Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Fernando and I arrive back at the airport around five and pick up our luggage from storage and get our rental car.
“Is this right?” I blink a few times as we approach a two-door Smart car that’s less than half the size of my truck back home. “The guy said we were getting a compact car, but this looks like a toy. Can you even fit in the driver’s seat?”
“We’re supposed to have a model with four doors, not two,” Fernando says flatly, squinting at the rental agreement in his hand.
“I agree, this is too small. Wait here. I’ll see if I can get this sorted out.
” He drops his duffle bag from his shoulder, leaving me in charge of it, along with my backpack and our three rolling bags.
“I don’t think the trunk will fit even one of our suitcases,” I say to myself. The back of the car looks like it’s pressed completely flat and can only hold two or three grocery bags at most.
Knowing there’s nothing I can do until Fernando is back, I flip my rolling suitcase over, sit on top of it, and pull out my phone, taking advantage of the airport’s Wi-Fi. Opening my email, I start a message to Daphne.
To: DaphnesDesigns@
From: DrB23@
Subject: Hello from Portugal
Hey Daph,
How is everything going back home? Just thought I’d shoot off a quick email to you to let you know I made it to Portugal.
No, you’re not reading this wrong. I’m not in Spain. Yet.
To make a long story short, my original flight was diverted, then canceled. Rebooking was a nightmare and a flight to Lisbon was the quickest way I could get over here.
I’ve spent most of today exploring Portugal’s capital city and having a blast. I’m already planning a return trip to this beautiful country. I’m attaching a couple pics as proof.
Can you please pass the message on to Mom and Dad that I made it here safely? I’ll call sometime midweek.
Give my love to everyone!
-Ava
Satisfied with what I’ve written, I select two of my favorite images Fernando snapped today—one of me blowing a kiss to the camera in front of the Praca do Comércio and another of me biting into a pastel de nata.
They’re both images I’d like to think show me happy and carefree. I want my family to see that there’s nothing to worry about. Which is also why I choose not to say anything about Fernando.
If Daphne knew . . . well, my phone would be blowing up with concerned calls and messages. As much as I appreciate her fussing over me, there’s no risk of suffering a broken heart with Fernando. We’re just friends. Nothing more.
Although if he was ever in the market for a girlfriend—wait, no. What am I even thinking? I scrub my eyes with my hands. I don’t need nor do I want a boyfriend. Come on, brain. Get with the program. This trip is about taking a vacation from men and all things related to romance.
I hear footsteps approaching. As I lift my head, I spy Fernando. The muscles in his forehead are knitted into a deep V. He’s shoved his hands into his pockets, and his shoulders are hunched.
“Bad news?” I ask.
“Yes,” he grumbles. “The rental company overbooked all their standard cars and gave ours away to a family with a reservation.”
“Can they do that? We already paid.”
“Apparently it’s in the contract.”
I take a deep breath. “Is there a way we could upgrade to an SUV? Truck?”
“Believe me, I asked. All that’s left are Smart cars unless you’d rather we take a Vespa.”
“Not especially.” I stand and brush off my butt and knees. “What about another rental car company? Do you think . . .”
I stop when I see him shaking his head. “All the counters closed at five. We’re out of luck and out of options.”
“Great.”
Fernando approaches the car and clicks the button on the key fob, glaring at the trunk.
“We’ll have to fit what we can and ship anything we don’t need ahead.
” His attention travels to his luggage. “If you give me a couple minutes to repack, I can squeeze most of my stuff into my duffle bag. I’ll have a courier send my rolling luggage to my parents’ place. ”
“Nuh-uh. We’re not shipping stuff if I can help it.” I pick up the largest of the bags and shove it into the back. “All we have to do is play around a bit. There has to be some way we can fit everything.”
“Ava, it’s wishful thinking.” He crosses his arms. “It won’t work.”
