27. Connor
CHAPTER 27
CONNOR
T he Mezquita Catedral de Córdoba was incredible. Huge, too; an enormous wall surrounded the structure, and once we were past the gates, there was a sprawling courtyard full of orange trees and small streams. I hadn’t recognized the belltower in Sevilla as being a repurposed minaret from the previous mosque, but this time I knew what I was looking for. There it was—the distinctive rectangular shape of a minaret with the addition of a church’s belltower on top.
The security guards only let a few people into the Mezquita at a time, which I appreciated; I hated when places like this were teeming with tourists. The courtyard was crowded enough. When we got inside, it was far quieter, with only a handful of other people wandering the giant structure. It was also a lot cooler thanks to the stone floors and high ceilings, and much darker, too. Such a relief after the oppressive heat and blinding sun outside.
“They really liked archways, didn’t they?” I mused as I took a photo on my phone of the seemingly endless series of red-and-white striped archways over our heads.
“No kidding,” Alex said. “A guy I used to work with is a photographer, and he said he spent like two hours in here just taking pictures of arches.”
“I can believe that.”
We weren’t going to spend two hours photographing arches, but we did take our sweet time wandering beneath them and between pillars. The place was beautiful, and it was amazingly peaceful. I probably could’ve spent a couple of hours in here just enjoying the calm inside the immense building.
At the very center of what had once been the mosque, the style and architecture changed dramatically. Instead of the sparse, open space beneath the arches, we were now in the intricately decorated cathedral, complete with two huge pipe organs. It was brighter in here, too, thanks to the soaring white dome overhead and the windows high above either side of the altar.
I looked back at the mosque, then into the cathedral, marveling that two such wildly different worlds had existed beneath the same roof. Not that it had continued as a mosque after the Catholics had taken it over, but the difference between the old design and the new was striking to say the least.
But all the way through both the mosque and the cathedral, my gaze kept drifting away from the archways and pipe organs and paintings to the man walking beside me.
I can’t believe you’re here.
Do you have any idea how much I miss you when you’re not?
That seemed kind of stupid. We saw each other pretty frequently, all things considered. And if this thing continued past when one of us transferred or—more likely—when Alex retired, we’d have an ocean between us.
I’d weathered that kind of separation from Aimee back when our marriage had still been good, and it was hard. Being away from her. Being away from my kids. It was still tough being away from the boys.
What would a long-distance relationship with Alex be like? Because just the thought of being separated by an ocean for weeks or months—God, that made my chest hurt. Only seeing each other once in a while. Navigating time differences and communicating by text and FaceTime more than anything. Savoring every precious minute we could spend in the same place.
Just thinking about that had me missing him already, and he was right here. The need to touch him now had my fingers tingling and curling at my sides. Not here. We were too out in the open, even two hundred and fifty kilometers from anyone who’d care, and also this wasn’t really the time or place. I wasn’t a religious man myself, but I did try to be respectful when I was in someone else’s place of worship.
Still, as we stepped out of the cathedral and back into the mosque, and I chanced sliding my hand over the small of his back.
He glanced at me, surprise raising his eyebrows. Then he smiled, which told me the contact wasn’t unwelcome.
I returned the smile. As we kept walking, I took my hand away; disappointing, yes, but we still had to be both cautious and respectful.
When we get back to the room, though…
I shivered, and I had to suppress a grin. We’d be sleeping in the same bed tonight, wouldn’t we? Sleeping, and so much more. Because even if the future meant living thousands of miles apart, I had him now.
Was it time to go back to the room yet?
No, it wasn’t. We were going to be good little tourists and enjoy everything Córdoba had to offer. Then we’d go back to the room and see how much one or both of those almost-queen size beds could handle.
Eventually, we reached the mosque’s exit and stepped outside. It was like walking into a wall of heat, and we both squinted against the brutal sunlight even after we’d pulled on sunglasses.
“Ugh,” Alex grumbled. “I forgot how hot it was.”
“Right? Stupid… August.”
He snorted and we continued through the courtyard in search of some refuge from the sun. We found it in the shade of an orange tree, and as we cooled off a little, Alex checked his phone. “Everything’s going to be closing for siesta soon. We should grab some water while we can.”
Just the thought of drinking something cold right then made my mouth water. “Good idea. Let’s go.”
We left the Mezquita and stepped out onto one of the narrow surrounding streets. I was a little disoriented, and I wasn’t exactly sure which side we were on now, but Alex confidently strode toward some shops across the street. He seemed to know where we were, so I let him take the lead. Worst case, we had GPS on our phones.
I followed him into a small shop full of tourist tchotchkes and souvenirs, and we fished a couple of bottles of water from a refrigerated case. Then we were back outside in the scorching heat, but with the relief that came from those bottles.
“Oh, God,” I said after a couple of deep swallows. “I needed that.”
“Me too.” He tilted the bottle toward a nearby café. “This is also one of those times I love that almost every Spanish café has fresh-squeezed orange juice. Like they literally squeeze it after you order it.” He took another swig of water. “It’s not super cold, but holy crap, it hits the spot on a day like this.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I gestured with my bottle. “This is exactly what I need right now.”
