Chapter 12
My hand twitches at my side. I look down as it spasms again and realize it feels clammy. Odd. Are you nervous? Should I be? I shrug off the thought and enter the small apartment building.
The stairs are to my right and I climb them two steps at a time. There is a faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with old wine, and the paint peels off the walls. It’s not what I imagined for Maya. I expected something fancy and sophisticated to match her brain. Not this kindling-box of a building.
My mind goes over all the things that are just wrong.
These buildings are old. They come with highly flammable insulation for starters and there isn’t a single fire extinguisher in sight.
The stairs are already questionable without any flames, and the windows are small, leaving no room for escape.
The carpet on the floor comes loose here and there, making it easy to trip over.
In other words, Maya is living in a death trap. And I don’t like it one bit. Because you want to be her savior. Shut it!
I shake off my thoughts and rap my knuckles against her door three brief times.
I hear some shuffling and then the door swings open.
My breath catches immediately. Maya looks as radiant as the sun.
Her blonde hair is pinned up with just a few wavy strands to frame her face, drawing my eyes to her neck.
Her bare neck. I bite my lip and gaze over the deep green dress that dips just low enough to make my knees go weak.
Gonzales, keep it clean! I blink rapidly before I start to mutter.
“Hi, hey. You look…” I trail off.
I whip my head down to look over my own outfit quickly. At least I wore my crisp black slacks and a black shirt. I even let my hair down for once. Simple and acceptable, but not quite as elegant as Maya’s attire.
“I fear I underdressed.”
Maya’s eyes flick up to mine, her pupils wide. She shakes her head once, her cheeks turning a soft pink. Is she blushing?
“You look perfect,” she whispers with a hoarse voice.
At the sound of it, an electric jolt surges through my body.
It comes on so powerfully that I almost moan.
Especially when her lips part slightly and she runs her tongue over them.
How I want to taste that tongue—taste her, have her in my mouth.
Do it! I shudder and inhale a shaky breath.
I am so fucked. Maya isn’t just some annoying reporter.
She is everything all at once, and I crave her. All of her.
Part of me wants to step forward and press her against the wall. To pin her there and let my hands roam over her sides as I press my lips against hers and open her mouth with my tongue. To feel her tongue slide against mine and have her moan against my lips.
I swallow hard and take a step back. My throat bobs as I try to casually offer her my arm.
“Shall we?” I croak and swallow again.
Her blue eyes stay on mine. Her lips part but no words come out.
She closes her mouth again, smiles weakly, and then nods as she steps out of her apartment.
My gaze drops to her legs before I can stop myself.
Focus, Gonzales! My jaw ticks as I whip my head to the side.
But her hand slips around my elbow and when I look back, she looks up at me with those big, sparkling eyes. Fuck.
***
“You have to admit it. This is some of the best tapas there are in this city. The flavors just hit the spot. And each dish has a unique taste. Like, none of that blended stuff that you get with those fast-food tapas places, you know? It’s quality, and you know it.”
Maya is rambling. Her face is flushed from wine. I don’t even try to suppress the grin anymore. She has been so alive all evening. It does something to me. Odd. She makes me think. Makes me stop and feel. I am not used to that.
But you like it. Yeah, I do.
“It’s acceptable,” I jab. Just to see her get riled up.
“Acceptable? El, you are kidding me, right? Please tell me you are kidding? If this is ‘acceptable’ to you,” she goes on using her fingers for air quotes, “then the other place must be magical, because this is one of the best places I’ve ever eaten in the world.
But I think I know what this is…” I pause to look at her and smirk.
“You are just scared to admit you were wrong, aren’t you? ”
She leans forward, her eyes finding mine. There is something behind that gaze. I can’t name it. Not yet. I huff and shrug.
“I don’t make mistakes.”
She rolls her eyes and I can’t help but laugh. Hers follows immediately. Light and melodious. Like rain on a spring mor— What the fuck, Elena? You’re a poet now? Get a grip!
“The food is good,” I answer sincerely. “But I am not sure if it is better than Bodega Biarritz.”
“I guess we’ll find out next week, right?”
Her smile is bright. I chuckle and nod.
“I guess we will.”
A strand of her hair falls loose and my hand twitches at my side. I almost reach out to brush it behind her ear. Almost. But her hand already moves there and her laughter turns into a smile, her eyes still on me.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice comes out tentatively.
I frown but nod. Who asks if they can ask a question? She is a reporter, for crying out loud.
“When did you first know you wanted to be a firefighter?”
