Chapter Fifteen
“I love a man who knows what he wants.”
“Oh, we’re starting there, are we?” I say with a playful roll of my eyes.
“Absolutely,” Laura replies as she digs into her lunch. “I mean, this man has practically swept you off your feet, hasn’t he? Now spill . What’s going on with you and this rugby-playing dreamboat?”
I shake my head, my cheeks already warming.
“He’s... wonderful. I mean, I don’t know where to start. What do you want to know?”
“Erm, everything!” she laughs.
“Alright,” I say, trying again. “Well, he’s twenty-nine. Erm… He’s a professional rugby player, obviously. He’s been with the same local team for a few years now, but he plays for the national team, too, which is… kind of a big deal. Ah… Rugby season ends in May, not long before my school closes for the summer. I think it’s kind of bittersweet for him.”
Laura raises an eyebrow. “Bittersweet?”
“Right. I mean, I’m just assuming here. It’s very intense,” I explain. “All of the training and stuff. He has quite a tight schedule. It’s obvious when we talk that he loves it, but it’s not exactly easy on the body. He can’t drink alcohol - ”
“At all?!” Laura interrupts.
“Nope,” I confirm, popping the p. “And… I don’t know. There’s this sense that he’s thinking ahead, about what comes next. I guess he can’t play forever. But right now, he’s definitely all in. Training, matches, everything . By the sound of things, his schedule is pretty insane.”
“And yet, he makes time for you,” Laura points out.
I can’t suppress my smile there. “Yeah, he does.”
Laura leans closer to the screen, her curiosity palpable. “So, what are your plans for the summer? Are you coming home?”
I pause, considering my answer. “I don’t think so,” I say finally. “I want to stay here. Embrace the culture, keep immersing myself in all of it. I’ve made some friends at work, and obviously, there’s Santi… but I’ve also signed up to do some tutoring over the summer. I’ll be keeping busy, and still earning money.”
Laura blinks at me in mock disbelief. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?!” she asks. “The Olivia I know would have been on the first flight back to moan about the heat and hide in the bedroom at her mum’s for a week straight.”
I laugh. “Maybe I’m changing. Being here has opened me up to so much. New experiences, new people…”
“Rugby players…” Laura chimes in.
“A certain rugby player,” I admit, shaking my head at her cheeky grin. “Just one. But it’s not just him, Laura. It’s the festivals, the language, the food… everything about this place feels alive, and I want to soak up as much of it as I can. I’m not staying here forever, so I want to make the most of it.”
Laura nods thoughtfully, her expression softening. “I get that. I do. I just miss you, you know?”
“I miss you too,” I say, my voice quieter now. “But I feel like I’m finally starting to find myself here. For the first time in ages, I’m not just... drifting.”
“That’s all I want for you,” Laura says softly. Then her teasing grin returns. “That, and for you to give me more details about this Santi guy. Is he funny? Thoughtful? What’s he like?”
I smile, thinking of him. “Both.”
“Wait a minute. He’s hot, funny and thoughtful?!”
I laugh softly. “He’s not what I expected. He’s so grounded. He talks about his family all the time - especially his mum. He’s always messaging me first and responds quickly, and he always makes the plans for us. And he’s got this ridiculous sense of humor that makes me laugh even when I don’t want to.”
Laura tilts her head, a dreamy look on her face. “He sounds like a keeper.”
“I think he might be,” I say softly, surprising myself with the admission.
“Well, you’d better invite me to the wedding. I’ll be Maid of Honour, of course.”
I shake my head at that. “Don’t get your hopes up just yet. I don’t really know how this will work… You know, logistically. ”
“What do you mean?” Laura asks, her brows furrowing.
“Well, Santi’s pretty committed to a life here. And as much as I really do love Spain, I don’t want to stay here forever.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that just yet,” she says, taking on a much more serious tone. “You just need to lean back and enjoy this. It sounds like he’s super into you - don’t sweat the rest of it just yet. ”
“Yeah. I guess so,” I nod. “Anyway - tell me all about you. I’m not having it that you’re not seeing anyone.”
“Well, there might be someone…” Laura smiles, and I squeal in delight.
As we keep chatting, I realise how grateful I am for her endless support. As much as I like the people here and have made friends with some of my co-workers, nothing is quite the same as my friendship with Laura, where we’d hit it off immediately and been practically inseparable ever since.