“Same,” he said, before swallowing some more water. “I will never understand the people who day drink in Spain. The heat gets to me enough when I’m not drinking.”
“You and me both. I swear every Monday morning, I’ve got two or three young guys—because somehow it’s always the guys—coming in for sick call because they’re more hungover than they should be.” I rolled my eyes. “No shit, junior. Your blood is half alcohol, half energy drinks, and you’ve been sweating your balls off in the heat. What do you expect?”
Alex barked a laugh. “They always have to learn the hard way, don’t they?”
“Didn’t we all?”
“Hey. I resemble that.”
I snickered. “I had one kid come in like half a dozen times because his heart was racing and he was sweating like crazy. Thought he was having heatstroke from being out on the flightline.” I tsked. “The last time, I finally told him that if he doesn’t stop mainlining energy drinks, the next time I see him will probably be for a kidney stone.”
Alex grimaced. “Think that got through?”
“Well, let’s give it a week or two.” I raised my half-empty water bottle. “If he doesn’t come back in for ‘heat exhaustion’, then maybe he got the message?”
“Fingers crossed.” He shuddered. “I’ve seen so many people with those, I’m terrified of getting one.”
“Yeah, they’re no picnic,” I muttered.
His eyes widened. “Speaking from personal or professional experience?”
“Both.” It was my turn to shudder. “I thought I was literally dying with the first one.”
“Just the first one?”
I shrugged. “Well, the second time, I wanted to die, but I knew pretty quickly what it was. That is a pain you do not forget.”
“Ugh. No, thanks. I swear to God, every time I see a patient with a stone, I go and chug a bottle of water while praying to everyone who might be listening.”
Laughing, I said, “Honestly, having been there done that—I don’t blame you at all.” I toasted with my water bottle before bringing it to my lips. “Bottoms up.”
He chuckled and took another drink from his own.
We still had a half hour or so before everything slammed shut for siesta, so we wandered in and out of a few shops. Given the heat—and the conversation about kidney stones—we each grabbed a second bottle of water, too, and we sipped those while we perused souvenirs. I picked up a couple of things my sons might like—a hilariously tacky picture frame and a funny T-shirt for Quinn, a book about the Mezquita for Landon. I wanted to get something for Quinn’s girlfriend, too, but I didn’t see anything here that would be to her taste.
“She’s a tough one to shop for,” I explained to Alex. “She doesn’t like the kitschy stuff, and I’m not sure what shirts or whatever would be her style.” I peered at a display of gorgeous ceramic plates and bowls. “And she’s not into really brightly colored stuff like this.”
Alex eyed the display. Then he gestured to one at the end of the aisle. “What about some of the unglazed pottery?”
I followed where he’d indicated, and oh, this looked a bit more promising. It was mostly plates and saucers along with some small tagines, and they were more muted colors—plain terra cotta, mostly. “Okay, this is definitely closer to what she likes.” I glanced at Alex. “Do you think they’ll hold up on the ride home?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “I’ve bought a few pieces. They’re not as fragile as they look, and they’re usually packed within an inch of their lives.”
There was that—I’d bought a small plate to send to my mother, and the shopkeeper had wrapped it up like it was about to get thrown off a cliff.
I glanced at the time. We had about ten minutes before siesta kicked off, so I quickly picked out a miniature terra cotta tagine and took it up to the counter. As predicted, the shopkeeper packed it meticulously in paper, bubble wrap, and a small box; I’d have to work at it to break it on the way home.
Satisfied that Savannah’s gift was safely packed, I left the shop with Alex, and the shopkeeper lowered the gate right behind us. All around us, other shops were closing up, too. Tourists were meandering toward cafés or back to the Mezquita (which may or may not have been open during siesta; I hadn’t looked).
I followed Alex around a corner off the main drag. Now we were on a street that was probably too narrow for a car and was currently deserted apart from a couple of shopkeepers pulling down their gates.
I was about to ask him where he thought we should go next when he suddenly had his arm around my waist and his lips pressed to mine.
And the whole world came to a gentle stop beneath my feet.
For a few perfect seconds, I was aware of absolutely nothing except Alex and how much I loved the way his mouth moved so perfectly with mine. It wasn’t a deep kiss. Not the kind we shared in the bedroom when the doors were closed and the clothes were off. But it was still sexy and hot in its own way.
All too quickly, even though it felt like we’d been lost in that moment for ages, Alex broke the kiss, and he met my gaze.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve just… been wanting to do that all morning.”
I blinked. Then I tugged him in a little closer, and as our lips brushed, I said, “Don’t apologize.”
I kissed him, and we let it linger for a long, perfect moment before we separated as gently as we’d come together. When he looked in my eyes, I could still see his despite his sunglasses, and they weren’t as full of fire as I’d expected. Instead, they were soft and sweet, as was his little smile.
My heart did things it had never done before.
Oh my God, I am so stupid for you.
Alex ran his tongue along the inside of his lip, and now I could see the embers of lust in his eyes. “I’ve, uh… I’ve got an idea about how we can spend siesta. Since, you know…” He circled his finger in the air. “Everything’s closed.”
“Oh, yeah?” I grinned. “What did you have in mind?”
As if I needed to ask.