An evening breeze kisses my bare arms. I shiver next to Tavo, who, despite being in a conversation with his friend Sergio, is so attuned to me that he notices the tremor passing up my spine. With a skillful movement, he takes his brown suede jacket, which smells delicious like him, and drapes it over my shoulders, warming me up right away. While there’s disappointment in his dark eyes, he nevertheless gives me a half smile because he can’t help but be a gentleman. It’s the kind of smile that apologizes and encourages at the same time.

Dammit.

I need to stay away until I talk to Shane. And yet all day I’ve been pulling myself closer and closer to Tavo as we toured the city of Granada. We registered for classes, got me a Spanish SIM card, then he acted as tour guide showing me the Cathedral and the famous Alhambra, a fortress on the hill. Wandering through the beautiful old city, we didn’t touch, didn’t hold hands, but as we moved we remained close to each other almost as if we couldn’t help ourselves, like we needed to be as close as we could get without crossing any lines. I snapped a million pictures with my phone, finally having a subject that inspired me. Not just the spectacular and ornate buildings. Tavo ended up in a lot of my pictures “accidentally on purpose,” his chiseled face clicking into place in the old world surroundings.

Maybe I want to remember this moment when I return to the United States.

Maybe I wish I would’ve resolved everything with Shane.

Maybe I can’t believe Tavo’s real. Like my dream, he doesn’t really exist in my life. I take a picture to remind myself when I’m old and gray that I had this moment, just for a while, where life was beautiful. I’m compelled to keep him for myself, a secret memory that I’ll tell no one for the rest of my life. I’ll just lock him inside my heart, sealed off.

It’s hard to think of shutting him off, though, when I’m wedged so close to him I can’t get out without touching him, nor do I want to move from this position. Ever.

We’ve met up with friends of his at a bar who all attend or teach at the Universidad de Granada, where I’m about to start. We’re outside in a sparkling night. This large table’s crowded with little glasses of beer, elegant stems of red wine, shiny plates of olives, cured Serrano ham on blue and green pottery plates with slices of white Manchego cheese, and sliced baguette-style bread in the middle on a basket. Every once in a while the exhaust of a scooter punctuates the night full of the sounds of people laughing and talking and distant music. Something garlicky is cooking next door. I’ve slipped way too many pieces of Manchego past my lips, enjoying the almost crunchy texture. And watching.

The city comes alive in the evening. Granada is much larger and more cosmopolitan than I thought it would be. At this table, a din of English and Spanish assaults my ears with everyone changing easily between them since they all study languages. I’m smiling and trying to follow the conversation of someone, anyone, and failing miserably. So instead, I tuck myself more into Tavo’s jacket and sip my wine.

Other than the fact that I’m tempting myself by sitting too close to Tavo, I don’t want to be anywhere else on Earth.

Especially not after three glasses of wine.

I don’t know anyone else at the table. There’s a group of Spaniards at the end who appear to be students, including a black haired, pretty girl named Sonia who’s shooting come-hither eyes at Tavo and daggers at me. It’d bother me if I weren’t snug next to him and if he seemed interested, but he’s taking no notice of her. Still, it’s disconcerting, since everyone else is friendly.

Sitting across from us is Trent, Tavo’s friend, and his teacher girlfriend?—partner?—wife?—Dani, although Trent never takes her classes. They have matching tattoos on the same finger. Trent’s drop-dead gorgeous, with longish sandy hair and nice tattoos. Dani curls up next to him, and she’s a total pixie—and immediately my friend. A teacher named Louise, who Dani calls Lulu, sits next to her, regal and serene. It’s clear that Dani adores her. Wyatt, another professor, nurses a beer next to Lulu, sitting close. And there are at least three or four more professors, plus some others.

“Want to know the difference between Spanish and English?” The speaker, a Spanish professor named Diego, asks me this question out of nowhere. He’s in his early thirties, and he perked up and kept bringing me into the conversation once he learned I’m in his class. He lights a cigarette and takes a drag. I’m not used to people smoking, but out here in the open air it doesn’t bother me.

