Joey stepped out of the shower and rubbed her hair vigorously with an old, rough towel. Yes. Vanessa had been drunk. Why on earth would she look at Joey? A woman likethat could have anyone she wanted. And Joey, well, Joey didn’t do relationships. They didn’t end well. She had decided long ago to avoid things that didn’t serve her.
As she dressed, Joey reminded herself of the last time she’d let someone in. The last time she’d been in a shower with another person, allowed herself to be vulnerable with another person. She shook her head. No. She wasn’t ever going to let that happen again. She pulled on some shorts and looked down at the anchor tattoo on her ankle – an anchor on a rope, intertwined with a shield. A timely reminder. She had to be true to herself.
She picked up a book and a glass of ice-cold water and sat on the balcony. The height of the buildings meant she was in shade as she escaped into the fictional fantasy world of the vampire series she was working her way through. There was something freeing about these kinds of stories. They were so far from her reality, and featured strong, heroic women who didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought of them.
Chapter Fourteen
JOEY’S NAPOLITANA RECIPE
Melt 125g of chopped chocolate (the darker, the better) with 40g of butter in a bain marie. Let it cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally. Chop an additional 15g of chocolate and set aside. Preheat the oven to 200°C.
Make the puff pastry, or rough puff if you’re pressed for time.
Roll a rectangular sheet of pastry onto grease-proof paper and cut into 6–8 equal rectangles.
Spread the chocolate cream and fold the ends in half. Brush the edges with apricot jam.
Turn them over, so that the fold is facing down.
Brush with jam and bake for 15–17 minutes.
Remove from the oven and sprinkle the chopped chocolate on top.
Best enjoyed with a strong espresso.
Chapter Fifteen
VANESSA
Dani was an excellent Spanish teacher. She was enthusiastic and thoughtful and worked hard to help Vanessa understand the key words and concepts.
After her lesson, Vanessa strolled along the streets of old Barcelona. There was an intensity to the closeness of the tall buildings, the sheer number of people living in close quarters. Shops came thick and fast, then cafes and bakeries, their windows always full of beautiful bakes. She couldn’t resist stopping and looking. She could see how different establishments served their Napolitanas in different ways. She couldn’t imagine any of them would be better than Joey’s.
Vanessa continued walking. Joey’s pastries. Joey’s hands manipulating the dough. Her intense eyes, last night. Her gruff gentleness this morning. She couldn’t help but feel there was something there. But she had been so businesslike this morning. Except that moment she’d reached out and touched Vanessa’s arm. Vanessa wasn’t sure whether it wasthe lingering effect of the hangover, but she could still feel Joey’s touch now.
Vanessa knew that Joey didn’t do relationships. That much seemed clear from the little she’d said and things Vanessa had overheard Carmen saying to her. She was desperate to know why, but Joey’s walls seemed strong and high. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Joey would answer if she asked, more that she didn’t feel like asking was even a possibility.
She reached the street she was staying on, looking in the windows of the other shops, then came to a stop. There, set into the wall, were two pictures, depicted on painted tiles. On one there was what looked like an old-style grand living room from years gone by, featuring a man and a woman sitting side by side on a sofa, with an older lady next to them holding a fan. It looked a little like a scene fromBridgerton. There were words underneath:De quant encore era nou i romantic el dinou.While her Spanish was improving, this didn’t mean much to her. She used her phone to get a translation, aware that it might not be entirely accurate.
How new and romantic the nineteenth century still was, suggested Google. Vanessa furrowed her brow. She was certain the modern world could be every bit as romantic as the past, and she was delighted she didn’t have to endure an old lady with a fan. There was another, similar picture below the living room scene. This time the figures from the nineteenth century were on a street – a crowd going about their business, doing their shopping perhaps. The words this time read:De llevant i de donent tot el die hi passagent. This one made more sense.
From East to West, passing by all day long.That certainly characterised the street they were on. Bustling with people going this way and that.
“You like our history?” Carmen had crept up behind her.
“I do,” said Vanessa, whirling round with a smile.
Carmen’s face was rosy and her dark hair tousled. She was just locking up the cafe. “Part of the Catalan tradition from the late eighteen hundreds and early nineteen hundreds. Celebrating our identity.” The older woman placed her hand over her heart.
“They’re beautiful,” said Vanessa.
“You should get Joey to take you to the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya. I think you’d like it.” Carmen smiled. “Now I must get home. See you tomorrow?”
“See you then. Have a nice evening,” Vanessa replied with a wave. She wasn’t sure if Joey would want to take her there. But it sounded interesting, and she hadn’t yet had the chance to explore the city as much as she’d hoped to.
Vanessa was exhausted after a late night, a hangover, baking and learning Spanish. She was in bed embarrassingly early, and sleep came almost immediately.
“You look a healthier colour this morning,” said Joey with a wink when Vanessa walked into the bakery early the next day.
