Epilogue
Grace raced up the stairs to her apartment, her satchel banging into the side of her leg with every step.
She had to pause and catch her breath outside the door for a moment, because despite walking all over the entire city of Granada, a flight of steps still did her in.
She regained her composure after a moment and then opened the door.
Rafael was on the phone, but his face broke into a bright smile when he saw her.
He gave a little wave, which was frankly adorable.
Grace moved to the office to drop off her bag, and by the time she was out again, she could tell Rafael was wrapping up.
Her Spanish was still a work in progress, but very much improved.
She could recognize that Raf was saying he had to go, and he would talk to the person on the other end of the line later.
Based on the tone in Raf’s voice, it was probably a client.
Sometimes, Rafael would only speak in Spanish to help Grace learn the language, but she also just loved listening to him speak in his native tongue.
She was finally able to understand more of the dirty things he whispered to her in the dark, though he kept coming up with new filthy vocabulary, and she could never quite keep up. It was still hot as hell.
He rose and walked toward her. “Feliz Cumpleanos, mi amora.”
She’d been living in Spain for over a year but only living with Rafael—this time—for a little over a month.
It had been a mutual decision between Grace and Rafael, Grace and Alma, Alma and Obinna.
Obinna was living in Alma’s apartment now, and Grace was surprised at how easy it was to feel at home at Rafael’s place again—bowl of pomegranates on the counter, the little window from what was now their shared office looking out over the rooftops along the slanted street, the stool where she’d been sitting the moment he told her he loved her.
Rafael kissed her, and Grace let her hand trail down his arm until she reached his hand, their fingers intertwined. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.
They were going out for her birthday with a small gathering.
Alma and Obinna, of course. Lucia and Marco and Marco’s boyfriend, Felipe.
Marco had graduated and wasn’t her student any longer, but he was still her friend.
Grace was also Lucia’s biggest fan, but they’d become friends over the past several months as well.
Alejandro from Sacromonte was there, and Nora, the travel writer, and her fiancée were in town, and they’d been happy to join for the festivities.
Nora still didn’t know about the secret art exhibit, or rather, Grace had a feeling that she did know, and chose not to mention it or print anything about the place.
The little museum was still a well-kept secret, but sometimes Grace joined the crowds of locals that gathered for free entry on one Saturday of the month.
Word had spread amongst a group of nearby art-lovers, and they liked to take advantage when it was open to the public.
Sometimes they all went out for coffee afterward.
“Not quite ready yet,” Rafael said. “I wanted to give you one of your presents before we go.”
“One of my presents?” Grace asked. “Meaning there are several?”
“One of them will have to wait until later…in the bedroom,” he said in a seductive purr before nipping at her ear.
“Interesting,” she said, leaning into his touch again.
“Here.” Rafael took her hands and led her to the couch. “Sit down and close your eyes.”
“Really?” Grace hovered for a moment before taking a seat.
Raf squeezed her hands. “Yes, just do it, Graciela.”
Grace did as she was told, placing her hands over her eyelids for dramatic effect. She heard Rafael moving through the apartment, until finally she felt the familiar warmth of him beside her.
“Okay,” he said. “You can open them.”
She removed her hands from her face and searched for the surprise. It didn’t take long to spot it settled on one of the stools leaning back against the counter. A painting.
Grace couldn’t help standing up and moving toward it to get a closer look.
She recognized the image instantly; it was the view through the window of her little bedroom the first time she’d lived in Rafael’s apartment.
The rooftops stretched out down the hill, and a few cars passed each other on the street.
The sun was bright, like early afternoons when Grace would stare and stare out that window just thinking, mulling over anything that was on her mind—usually Rafael.
You could see the windowsill as well, where a whole pomegranate rested on the ledge, as well as a little book that had belonged to Grace’s grandmother.
It was breathtaking and perfect and it seemed to transport her to such a specific time, months earlier, when she’d been falling in love with Rafael.
“I—How did you?” she asked in a breath, and Rafael moved behind her, pressing himself against her back and wrapping his arms around her middle.
“Happy birthday,” he said.
Grace stared at the painting a moment longer. She recognized the style, the beautiful brushstrokes. She knew one artist who would see that view from the window and be able to capture it like that, to find the beauty in every tiny detail.
“Lucia?” she whispered.
“Of course.”
“When did she even find the time? How did you get her to do this?”
Rafael laughed. “Believe it or not, Grace, she was thrilled. She loved having the opportunity to create something for you. She started before you ever moved in.”
“It’s so beautiful,” she said. There were tears in her eyes. An ache rose in her chest. She wished Gram could see it.
“You like it then?”
“Are you kidding?” Grace let out a little snort and let the swell of emotions fill her up.
The grief, the love, the happiness. It was all there, and it swirled together, mixing into something new, some new existence, some version of herself that had fallen apart and gotten put back together.
And maybe the pieces were arranged in a new order.
Maybe she didn’t look quite like she had before all the destruction.
But she’d still managed to find the very best things in life and hold onto them.
Rafael leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, and Grace rested her head back against his shoulder, offering more of her skin for him to taste.
“We better get going,” he said. “Alma’s got a few surprises up her sleeve as well, and she’ll give me a hard time if I make you late.”
Grace let out an impatient groan. “But I never want you to stop kissing me,” she said.
Rafael laughed against her neck. “Don’t worry. After dinner, we’ll have all night. Just you and me.”
Grace smiled and looked back at the painting.
It seemed to say something to her, conjuring a memory she couldn’t quite place.
Or maybe it was just a strange nostalgia.
Lucia’s work always had a way of giving her that feeling, but this was different.
It was stronger, and it seemed to rush up from somewhere deep inside of her.
Rafael nuzzled against her cheek and then went to grab his jacket before holding Grace’s out to her.
Just as Grace started to turn toward him, slipping an arm into the coat, she stepped back again, one more time, eyes on the painting.
The blend of colors. The way the light shined over the street.
The gleam of the pomegranate in the window.
Grace finally put her finger on it, on the specific way it spoke to her.
Maybe it was something she never could have understood until she saw it this way, through Lucia’s eyes, the beauty of it all captured forever on a small piece of canvas.
It felt like home.
Thank you for reading!