“What’s the difference?” I respond, as I take a drink.

“This should be amusing,” mutters Trent, his big blue eyes shining in the street lights and low glow of the candles on the table.

Tavo puts his arm around the back of my chair. I shouldn’t like his arm so close, but I do. And I’m not moving it. Here I am again letting him get closer when I should push him away.

But I don’t want to.

Sonia has manufactured venom in her eyes. It’s good that she’s too far away to hear, given all the chatter, but she’s whispering into the ear of a companion. I continue to attempt to forget her.

Diego, the professor, answers his own question. “A Spaniard will watch a movie and at the end say that it was ‘estupendo, magnífico, maravilloso, fantástico.’”

“Stupendous, magnificent, marvelous, fantastic?” I offer. Finally, I understand an entire sentence in Spanish.

“Muy bien.” I receive an approving nod from the professor. “Someone who speaks English will walk out of the movie and say, ‘Not bad.’”

“Okay.”

“But they mean the same thing. What is fantástico to a Spaniard is not bad to an American.”

Dani giggles and adjusts herself against Trent’s side. “Diego’s right. We understate things in English. In Spanish, they are effusive.”

“That’s interesting,” I say. And I mean it.

Am I falling under the seduction of Tavo because I’m misinterpreting things? Is he being effusive, and because I’m used to understatement I think I’m something special?

Is this just a difference in cultures?

Maybe I need to focus on my studies instead of the handsome man I met.

“Sometimes you just have to figure out what someone really means under the words,” says Lulu.

“Wise woman speaks the truth,” I say. I don’t usually volunteer so early when meeting new people, but I’m really comfortable with this crowd.

Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been drinking.

“Do you like the tapas?” asks Tavo.

“What does tapas mean, anyway?”

“The little plates of food. It originated from a piece of salami,” says Tavo. “It would tapar, cover, the glass to keep out flies. But during the time of Franco, it became against the law to serve alcohol without food.”

“So in the southern part of Spain, it’s tradition for tapas to be served with drinks for free,” says Dani. “Other places you have to buy them, but here, you go out and have a few small drinks and a few plates of food, and you’re good for dinner.”

“Best tradition ever,” Lulu chimes in.

Trent raises his glass and pops an olive in his mouth. “I agree.”

“You don’t have that?” asks Tavo.

“No.”

His arm is still around my chair.

A warm smile crosses Tavo’s face. “Then enjoy. We shall do this more often.” The waiter drops off another round of drinks. My fourth glass of wine. They’re small, but still.

Tavo picks his up and raises it to eye level. “To your education.”

“To yours,” I say.

“Salud.”

At this point, I am buzzed. Comfortable. More comfortable than I’ve ever been. I’m trying not to cuddle up to Tavo, but he’s right here.

I post a picture of the Alhambra on Instagram, then start taking pictures of the gorgeous food on the table. I pick an artsy shot of the terracotta bowl of sardines, shiny and silvery, to put on my account.

While I’m distracted with my phone, Sonia materializes next to us. Her talons claw up his shoulder, and he recoils toward me. She’s saying something low, and in Spanish. I catch the word “cama.” Bed. “Esta noche.” Tonight.

Is she propositioning him?

My teeth grind. I have no claim to him. No right at all. And yet I want to mark my territory. Keep her away. If I were an animal, my fur would be rising on the back of my neck and spine. My hackles are up and out. But before I say anything—and I’m sober enough to know saying anything is a bad idea, Tavo is waving her away, muttering, “No, Sonia. Cómo te digo, no.”

I stare at his face. He’s so cold, glaring at her. There’s no emotion. No smile. And he shrinks from her touch. She leaves with two friends. Tavo’s breath is at my ear. “Sorry about that, guapa.”

I don’t know what he’s sorry about, but okay. “You can be … sorry. It’s okay,” I hiccup.

Night’s now fully in swing with the people of Granada all out, walking and talking.

