Chapter Ten
T he end of February sneaks upon me, and after one whole month of living here, my new life in Valencia is starting to feel…
Well, like mine .
My days are filled with a rhythm and familiar routine that I’ve come to enjoy: teaching, exploring, and finding little moments of quiet in between.
The school feels so familiar now. In some ways, it’s almost like I’ve always been here. The students are so well-behaved, though they do still giggle every time I butcher a Spanish word - especially some of the older ones. I don’t mind, though, and I use my hiccups as examples to show them how we’re all always learning, no matter our age.
It sometimes feels like an odd position to be in. After all, at twenty-five, I’m only thirteen years older than the youngest students. But still, I take my role very seriously.
It’s strange to think how quickly everything has come together since Madrid, and I tell Carlos as much during our first catch-up meeting.
“Olivia!” he greets me, his face beaming from my laptop screen. “How’s everything going?”
“Really well,” I say, adjusting my seat. “The kids are great, and the staff have been really welcoming. Sarah’s left for maternity leave now, but we’ve swapped details so we can keep in touch. And I’ve even been expanding my Spanish, though it’s… well, let’s just say it’s a work in progress.”
Carlos chuckles. “It always is. There are words in English that I’m still learning. But it sounds like you’re settling in nicely.”
“I think so,” I reply. “You were right - Valencia’s so beautiful. It’s such a different pace of life, but I really like it. I’ve been exploring a lot when I’m not working, and it feels good to be somewhere new.”
“That’s what I love to hear,” Carlos smiles. “And the role itself? Have you had many challenges?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Sarah was just amazing in terms of helping me get up to speed, and now that I’m on my own with it, I kind of feel like I’ve been able to really find my feet. The headteacher even complimented one of my lessons.”
Carlos smiles warmly. “That’s great to hear. It sounds as though you’re receiving it yourself, but for what it’s worth, we’re getting very positive feedback about you. And hey, if you ever need anything - resources, advice, someone to vent to, whatever it may be - you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, Carlos,” I say sincerely. “I appreciate it.”
After a few more updates, the call wraps up. As much as I’m loving my new-found independence, it feels good to also know I’m not entirely on my own.
∞∞∞
Later that afternoon, I head to a small café that I discovered last week. It’s tucked away on a quiet side street, far from the touristy bustle of Valencia’s city center.
I wanted to go somewhere peaceful to focus on planning next week’s lessons - but somewhere that I could be topped up with coffee and snacks as I went on - and this place is perfect.
Most of the customers are seated outside, but since I’m going to be here for a while, I settle into a booth by the window, spreading out my notes and opening my laptop. Sunlight streams through the large glass panes, casting warm, golden rays across the mismatched tables and chairs.
I sip my coffee and nibble on my croissant, feeling like I’ve found a little slice of heaven.
I’m deep into deciding how to make a lesson on irregular verbs remotely interesting when a deep voice pulls me out of my focus.
“Busy at work, huh?”
Shit.
I know that voice.
I glance up, not quite believing what I’m hearing.
“Santi?” I blink in surprise.
He’s standing at the edge of my booth, looking as devilishly handsome - and muscular - as ever. He’s wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low over his hair, but there’s no mistaking that grin.
“I - ah. Hi!” I say, hating the way that I stutter and stumble. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, not seeming bothered by my presence in the slightest as he leans against the edge of my booth.
“Having coffee, like a normal person. What about you?” His expression grows playfully sombre. “Don’t tell me you’re stalking me.”
I laugh, gesturing to the pile of lesson plans in front of me.
“Right. Because stalking you is definitely on my to-do list,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Clearly, I’m here for work.”
“Work, sure,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me without asking. He lifts up some of my notes and scans over them. “Seems… interesting. No wonder you didn’t even notice me when I walked in.”
“Exactly!” I say, throwing up my hands. “Which I would argue makes you the stalker, doesn’t it?”
He leans back, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
“Hm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re just predictable.”
“Predictable?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“Don’t I?” he asks.
His tone is light but his gaze is steady. I roll my eyes, trying not to let his confidence (and ridiculously handsome face) faze me.