“Maybe, but I’m not willing to admit defeat until I’ve given it a try.” I pick up another bag and shove it in tightly standing up. Unfortunately, it tumbles out of the trunk and to the ground. The bags are too wide for the space.
Time for plan B. Let’s try this sideways.
It takes about ten different configurations and some maneuvering of items from one bag to another, but Fernando and I successfully squeeze everything in.
Slamming the trunk shut, I lean against it, and shout, “Victory! I told you I’d make it work!”
“I’ll never doubt you again.” He bows to me. “I’m not worthy to be in the presence of greatness.”
“Oh stop. It’s just a big game of Tetris. Nothing fancy.”
We open the doors and slide into the car.
Just as I start to relax, I look over and see Fernando and start laughing.
It’s like something out of a Saturday Night Live skit.
His legs are so long, they’re crammed close to his chest and touching the steering wheel.
His arms spill over the invisible border between the two seats.
He rests his head on the steering wheel, his own body shaking with laughter. “There’s more room in the trunk than in the front.”
“Best moment of the day.” I have a few tears streaming down my face as I hold my stomach to relax the sore muscles. “Don’t move. Before you adjust anything, I need a couple pictures.” I take out my phone and point it at him.
“I hope these won’t end up on Photogram.”
“Nope,” I say, reviewing what I have. “They’re just for me. Okay, all good.”
Fernando pops the car door open, extends one leg out, and pushes the seat as far back as it’ll go. It moves about six or seven inches, but the luggage blocks him from going any farther.
“How does it feel now? Any better?”
He slides back into the driver’s seat. It’s still a tight fit, but at least he no longer looks like a clown in a tiny car.
“It’s manageable. Let’s just say I’m glad this is only for the day.
” He starts the engine and passes me his phone with the map app and an empty destination tab. “You’re in charge of this.”
“What should I put in here?”
“That’s up to you.” He glances at me. “How far do you want to go? What are you in the mood to see?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I was thinking we could aim for Seville? It was going to be one of the cities I visited from Madrid.” The muscles in his face twitch.
It’s a similar expression to the one he wore when I asked how far Barcelona was from Lisbon.
“From Madrid, Seville was about two hours and forty minutes away by train. But I’m guessing it’s a little farther than that. ”
He nods, his lips curving up. “Seville is four or five hours from here.”
“Oh.” My face falls. It’s a good thing I’m not a contestant on The Amazing Race. At this rate I’d be eliminated in the first episode.
“We can drive there, but I’d rather not make the full trip tonight. I’m getting tired. Are you okay if we stop halfway and get an early start for Seville in the morning?”
“Totally.” I bob my head up and down. “Especially since you’re driving. I should offer, but I’m not confident driving outside the States.”
“I’m happy to do it. I enjoy driving.” He strokes his chin. “Off the top of my head, I think the city of Tavira is about two hours from here. That’s where we should spend the night.”
“Sounds good to me.” He backs the car up while I pull up directions. It brings up a route in red. “The traffic doesn’t look bad. Your phone says it’ll take us two-and-a-half hours.”
“That, I can handle,” Fernando says.
I hit the Start button on the map and let the cool female voice fill the silence. We follow some signs out of the airport area and onto a highway that resembles the ones back home.
“So, um, there’s something I’ve been wondering about all afternoon,” I say.
“What’s that?” His eyes are focused on the road, but shift in my direction for a second.
“How long did you play hockey before deciding to become a coach?”
“Hockey?”
“Yeah.” I wave my hand toward him. “Don’t try and deny it. You have the build and competitive spirit. Not to mention you spilled the beans about coaching earlier today.”
For a moment, he looks completely baffled, and then his face splits into a grin that quickly turns into laughter. “I’m sorry, I just . . . hockey? Really?”
I cross my arms, feeling slightly defensive. “What’s so funny?”
His body shakes even harder, doubling over the steering wheel slightly.
“Hockey,” he repeats, as though he’s savoring the word.
“I hate to break it to you, Ava”—he takes a deep breath—“but I don’t play hockey.