I catch Dani talking to Lulu. “Well, you know we have two parts of our mind.”

“Oh, Lawd, not the hippie talk,” Lulu grumbles.

Trent holds Dani closer and kisses the top of her head. “She can’t help but be hippie-dippy.”

Lulu points a finger at him. “This is true.” She turns to Dani. “Continue.”

“So as I was saying, there’s two parts of all of us. There’s the conscious mind, which is what we think about, all the stuff in our brains. And the subconscious mind, which governs us, but we have no idea what it’s doing. It controls breathing and all the automatic mechanics of our body, but it also controls our behavior and motivations. If your subconscious mind isn’t on board, anything you try to do won’t work right.”

I understand Dani, but it could be all the wine.

She continues, “Here’s what I think is so interesting. The subconscious mind is more powerful. Way more powerful than our conscious. If we think we want something, but our subconscious says no way, we’ll never get it. That’s why people stay in ruts. They don’t change on the underlying level. And the reverse is true. If we’re subconsciously attracted to someone, even if our conscious mind can think of all these reasons not to be, the subconscious will win every time. And the subconscious is what animates your body.”

She makes perfect sense. My conscious developed a relationship with Shane. My subconscious wants Tavo. And I can’t have him. Not morally. Not ethically. Not anything.

I’m getting drunk.

No. Scratch that. I am drunk.

And drowsy. So drowsy.

Alcohol and comfort in the arms of a man I can’t have. Shouldn’t have.

When I rub my eyes one too many times, Tavo signals to the waiter, pays our bill with this funny-colored money—I’m still not used to Euros—and puts his arm around me as we walk back toward the car.

As we leave, I hear Dani say, “What a great couple. I’m so glad Tavo found someone.”

I don’t have it in me to correct her.

As we head back to the car, we walk through a vacant, wide plaza. I ask Tavo, who’s a little blurry, “How come no one else is drunk?”

“Spaniards just get happy. Feliz. We sing. We don’t get drunk.” He pulls me toward the end of the plaza. “This way.”

I stumble down the street, holding onto him to keep from swaying. My heels make a clip-clop noise on the cobblestones. He smiles and kisses the top of my head, helping me along.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to embarrass you,” I slur.

“You’re not embarrassing. You’re cute.”

Cute. I think I like it that Tavo thinks I’m cute.

Once we make it down the end of the block, we enter another plaza. This one’s typically European—or at least what I always pictured as typically European—with a central fountain, lit-up restaurants on all sides, and a band playing in the middle.

So many people are out. And tonight, they’re dancing. The crowd claps along with the music, whistling and singing and moving their feet. A few women in longer skirts hold the ends up at their waists, their other hand held proudly over their head as they dance. The men stand, moving their feet and clapping. Horns sound. Guitar. And singing.

It’s so crowded, we can’t make it through the plaza without pushing our way. So, Tavo being Spanish, joins in. He pulls his shoulders back, swivels his head to the side, and brings his hands up to clap by his ear.

I burst out laughing, and put my hands to my mouth, not wanting to make him feel bad. I’m not laughing at him, I’m laughing with joy. I’m laughing because this is what I wanted to feel—the spontaneous nature of Spain. A different culture full of love and rhythm and joy and laughter. Something organic and natural and steeped in history. Not plastic and artificial. Something sensuous and deep.

Tavo leans over to my ear, his mouth brushing against it. “I teach you.” He lifts his chin. His warm body is right there. Right here. Pressed next to me in this plaza full of people. I can see the veins on his forearms and the back of his hands. Holding my hands, he shows me how to clap, with a little hollow in the middle so it’s louder.

Then he demonstrates. It’s so loud.

“Now, you.”

“Now, me—what?”

“Clap.”

I do, and my hands become a musical instrument. I become part of the night. I walk around him clapping, as he stands still, watching me move. When the song ends, all too quickly, I’m delighted, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He pulls me into him, placing his arms on my lower back. And now his narrow hips sway with a slower song. A lament.

