her hair, and when she opens them, Martina is looking at her with a mixture of fear and determination.
“Tell me you feel it too,” she whispers, taking a small step toward her. “Tell me I’m not the only one who dies a little every time we run into each other on the landing and have to pretend there’s nothing between us anymore.”
Rebeca exhales shakily.
“Of course I feel it, damn it,” Rebeca admits without further ado. “Every time. Every damn time.”
Martina takes another step closer, and their foreheads almost touch.
“Then let’s not pretend anymore,” she says. “At least for tonight.”
Rebeca doesn’t respond with words. She just squeezes Martina’s fingers, and they start walking again, more slowly, as if they wanted to stretch out the time they have left before returning to the real world.
Silence falls over them once more. Rebeca feels the heat slowly rising through her chest as she remembers Martina’s fingers inside her, the way her thumb moved until it made her tremble, the taste of her mouth when they kissed against the rock.
She doesn’t know how long they keep walking like this. The sound of the sea mingles with the rustle of their footsteps on the sand, with the gentle wind that ruffles a few strands of her hair. But finally, the distant lights of the boardwalk begin to draw near, and the real world returns little by little, bringing its consequences with it.
Rebeca feels a distinct weight in her stomach when she sees the silhouette of the bar in the distance. Before they arrive, Martina loosens her grip on her hand and their fingers slowly part, as if they both knew this was what had to happen before they went back inside. The last touch disappears, but Rebeca’s skin retains the lingering sensation of that wonderful warmth.
They walk the last few meters in silence, and as they round the corner of the building, the sound of music returns, seeping through the half-open door. A life they must return to, no matter how much they don’t want to.
“Hey!”
Eva is the first to see them. She raises her hands in the air enthusiastically.
“We thought we’d lost you!”
Naima turns toward them with a broad smile, and Zule raises her glass.
“Or something even better.”
Laughter erupts among the group. Cora smiles too, leaning against the bar with an amused expression. The atmosphere is warm, lively, completely removed from the emotional whirlwind that Rebeca still carries inside her chest.
Ariadna approaches her almost immediately and leans in close to her ear to speak without the others hearing.
“I thought you were lost.” Rebeca tries to stay calm. Ariadna narrows her eyes as she watches her closely. “Is everything okay?”
The question seems simple. But Rebeca feels her heart pounding harder against her ribs. For a second, she thinks about everything that has happened in the last hour. The kiss in the alley. The walk along the beach. Martina’s words. The way her body still remembers every one of her caresses.
Then she looks across the group. Martina is talking to Cora. She smiles as she says something Rebeca can’t quite hear. That gesture—the soft curve of her lips, the way the bar’s light illuminates her face—triggers an immediate, undeniable reaction in her chest. A danger she no longer wants to resist. Because that danger is also tinged with love.
Rebeca looks back at Ariadna and nods.
“Yes, let’s have one last drink.”
Chapter 18
The sky over Santander stretches clear above the city, and the air still retains that coolness that makes you button your jacket slightly as you walk down the street. The bustle of the day begins to unfold naturally as Rebeca Noriega listens to the sound of traffic and watches the buses stop at the various stops, bringing with them the murmur of people chatting as they stroll by.
Rebeca walks past the shop windows with her hands buried in her jacket pockets. The sun caresses the stone and glass facades, and she feels that same light seeping between her ribs, warming the skin that still holds the memory of her last encounter with Martina.
Beside her, Bruno walks along laden with several paper bags hanging from his arms as if they were trophies from a small urban expedition. They left a clothing store on one of the downtown shopping streets a while ago, and now they’re crossing the liveliest part of the city, where elegant buildings cast long shadows on the pavement.
They’ve spent the last hour going in and out of stores. First a bookstore where Bruno insisted on browsing the new releases, eagerly flipping through the glossy covers while commenting aloud on titles that, according to him, “Rebeca urgently needed on her nightstand. Even if you’re not the excellent translator.” Then they visited a clothing store where she ended up trying onmore items than she had planned, twirling in front of the mirror in skinny jeans and linen shirts that smelled of new possibilities. And then a small boutique where Bruno found a navy blue cashmere scarf that, according to him, “perfectly defines her personality: elegant, a bit dramatic, and prone to getting tangled up in other people’s feelings.”
Now they’re heading toward the main square as the city moves around them with a vibrant calm.
Bruno lifts one of the bags and shakes it lightly.