I tried it as a kid, but I was awful with handling the stick and found chasing the puck to be boring. ”
It takes a second for his words to sink in. “Then if you don’t play hockey, what do you do?”
“I’m a figure skating coach.”
“Figure skating?”
“Uh-huh.” His voice wavers slightly.
I glance to him. Something isn’t right based on his tone of voice. “As in jumps, twirls, and the stuff you see on TV during the Olympics?”
“That’s the only kind I know of.”
“Now I feel like an idiot.” I face-palm. “I just assumed that with you being so fit and mentioning ice, you played hockey—”
“You’re not an idiot, Ava,” he interrupts. “The stereotype has always been that figure skating is a women’s sport, and hockey is for men. I can see where you’d assume I was a former player. It’s happened before.”
The highway hums softly beneath the car as Fernando’s words hang in the air. I glance out the window, trying to process the new information. It feels strange to picture him—this tall, muscular guy—doing something as graceful and precise as figure skating.
“I’ve tried to ask about your job a bunch of times, and we always seemed to get interrupted. Did you do that on purpose?”
“Yes.” His hands tighten slightly on the wheel.
“Why?”
“It’s complicated,” he says, lowering his voice.
I turn toward him, frowning. “I don’t understand. You skate and you coach, what’s so complicated about that?”
He exhales slowly, his gaze still fixed on the road. “Let’s just say not everyone is as open-minded as you about it. I tend to keep a low profile.”
My mouth forms an O shape. I think about what he said earlier about stereotypes. “Were you bullied as a kid?”
“Sí, I was.” He fidgets in his seat. “Nowadays, nothing bothers me too much, but when I was younger it was tough. Nothing physical ever happened, but I’ve been called just about every insult you can think of.”
I blink, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “Seriously? That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he says with a shrug. “But it sticks with you, and after a while you begin to question your self-worth.”
I lean back in my seat, surprised by how vulnerable he’s being. For someone who seemed so confident all day, this is a side of Fernando I didn’t expect. I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. “But you stuck with it?”
“Yeah.” His lips curve into a faint smile. “Because I loved it. And I was good at it. The speed, the precision, the challenge of landing a jump perfectly. I wasn’t going to give it up just because of things people said.”
“That’s brave,” I say softly.
“I don’t know if I’d call it brave or being stubborn.”
“How did your parents take to it?” I ask.
“My madre was supportive.”
“And your dad?”
“He accepted the idea eventually.” Fernando hesitates for a beat too long. “He had hopes of me becoming a footballer, playing basketball, or even tennis. But figure skating . . . it was a shock to his system.” He takes a deep breath. “We don’t talk about it much.”
My chest tightens at the sadness in his voice. “That must’ve been hard.”
Fernando shrugs again, but it feels forced. “It is what it is.”
The car remains silent except for the sound of the GPS warning us to look for a junction ahead in ten kilometers.
There are so many more layers to the man sitting next to me than I ever imagined. Just as I feel like I’m beginning to get to know him, he surprises me. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s awesome that you ice skate. Maybe someday I can talk you into giving me a lesson. I’m terrible.”
His grip on the wheel loosens. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “And I’d be happy to anytime.”
“It might come sooner than you think. My niece and nephew go every holiday season, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out of it again this year. I’m running out of excuses,” I joke.
His eyes shift in my direction. “When was the last time you went?”
“I think I was in high school? So ten-plus years?”
His eyes widen. “That long?”
“Yeah. I’m not very coordinated. The last time I went, it was like I had a pair of bananas tied to my feet. I fell so many times, even gripping the wall.”
“I can fix that,” he says with an air of confidence.
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
“How do you know I’m not a lost cause?”
His eyes glimmer. “Because I’m a great coach.”
“Mm-hmm.” I chuckle. “We’ll see about that.” I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m not good. I’m terrible. After my last time, I swore I’d avoid ice skating again at all costs, but the competitor inside of me is always up for a challenge.