How does he feel in my arms? Holding me? Unbelievable. Perfection. Like he’s made for me. He guides me around the crowd, and I realize that we’re actually headed in the right direction for the car. We’re just doing it dancing.

His dark eyes pierce me in the night. His heat radiates off him. My hands relish the softness of the back of his neck, the fact that I can put my arms around his strong shoulders in public. His scruff brushes against my cheek.

My breath speeds up. His hands tighten on me, but then his grip changes to subtly push me back. I scrunch my eyes so tight, because this is real.

But we shouldn’t.

And we don’t.

Somehow we break apart and walk to the car. We drive home in silence.

When I get to my room, I throw myself on the bed, then remember I need to wash my face. I step in the hallway and notice a man at the doorway of Tavo’s mom’s room.

I don’t know who that is, but he seems to know his way around. Especially since he’s kissing her.

The next morning after coffee and a hangover—and Tavo is nowhere to be found, probably working in the orchard—I see that Shane messaged me on Skype.

Hey, sorry we couldn’t talk much before. The time difference is hard. I have something to tell you. Give me a call.

I call him on Skype, but it rings and rings and rings.

God. I need to talk to him. I need to get clarity.

I could leave a voicemail, which is just about the worst thing I can do. I want to see his face, but being over here, I’m not sure I have any choice. Maybe it will be easier on him if he gets an email. Then he can think about it before he responds.

My heart’s pounding in my ears and my fingers shake so much I make a lot of mistakes. But I finally type an email.

---

Dear Shane,

We really need to talk. I’ve been doing some thinking while I’m here. You’re always going to be my friend, but I can’t marry you. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but it doesn’t feel right to get married. Call me when you get this.

Love,

Kim

---

Tears rush to my eyes but don’t fall. My heart pounds, but I also feel a calmness moving forward with breaking up with him, because I’m being honest. Better that I admit it now, before we make a huge mistake and get married. I’ll talk to him and tell him the next time he answers.

I take my ring off and put it in an envelope.

As I sit there staring at the screen, some things become very clear.

I do believe in love and that I can love someone my whole life. And I’m not going to get married to someone I don’t love starting out, because we have no chance for lifelong love.

I’m breaking up with him for me. And for him. I deserve better. He deserves better. And even though it’s painful, it’s the right thing to do.

And I know who I want. Or who I think I want. But even if Tavo isn’t the one for me—a thought which makes me feel strangely ill—I broke up with Shane for me.

Because I deserve joy and love, not just a buddy. They say if you marry your best friend, there’s space for one less person in your life. So I’m making room for someone else plus Shane.

I hit send.

“I think the pistachio is the best. But you might talk me into the caramel.” Dani points to the little trays of gelato behind the glass as I take a picture of the colorful dessert options.

“Is it bad that they all look good?” I ask. “Can I just work my way through all of them?”

The old man scooping the gelato understands English. “You come back. You try all the gelato you want. Come, come.”

“I’m going to just start with vanilla.” I gesture at the tray.

Tavo stands behind us talking to Trent as the vendor scrapes the treat into a tiny cone with a flat paddle.

I turn around. A half smile comes over Tavo’s face, along with a pensive look in his eye. “You like it vanilla, eh? That’s your scent.”

“It’s my lotion.” I snap a quick picture of the ice cream, holding it up against the sky. Then I take a bite. “Oh, wow. Yes, this is good.”

Dani, Trent, and Tavo order, and Tavo insists on paying. Then the four of us walk down a long plaza lined with trees, warm in the afternoon sunshine. It’s crowded with people, too. Dressed-up women in heels pushing babies in prams. Men standing and talking in the shade of the trees. Bars brimming full of people, with music spilling out onto the sidewalk.

I take Dani’s arm as we stroll. “How are you feeling about school starting?” she asks.

“Excited, with a dash of scared, and a tiny bit of confidence.”

