Love in the Abstract

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Alma Ferrer-Martín was a goddess. No, she was an angel sent from above.

She was an honest-to-goodness, real-life savior.

At least, that’s what Grace Cameron was thinking as she wove through the airport in Granada, Spain, making her way to the exit where her best friend in the entire world, the most perfect person on the planet, would be picking her up.

Somehow, almost like magic, Alma had managed to save Grace from withering away in an empty old house and was instead setting her up with an entirely new life in a foreign country.

A new life where she would never have to set eyes on Lake Michigan or the Navy Pier or Willis Tower ever again.

It wasn’t that Grace hated her hometown.

Actually, until recently, she wouldn’t have pictured herself hopping on a plane and flying halfway across the world without any plans to return home.

She wouldn’t have imagined relying so heavily on Alma’s generosity.

In a matter of months, however, the Windy City had become unbearable, right down to the tourists who stood staring at the giant reflective bean sculpture and the squeaking wheels on the movable beds at Memorial Hospital.

Her favorite coffee shop was ruined. She completely avoided her favorite park.

She could hardly stand anything in the entirety of the Midwest that was even tangentially related to him, and she no longer had a reason to stay.

Alma had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and the moment Grace set foot on the pavement outside the airport in the province of Granada, she was ready to fall in love with her new home.

The sun on her face, the soft breeze blowing through her hair.

It even smelled different somehow, like citrus and mountains and salt.

She was prepared to enjoy something for the first time in months.

And while, perhaps, nothing was entirely perfect—she had a heavy dose of guilt about this being her runaway destination, and she was loath to be another tourist in a crowded country—she had nowhere else to go.

She was desperate and devastated, hard pressed to think of a single thing waiting for her back in Chicago.

In this place, at least there was Alma. And from the moment the plane landed, Granada seemed to be a part of Grace. Her new life was in Spain. This was it.

Within a matter of seconds of Grace stepping out of the airport, Alma pulled up to the curb in a black convertible with the top down, her silky brunette hair shining down her back, her oversized sunglasses and red lipstick gleaming.

It had been over a year since Grace laid eyes on Alma in person, but she looked the same as ever.

She was the picture of glamor, by far the most beautiful woman Grace had ever seen in real life.

And she was prompt, too. She really was divine.

“Hola, Gracie!” Alma called, a smile spreading across her face.

Grace knew she must look a bit disheveled after an overnight flight and a five-hour layover in Madrid, but Alma didn’t appear to notice. She leapt out of the car and rushed over, grabbing Grace by the shoulders and kissing her on both cheeks.

“You’re here,” Alma cooed, the hint of her Spanish accent evident in each syllable as she drew out the words. “How was your flight?”

Grace took Alma’s hand in hers and squeezed. “The flights were fine. I think I slept for about twenty minutes. You would have been out like a light the whole time.” She bent to pick up one of her suitcases before shuffling toward the car.

“Being able to sleep absolutely anywhere is one of my most treasured skills,” Alma agreed before picking up another one of the bags and popping the trunk.

They both halted when the trunk opened, staring uneasily at the interior, unsure how everything would fit.

“You might have to hold that one,” Alma said, pointing to one of the larger pieces of luggage. “Good thing you went to that one personal training session at the gym.”

Grace flexed a noodle-like arm before she and Alma started loading the other bags, twisting and stacking them like it was a game of Tetris. Alma used her foot to kick one bag until it smashed into the last remaining slot and then looked at Grace triumphantly.

Minutes later, Grace was buckled into the passenger seat with a suitcase on her lap, little luggage wheels digging into her thighs, wild hair whipping around her head as they drove away from the airport.

“How are you today, Gracie?” Alma asked, trying to keep her voice bright even if it was clearly laced with concern.

Grace hesitated. She was tempted to answer with a “fine” or “good,” which was the American way after all, but this was her best friend.

