Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
After settling the bill and letting Don Antonio know how much we enjoyed his food, we finally arrive at the Mercado de Navidad, the annual Christmas market held in Madrid’s main square, Plaza Mayor.
“Does this look like it beats the holiday craft market from back home?” Fernando jokes.
I slowly nod, overwhelmed by what I’m seeing. “So much better.”
Although it’s still early in the afternoon, the market is bustling with crowds.
There are about a hundred booths trimmed in red lights lining the perimeter of the square.
They’re selling everything from food and drinks to practical jokes.
In the center of the Plaza Mayor, there’s a towering fifty-foot Christmas tree also decorated with ruby-red lights and glistening gold stars. Loudspeakers play holiday-themed music.
“Where do we start?” I mutter.
“As your tour guide, I say let’s go left and make a giant circle.”
“Why the left over the right?”
“Because I’d like to try some hot cider.” He points to a queue about ten people deep. “If the line’s long, you know it tastes good.”
“I like your logic.” We share a laugh, making our way to the end of the line. “While we’re waiting, let’s take some couple selfies too. We’ve been slacking in that department.”
“You’re right,” he groans. “Mamá is pestering me for some photos. I’ve been stalling. I don’t know how much longer I can put her off. She’s not a woman I can say no to.”
We turn backward, and I loop my arm around his back. We squeeze in together and he snaps a few images of us with the tree in the background.
“How did it turn out?”
He hands me his phone. “See for yourself.”
I tap the burst of images. The two of us are smiling and look happy, but to me it’s obvious we’re a fake couple. “They’re okay, but we’re too stiff and formal.”
He squints at the screen. “You think it’s decent enough to fool Mamá and the tías?”
I chew on my lip. “I doubt it.”
“How can we fix it?”
I take a moment to consider his question. “We need to be relaxed. Maybe we buy one of the jokes and have the stall owner take some pictures or a video of us opening it up and reading it?”
“I see where you’re going with this. We need to be doing stuff where we can be more candid.” His eyes dart around the market. “There’s a lot of places around here we can play with, like riding the carousel, taking a photo with Papá Noel, and even ice skating.”
My pulse quickens and my voice comes out shaky as I say, “Yes, to the first two, but ice skating?”
His face falls when he sees my stiff reaction. Quickly, he adds, “If we go skating, I’ll have your back the entire time. I promise, I won’t let you fall. But there’s no pressure.”
Skating with Fernando is tempting, especially when it means being in his arms for an hour or two. However, I also don’t fancy making a fool of myself in front of him. “I’ll think about it,” I say softly.
“That’s all I ask.”
We’ve played around the market over the last three hours, capturing photos of us trying everything there is to do until all that’s left is stepping foot on the ice.
“Come on, Ava, you need the full experience,” Fernando says to me. “If there is anything that will convince my family we’re a couple, it’s me and you on the ice together.”
I don’t have a counterargument to that, so we head to the rink. He’s right. A real girlfriend would absolutely take advantage of having a boyfriend who’s a professional ice skater.
My breath hitches as I secure my laces. I can’t believe I let Fernando talk me into this. “Have I done this right?” I ask, staring down at the teal-colored plastic rental skate.
He scoots closer and leans over to inspect my handiwork. He slips his hand into the skate and checks the pressure. “This feels secure. Try standing and let me know what you think.”
Getting to his feet, he offers me his hand.
It takes two seconds for me to feel like I’m wearing a pair of clown shoes that are two sizes too big.
My ankles roll inward, and I place all my weight on Fernando.
The top edges of the skate dig into the tender skin above the bone. “Um, not good.” I grit my teeth.
He helps me sit back down, then kneels, checking the fit again. “What size did you ask for?”
“I think I asked for a thirty-eight. It was weird when I did the conversion on my phone. It said European shoes don’t come in half sizes.”
“They normally don’t, but in skates, they do.” He frowns. “What’s your American shoe size?”
“Six and a half.”
“Then we need to try a thirty-six, thirty-six and a half, and a thirty-seven on you. You usually size down in skates, but with rentals it’s a toss-up. Your skates hurt because they’re too big. This is an easy fix.” He unties the skates and collects them. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks to the counter in his own rental skates with the ease of a model wearing high heels.
His jeans hug his butt, giving him a perfect peach shape.