She licks her gelato. She ended up getting chocolate. “That sounds about right. That’s kind of how I feel whenever I go to a new place.”

“Where have you been?” I ask. Trent and Tavo fall behind us, lost in their own conversation that’s spoken in Spanish by Trent and English by Tavo. I admire their dedication.

“Everywhere, practically.” Dani starts listing countries she’s been to, and honestly it would be shorter to list the ones she hasn’t been to. As I’m hearing her talk, I’m so jealous. “Where have you been?” she asks.

“Iowa. And Spain.”

She stops and grabs my wrist. “Seriously?”

“Yep. This is the first time I’ve been on a plane. First time out of the country.”

“It’s good that you got the chance,” she says. She looks like she wants to say more. To ask why, but she doesn’t want to pry or be impolite.

But Dani’s so friendly, so I start talking. “When I was really little, my dad was a psychiatrist, and he had an office downtown, and my mom didn’t work. Well, one day when she was home with me, when I was just a baby, someone broke into the house, put a gun to her head, locked her in a room with me, and proceeded to rob of us all the electronics. TV, VCR, you know.”

“That’s awful,” Dani whispers, and her eyes grow big. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. I was too little to remember it, but obviously it affected her. She got super protective of me. I was only allowed to play with people she knew really well. She had to know their parents. She started taking me to all these activities like after school classes.” I take a lick of my gelato.

“Because she felt out of control with the robbery.”

“Yeah, right. I think so. It was something she could focus on and manage. Not this big, scary world.” We get to the end of the plaza. “Should we walk back?”

“Sí,” says Trent. And I laugh, because he’s too adorable.

Tavo gives me a chin lift.

“Well, to continue my story, basically, after the robbery, she started emotional eating. And she gained a lot of weight. Then she figured out a plan to lose it, started helping others, and created a weight loss company. Now she’s this businesswoman, and she doesn’t have time to go anywhere.”

“I feel sorry for her,” says Dani.

“You know, I do, too. When I’m at home, she’s just annoying, but now that I’m over here and thinking about her, it just makes me sad. Like if she just let go of the reins, just loosened up a little, she’d have a whole lot more fun.”

“Agreed.”

“We haven’t really traveled anywhere. She’s been scared to leave the home. We have extra security, lots of floodlights, and pretty much just stay put.”

Dani reaches out, squeezes my bicep, and nods. “Then this is the best opportunity for you.”

“Absolutely. When they asked me to stay home for college to save money and go to state school, I also think it was because my mom was worried about me leaving. So going here is a big step for all of us.”

“What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“I made my parents promise to send me to grad school. But I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. Since I’ve been here, I’m really interested in Spanish cuisine.” I shrug. “Maybe something with that.”

“I think you should do whatever you want to do. There’s always a way to do it.”

As I finish my cone and throw the napkin in a trashcan, I’m so grateful to Dani for being sociable and keeping my mind off of Shane.

And off of Tavo.

A few days later, I swear I see Sonia leave the kitchen just as I step in. The door slams behind her. Guillermo leans against the counter, peeling an orange, obviously pissed. “Was that Sonia?”

He sneers. “Yeah, Tavo’s novia.”

“His girlfriend?” My stomach drops, and a flare of anger passes through me. I’d think if he had a girlfriend I would have known. Because otherwise, why did he kiss me? Why did he say those things? Why does he act the way he does? I can’t help but ask, “What do you mean, ‘his girlfriend’?”

Guillermo runs his hands through his hair then cracks his knuckles. “He is the eldest son. And she is the eldest daughter of the family next door. For a hundred years or more, we have sold our olives to them. They have the press. Our parents decided it would make a good union if Tavo were to marry her.”

My heart thumps, and I can’t swallow. “That’s absurd. He never mentioned it to me. What does he think of her? He doesn’t want to, does he?”

“From the sounds of the way he fucks her, I don’t think he minds.”

Guillermo’s voice is muffled, like he’s behind glass, and my eyes see only white fuzz. The world slows down. And I’m done. Just. Done.