They’d known each other for over ten years, through late nights venting over frozen yogurt with too many toppings, through period cramps that felt like the plague and through major teenage emergencies like pre-date pimples.

They’d spent so many years living together, never even considering a need for boundaries, sharing shoes and shampoo and Skittles.

Alma knew her, and she knew Grace was not okay.

Grace made a sour face even though her best friend was watching the road and couldn’t see it. “I’m trying.”

Alma pouted in sympathy. “Everything will be better now,” she declared.

Grace loved the confidence of that statement, but it was hard to have hope.

Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, all at once.

First, she’d lost her job, which wasn’t her fault.

The entire art history department at the university where she was teaching had been disbanded due to low enrollment, and her adjunct position didn’t offer much job security in those circumstances.

Then her boyfriend of three years had broken up with her without any warning.

It didn’t help that they lived together, which left Grace practically homeless within a single afternoon.

She’d been able to come up with exactly one possible option in that moment, and she’d rushed to her grandmother, to the house where she’d grown up, to her home.

But Grandma had been keeping secrets, too, and they came to light quickly once Grace had moved back in.

“Have I thanked you enough?” Grace asked, her eyes welling with tears. She did not want to cry again. She’d cried so much the past few months, and she was sick of it, but these almost-tears were at least a little different, tears of relief to be in Spain, tears of love for her best friend.

“You won’t stop thanking me,” Alma sighed, banging the steering wheel.

“Enough already. You have been through so much, and I would do anything for you. In fact, I’m selfish.

Your tragedies mean I get to convince my best friend to move to Spain and live with me after years of being apart.

I hate that you’ve had to go through so much, but this is the best possible outcome, I think. Definitely for me.”

Grace couldn’t help smiling at that. It felt good to smile. She’d almost forgotten how to do it. It allowed her to breathe a little easier.

She’d been so preoccupied with seeing Alma and trying not to have a complete breakdown in the passenger seat she hadn’t paid much attention to their surroundings, but, finally, she allowed herself to take it in—the narrow highway lined with trees, the brightly colored buildings that appeared on the side of the road, the blue sky that seemed to stretch on for forever.

She wondered how close Alma lived to such a beautiful area.

“About twenty more minutes,” Alma said, as if reading her mind.

Grace felt her anticipation spike; she couldn’t believe they would be there soon, to this place she’d heard her friend talk about for so long.

It seemed like a fantasy, to work in a little city that housed a Moorish palace, to live in the same town where cathedrals from the 1500s were just something you passed by during your morning commute.

She’d only been to Spain once, to visit Alma during a summer in college.

They’d spent two weeks in Barcelona, which had been a whirlwind of art and culture and architecture, an art history major’s dream, but it had been a vacation for Alma too.

Not her home, not like it would be this time.

Finally, Grace would get to be a part of this place where Alma had grown up, to get to know this part of her that she’d been missing out on for so many years.

To see them now, Alma and Grace might not make sense to a lot of people.

Alma was STEM, and Grace was art and humanities.

Alma was perfectly hair-sprayed curls, and Grace was baseball caps.

Alma was dark lipstick, and Grace was medical-grade lip balm.

None of that mattered, though. Despite all their differences they still fit together.

Their mutual love of reality television and margaritas, constant wisecracks and dancing until dawn had been enough to draw them together, enough to create a bond that went beyond celebrity gossip and binge-watching The Great British Bake Off.

Almost from the moment Grace walked into her freshman dorm room and saw the girl sprawled across a tiny dorm bed with cucumbers over her eyes, she had a sense she’d found a kindred spirit.

It led to them telling each other everything, supporting each other at all times.

It led them to something that would last a lifetime.

“How are you today?” Grace asked, very aware that the past several months had been completely one-sided in terms of their friendship, all about her problems and heartbreak and agony.

Alma had been a great confidante, had barely said a single word about herself the whole time.

She’d been so caring and selfless, but Grace felt like she barely knew what was happening in Alma’s life anymore. She’d hardly even asked.