Bruno smiles with an almost irritating calm.
“Maybe fate really is giving you a second chance.”
The words hang between them as they cross a crowded street. The light turns green and the crowd moves forward, but Rebeca feels as if her feet are glued to the pavement.
She exhales sharply, letting all the air out of her lungs.
“Right.” Her tone sounds almost sharp. Maybe because she doesn’t really believe it. “A second chance where we’re both cheating on Julia. Where we kiss in secret, touch each other in the dark, and then pretend everything’s fine. That doesn’t exactly sound romantic to me, Bruno.”
He watches her closely, without looking away.
“But you don’t regret it either,” he says, and the statement weighs heavily on Rebeca.
For a second, Rebeca feels the air trapped in her chest. Her heart pounds against her ribs in a frantic rhythm.
She keeps walking, looking straight ahead, as if the answer might appear written on one of the facades passing by her, in the golden letters of the shops, the balconies with geraniums, but the truth is that everything blurs.
Finally, she sighs.
“I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore,” Rebeca admits. “Some days I hate her for leaving. Some days I hate her for finding her again. And some nights…” She pauses and swallows. “Some nights I just want her to kiss me until I forget how to breathe without her.”
Bruno watches her, and a smile appears on his lips.
“Don’t worry,” he says, giving her a little nudge. “Going a little crazy sometimes is part of the process. Especially when your heart has been lying to itself for years.”
“I guess so…”
A few minutes later, they decide to go into a nearby café.
The place is located on a bright corner, with large windows that let in the midday light. Inside, the atmosphere is cozy and relaxed. Several tables are occupied by people chatting quietly while enjoying brunch, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with that of the food.
They sit by the window at a small table, and Bruno sets the bags aside with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Finally,” he sighs, stretching his arms. “I think I’ve developed new muscles just for you,” he jokes, and Rebeca rolls her eyes.
A waitress approaches with a friendly smile. After glancing at the menu for a few seconds, Rebeca orders rustic toast with avocado, sun-dried tomatoes, a poached egg, and a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil, accompanied by a strong latte. Bruno, for his part, settles on scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, a small salad of sprouts and arugula, and a cappuccino sprinkled with cinnamon.
When the waitress leaves, Rebeca leans back in her chair and lets her gaze wander out onto the street.
Santander stretches out on the other side of the glass with a quiet beauty. People walk along the sidewalk, some couples stop in front of the shop windows, a woman walks a small dog that moves enthusiastically among the passersby…
There is something about this city that calms her. Something that makes her feel, at times, as if her life could slowly fall into place, piece by piece.
Bruno rests his elbows on the table, drops his chin onto his hands, and watches her with a mischievous smile that lights up his eyes.
“Come on,” he says.
Rebeca raises an eyebrow.
“Let’s go where?”
“You know,” he insists, tilting his head slightly. “Just say what you’re thinking.”
Rebeca sighs. She hesitates for a few seconds, fingering the edge of the tablecloth. But finally she speaks.
“What do you want me to say? That I love her?” The words come out of Rebeca’s lips in a low voice, almost as if she were afraid someone else might hear them. “I think I always have. Even when I hated her. Even when I swore I’d never feel this way again.”
Her gaze remains fixed on the table, on the imperfections in the tablecloth.