“Santi, please - you don’t know me at all! Besides, I’m not predictable. You’re just lucky this café happens to be the perfect place to plan lessons.”
“Or maybe fate just keeps throwing us together,” he smirks.
I bark out a quick laugh before I neutralise my expression and blink at him.
“That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”
“You laughed,” he points out. “So, it worked.”
I pause, giving him a mock-serious look.
“Is this what you do for fun? Charm your way into random women’s booths at cafés?”
“Not usually,” he says, smirking. “But there’s something about this English woman who keeps crossing my path. I figured I’d better find out what her deal is.”
“And what if I don’t want to share my ‘deal’ with a total stranger?” I tease, taking another sip of my coffee.
“Then I’ll just have to guess,” he says. His green eyes narrow as though he’s deeply evaluating me. “You’re from England - easy. You’re stubborn - obvious. And you’re here because you like a challenge.”
“Wrong,” I say, my tone triumphant as I smirk back at him. “I’m here because I wanted an adventure. Also, who says I’m stubborn?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I can tell. It’s in the way you talk. Like you’ve already decided I’m trouble.”
“Am I wrong?” I counter.
“Depends,” he says with a wink. “Do you like trouble?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I… you’re impossible.”
He’s clearly quite pleased with himself. “And yet, you’re still talking to me.”
I give up on trying to work. It’s clear that Santi has no desire to leave me alone right now, so I close my laptop and lean forward on the table.
“Fine, then. What’s your deal? You’ve got me curious now.”
“Curiousity,” he says with a playful glint in his eye. “That’s a dangerous thing.”
“Well, you seem to think you know me so well already, but I hardly know anything about you. Surely it’s only natural for me to be curious. ”
“I’m just a guy who likes coffee,” he shrugs. “What else is there to know?”
“That’s the most non-answer I’ve ever heard,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Maybe you’re a politician.”
He pulls a face, evidently unimpressed.
“No way,” he says. “Maybe I’m just mysterious.”
“Or maybe you’re just avoiding the question,” I shoot back, smirking as I tilt my head. “And all these deflections are making me impossibly more curious. What are you hiding?”
Santi gives me a slow, lazy smile as he leans forward again in the booth, and we’re suddenly a lot closer, to the point where I can clearly see the hints of yellow in his lovely green eyes.
He pauses for a moment, and I practically wait with baited breath for what he’s about to finally reveal…
“Nothing you can’t figure out if you try hard enough.”
I don’t attempt to hide my disappointment at his answer, letting out a long, loud groan.
“You’re so frustrating!” I say, laughing despite myself. “You know what - fine. Keep your secrets. But don’t expect me to believe you’re just some random guy who happens to show up everywhere I go.”
“Alright, alright,” he says with a dramatic flourish, “I’ll give you something. ”
Now that piques my interest, and I eagerly wait for him to continue.
“My full name is Santiago Ortiz.”
“Santiago Ortiz,” I repeat, testing the name.
It sounds so much nicer falling from his tongue, but he smiles as though he likes the sound of me saying it anyway .
“For all your stalking needs,” he adds.
“Good to know,” I say, trying not to look too pleased with myself. “Should I write that down somewhere?”
“Probably,” he says, grinning. “You might need it.”
From where we’re both leaning towards each other over the table, our hands brush slightly, and I just about manage to refrain from physically jumping as a jolt flies through my body. My eyes flicker between his large, warm hands and his face, and my abdomen clenches when I notice his gaze briefly drop to my lips.
The banter between us might be light and easy, but there’s an underlying electricity here that I can’t ignore.
“Anyway,” Santi says. The sound of him speaking again breaks me from the spell I’m under. “I should get going. Your lessons aren’t going to plan themselves.”
I nod as he moves to stand, unable to stop my gaze from wandering all over his broad body as he towers over me.
“Good luck, profesora. ”
“Thanks,” I say. “And Santi - for the record, I’m definitely not stalking you.”
“Sure, sure,” he teases, tipping his cap. “Whatever you say, Olivia.”
I watch him make his way to the main door and step out into the afternoon air, and as he disappears from view, I can’t help but smile to myself.
Santiago Ortiz.
There’s something about him that’s impossible to ignore.