Can he skate in something that tight? I hope they don’t rip on him.
Although if they do, I’d get a chance to see what’s underneath.
If it’s anything like his arms, I’m sure he’s ripped.
My body warms like a tea kettle on the stove.
I don’t really want to share that with the rest of Madrid though.
I want to be the only person to enjoy it.
Turning my attention to the ice, I watch as the people glide past me.
Some of the skaters are gripping the wall for dear life like I would.
They’re using their arms to pull themselves along, giving themselves an intense arm workout.
A handful of kids hover near their parents, while others are racing one another, weaving in and out of the crowd.
In the center are the experts. One woman in a black dress holds her leg out to the side and slowly brings it into her body for a fancy, fast spin. She whips around so quickly that I start to feel dizzy watching her. I shake my head. How is it possible for a person to even do that?
I wonder what type of skater Fernando is.
He’s mentioned doing triple jumps in passing, and competing, but until now, it hasn’t seemed real.
As a pairs skater, I’m sure he’s used to lifting people over his head.
I shudder. If that’s something he wants to try with me today, it’s a hard pass.
I draw the line at trying to go backward.
My thoughts are interrupted when Fernando returns and plops down next to me. “They didn’t have any size thirty-sixes left, but I think the thirty-six and a half will work.”
I tug the skates on, and just as he predicted, they fit, although they’re a lot tighter than I’m used to.
He assures me that’s a good thing. It means my ankles are fully supported.
Could that have been what my problem was all along?
I guess we’re about to find out. We snap a selfie, then I follow him to the doorway, waddling like a duck.
“It’ll get easier in a minute. You won’t have to pick up your feet. You’ll be able to glide.”
“If you say so,” I reply, my voice quivering.
I pause in the entryway, inhaling deeply as I wait for a break in the traffic passing by.
Holding on to the wall for dear life, I place one foot on the slippery surface, then the other.
I exhale. I’m standing. My feet aren’t slipping out from underneath me. So far, so good.
I take a few steps, feeling more confident.
Can I let one hand go? Hesitating, I glance back at Fernando, who is right behind me.
He nods, encouraging me. Taking a deep breath, I release my left hand, leaving my right gripping the wall.
I push a little harder and start to glide a few inches.
“I’m doing it!” I exclaim. A rush of excitement fills me.
As I turn my head to glance back at Fernando, a kid darts between us. My body stiffens and I lunge forward, losing my grip on the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut, memories of the last time I went skating and fell flashing before my eyes. I wait for the hard impact, except it never comes.
“I promised I wouldn’t let you fall,” Fernando says, his hands wrapping around my waist.
I exhale deeply, relief washing over me.
“You were doing so well, Ava.” As if I’m a rag doll weighing nothing, he hoists me to my feet and steers me away from the crowd. “You’re more skilled than you let on. Let’s go out in the middle where there’s less people.” He sends a glare in the direction of the kid who bumped into me.
“The middle?” I sputter. “Away from the wall?” I glance longingly at the plastic barrier.
“Sí, it’s the safest place to be.”
My breathing quickens. I have to remember Fernando is an expert and I need to trust him, even though my instincts are screaming at me to flee. “Okay,” I squeak.
We find a small patch of ice on the opposite side of some orange traffic cones.
“Ava, it’s okay.” His voice is calm and reassuring.
He doesn’t release his grip on me. “You’re safe.
I’m going to be with you the whole time.
I won’t let go until you’re ready. You can squeeze my hand or grip my arm as hard as you want. ”
“I don’t want to make you fall.”
“You won’t.” He puffs out his chest. “I haven’t lost a student yet.” Keeping hold of my hands, he turns backward and says softly, “Relax your body. Skating is just like walking. You move one foot and then the other. One-two.” He counts out. “One-two, one-two.”
My head goes to my feet. I focus on untensing my muscles, but it’s easier said than done. “Keep your head up, Ava. You always want to look at where you’re going.”
“Mm-kay,” I mumble.
We continue a couple laps around the perimeter. By our tenth or eleventh time around, my body begins to understand how to move and Fernando talks me into easing my death grip on him.
“That’s it! Fantástico.” We stop. He pulls out his phone and opens the video app, gliding back a few feet from me. “Try skating toward me.”
“On my own?”
“Si. Just a few steps.” He nods encouragingly.