My frown deepens. I wasn’t expecting this. Not here, not now. You are just a job to her, Gonzales. My jaw clenches and I exhale through my nose. I nod once as I briefly close my eyes. After another sip of wine, I lean back and look at her.
“When I was five. My brother found a lighter and set a newspaper on fire in the backyard. It almost spread to the bushes. My mother says she found me stomping out the flames. They’ve called me Pequena bombera ever since.”
Maya’s eyes soften and her lips curl up. She looks so damn gorgeous that it makes my breath hitch. Elena, she asked you about this because it’s her job, you idiot.
“Pequena bombera, I like that. It suits you.”
“Is that so?” I smirk while quirking an eyebrow. “I am a head taller than you.”
She snorts, nearly spraying the wine over the table. I can’t help but laugh. Even if it’s just work, I might as well enjoy it. She hiccups and holds up her hands.
“No, I mean, I can see you as a little Elena, taking charge of the situation with a very determined face. I bet you were very serious as a child, no?”
Her eyebrow lifts. She is entertained. By me. The thought of little me.
“You think I am serious?” The slight tremor in my voice betrays me.
“Well, when it comes to your job, yes. But it would be concerning if you weren’t, right? And to be fair, when it comes to my work, I am too.”
There it is again, work. Of course she ties me to her job. She is a professional. A reporter who knows how to soften her interviewees, which she is very good at. My lips press together and I clench my fists. I need to keep this professional too.
“But El,” she suddenly whispers, leaning forward toward me. “Can we forget about work tonight? I want to get to know you. The real you.”
I nearly choke on my breath. My pupils dilate as I stare at her. Fuck professionalism.
“Okay,” I whisper back, hoarsely.
Her lips curl up and she props her chin on her hands.
“Good. Then tell me all about little Elena.”
Maya and I fall into an easy conversation.
I tell her about my parents. How my father was a diplomat, and my mother the silent force behind him.
About my brother, who lost his way in his twenties.
How he finally found peace in a temple in Japan.
About my friends at school, and how we slowly grew apart.
I ask her about her childhood too, wanting to know all of her. Her mother was a German professor, but she passed when Maya was only twelve. Her father never got over it. But by the sound of it, he took good care of her. When he passed, a few years after her mother, she decided to travel.
“I mean, Bosnia was really cool. The people there are warm and they really know how to connect. It felt special just to be there. But when I came here, I just knew I came home, you know?”
I nod. Barcelona had that same effect on me.
“I didn’t want to come here, originally,” I offer quietly, “but after the first two weeks, I realized I felt calm.”
I shrug. It doesn’t make much sense. A busy capital like this, bustling with life.
Yet it was true. All my thoughts about that one day—they vanished.
I needed them to, more than anything. I raise my eyes to meet Maya’s.
She frowns slightly, but doesn’t press. Instead, she just nods in understanding. I offer her a smile.
“So, what about dating then? Are you with someone?” Her voice rises slightly.
Her question takes me by surprise. Not because she asked it, but because of how she bites her lip right after. Is she fishing?
“I’ve dated a few women, but it didn’t really work out.”
The relief on her face puts me on edge.
“So, you are into women,” she whispers almost inaudibly. Then she squares her shoulders slightly and tilts her head. “Why didn’t it work out? Did they put sugar in your coffee or something?”
I huff out a laugh and shake my head.
“Really?” I quip.
She grins and nods, a playful gleam in her eyes. I smile back at her, before shaking my head.
“No such thing. They were wonderful people. It’s the job. I am practically married to it.”
Maya’s pupils dilate as the realization dawns on her. Having seen me at work, she knows how demanding it is.
“I figure they were worried every time you stepped out.”
I nod. “It wasn’t fair to them. So, I decided dating isn’t for me.”
Her lips curl slightly at that remark and something playful flashes behind her eyes.
“Good thing this isn’t a date then,” she teases.
The words cut like a blade, carving to the bone.
I feel my smile falter and my stomach clench.
You thought this was a date, Gonzales? My jaw ticks.
Maya’s eyes keep sparkling as she holds my gaze.
A playful smile on her lips. She is watching me.
Every moment I keep quiet is a moment she can read into. Keep it professional.
“Yeah, good thing,” I retort with more bravado than I feel.
I can’t resist adding a wink to it. Something, anything, to take back control.
Her eyebrows shoot up in amusement and she giggles.
Actually giggles. It sounds delicious. Before I know it, my smile creeps back to my lips.
Laughter rises behind my ribs. It escapes and suddenly, we are both laughing, the tension seeping away from me.
Whatever this is, it feels good. And right now, that’s enough. Even if it isn’t a date.