Not only that, but I’m so grateful for technology, and for the chance to share this new chapter of my life with my best friend - even if she’s hundreds of miles away.
∞∞∞
Like most Thursday afternoons, my classroom hums with the low murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. The Spanish sun streams through the tall windows, casting golden patches across the desks where my fifteen-year-old students are scattered in small groups, deep in discussion.
“Okay, everyone,” I say, clapping my hands lightly to get their attention. “Remember, the goal is to practice speaking as much as possible. This is your chance to impress me with your English.”
A few murmurs of complaint ripple through the room, but most of the students smile and nod in understanding.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve learned that keeping the tone light helps them relax, and adopting Sarah’s method of speaking in English as much as possible has really been paying off .
Total immersion might be challenging, but it works.
“Your task is to discuss your heroes,” I continue, pacing between the desks. “It can be anyone. A family member, a historical figure, a celebrity. But by the end of the session, I want you to be able to explain why they’re your hero, and tell us all at least one interesting fact about them. Got it?”
A sea of nodding heads greets me, and the students dive into the task with surprising enthusiasm. I move around the room, listening to snippets of conversations and offering encouragement when needed.
Although most of the kids are speaking in English, I recognise a few wild Spanish phrases being tossed around here and there.
“Remember everyone,” I call out, interrupting their flow. “English only. No Spanish cheat codes!”
There’s a collective groan, but I catch a few smirks.
“Miss, sometimes it’s too hard!” a boy named Diego protests, dragging out the word hard in a dramatic whine.
“You can do it,” I reply. “Think of it as practice for the real world. Now, back to your heroes!”
In reality, I’m beyond impressed by all of their work ethic, focus and dedication. Most of my students have been learning English since they were tiny, so their language skills are already at a superb level. I’m only pushing them because I believe in them all and want them to succeed in their end-of-year exams.
As I make my way around the room, I pause by a group of boys who are gesturing animatedly. Their enthusiasm catches my attention, so I linger just out of view, curious to see where their conversation is heading .
“Messi’s the greatest, no contest,” one boy says confidently, his English accented but clear.
“Pfft,” another counters, “Cristiano is better. He’s faster and scores more goals.”
“You’re both wrong,” a third interjects. “Have you seen Santiago Ortiz? He’s the best rugby player in Spain!”
My heart skips a beat at Santi’s name being mentioned.
“Rugby?” one of the others scoffs. “No. We’re talking football here, Javier.”
“But rugby’s cooler,” Javier insists. “Ortiz is like... super strong. I saw a video of him tackling a guy twice his size. And he’s got a bunch of trophies too.”
“ Sí , he’s the best!” Martín exclaims, clearly forgetting my English-only rule.
“Who is?” asks another boy, tilting his head in genuine curiosity as he joins the conversation.
“Santiago Ortiz,” Javier says proudly, his voice lowering as if revealing a secret. “You know, the rugby player.”
I keep my expression neutral as I continue to wander around the room, trying not to show how much I’m eavesdropping.
“He’s from here, you know,” Martín adds. “He went to school not far from here.”
“Local?” another boy, Andrés, perks up. “Really? Still?”
“Sí,” Javier says, slipping back into Spanish before catching himself. “I mean, yes! My cousin has seen him driving around a few times.”
“That’s so cool,” Andrés says, his eyes widening. “He’s famous, right? Like on TV and everything?”
“Claro -” Javier clears his throat. “I mean, of course! He’s been on sports shows, magazines, everything. He’s a really good player.”
I grip my lesson plan a little tighter, trying not to let their words distract me. The idea of Santi being discussed in such a casual, admiring way feels surreal, like two parts of my life suddenly colliding.
“Miss?” Javier’s voice jolts me back to the present.
“Yes?” I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Who’s your hero?” he asks, his face lighting up with curiosity.
“Good question,” I say, buying myself a moment to refocus. “I would probably say… my father. But today isn’t about my hero!” I quickly add. “It’s about yours. Keep going - I want to see some brilliant answers when we share.”
As I move on to walk by another group, my thoughts linger on the boys’ conversation. The more I learn about Santi, the more I realise how much he’s rooted in this city, in this community.
It’s no wonder the kids look up to him.
And as much as I try to stay professional, I can’t help but feel a flicker of pride. Because even though Santi’s world feels larger than life, there’s a part of him that’s grounded in the same place I’m beginning to call home.