Page 27 of Dream Chaser

“So good,” I said as soon as I swallowed. “Best paella I’ve ever had.”

He smiled. “It’s only the second paella you’ve ever had.”

“Still, it’s way more delicious than the one we had last week.”

“You should tell Manu that,” Alejandro said. “He’ll be happy.”

As we ate, Alejandro watched me with a hint of a smile. He must’ve been happy that I liked his friend’s cooking. Or maybe, like me, he was enjoying the relaxing break after the long journey and a stressful afternoon.

Stressful for him, anyway. For me, it was a million times less taxing than what awaited me in Emerport.

***

After dinner, we strolled down Passeig de Gràcia. I took pictures of the whimsical facade of Casa Batlló, whose multicolored mosaics reminded me of dragon scales. Lights danced over the walls, and a few other passersby stopped and stared like me.

“Stand over there,” Alejandro told me, pulling out his phone. “So I can take a picture. I’ll send it to you.”

I posed in front of the glass and ceramic facade, offering the camera a genuine smile. It might’ve been all the wine and the delicious food talking, but tonight, the weight of my sadness didn’t feel as heavy.

Maybe everything would be all right once I was back in Emerport. Maybe I’d convince Alejandro to hire me permanently.

Alejandro took his time, capturing several pictures from different angles as if he actually cared about how I looked in them. I couldn’t remember the last time someone bothered to take a photo of me. It might have been at my wedding.

“Check,” he said, handing me his cell. “If you don’t like them, I’ll take another one. You’re the photographer. Your judgment is better.”

I scrolled through his gallery. My chest squeezed—there I was, against the spectacular backdrop of Gaudi’s architecture, looking like the Nova I hadn’t seen in years.

Pretty. Confident. Happy.

I’d forgotten what it was like to feel that way.

I swallowed, my throat burning. “Thank you. They’re amazing.”

Alejandro furrowed his brow, his gaze roaming my face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I lowered my eyes to my purse, blinking to ward off tears as I rummaged in it, pretending to look for something. “You can email them to me or send them to my work phone.”

My personal cell was off. I could only guess how many rage-filled texts from Preston I’d find later.

Stop it.

I breathed in and out. Alejandro waited patiently, taking pictures of the night street. Then he sent me the photos, and we continued walking.

Now and then, I’d slow my step to gawk at the stylish clothes and accessories in the shops’ windows.

“Do you like them?” Alejandro asked as I studied a display of leather handbags.

“Very much. If I ever come here again, I’d love to get one for myself.”

“It’s a Spanish brand,” he said. “They’re not in the US yet, as far as I know. You might have time to go shopping after the circuit tomorrow.”

Time, but not money.

“It’s fine,” I said, sweeping my eyes over the gorgeous burgundy tote bag. “Tomorrow’s a busy day. I’ll be tired.”

“You must be exhausted.” He sighed. “We should probably head back to the hotel.”

I was. We hadn’t had time to nap. But more than exhausted, I was strangely disappointed our night out was coming to an end.