Chapter 4

“Oh shit! Sorry!” I blurt, wishing the earth could actually open up and swallow me. My cheeks burn and I’m sure I’m a horrendous puce colour. “I didn’t mean it like that. I?—”

What did I mean? It dawns on me that my first reaction was to think the guy was hitting on me. Have I just been homophobic? Damn, I hope not, because I’m not, in any way. But I don’t know many gay people and there are certainly none among my close friends, not that I have many of those either. I don’t even know if the guy is gay. It’s not like he has a neon sign above his head. I messed up talking to people yesterday, and today doesn’t look any better. Maybe I should’ve stayed in my hotel room. But I like it here, I find it calming, though I’m trying to not catch the eye of the owner. I’m still embarrassed about yesterday.

Luckily, the guy looks amused rather than upset.

“I... I’ve never been asked to dance before,” I finish.

“Really? Now that does surprise me,” he chuckles .

“Look, I’m sorry I was rude. Please let me buy you a drink?” I feel it’s the least I can do.

He flashes a brilliant smile and sits down at my table. “Well, if you insist.” I signal to the waitress and order a bottle of wine.

I pour him a glass and he takes a large swallow. Then he looks at me with an appraising air. “That is good wine. Apology accepted.”

“You sound surprised,” I laugh.

“That you know good wine?” He frowns slightly. “I guess I am a little. I’m sorry, too.”

“Apology accepted.” I raise my glass, and he matches me, both of us taking another drink. “I once wrote a book that centred around the wine industry, so I did a lot of research and a lot of wine tasting.”

“You’re a writer? How exciting.” His eyes sparkle.

“Not really. It’s a lot of looking at a blank screen, wondering how to get the words in your head to form into recognisable and coherent squiggles.”

He laughs again as if I’ve said something witty instead of just venting my frustrations. Writing is rewarding, and it’s the only thing I know how to do. But it’s a hard slog, and right now, with no contract, I might never sell another book. The thought is certainly demotivating. I’m sure it would make my family happy too. My parents thought I should have gone into a more stable career, like being a solicitor or an accountant, but I don’t want to think about that right now. Here I am in company for the second day in a row and for only the second time since I arrived here.

“Are you famous? Have I heard of you?” he asks, leaning in a little closer and whispering. “Are you here incognito?” He looks around furtively, like maybe some sort of paparazzi or fan might appear at any moment, and he should be on the lookout. Watching him slightly lightens the heaviness I’ve felt for a week, and I chuckle.

“No, nothing like that. I doubt very much you’ve heard of me. I don’t think any of my books have been translated into Spanish.”

“Tell me anyway, and I can tell all my friends I’ve met you.”

“Okay, I write under the name Rafe Rowell.”

He pulls back a little and scrutinises me for a minute. He scrunches his nose slightly, something I don’t think I’ve seen another guy do before. It’s kind of cute, which is a word I’ve never used to describe a man before. Huh . It’s probably the wine kicking in. I’ve been sitting here drinking slowly and reading for several hours, making myself comfortably numb.

He gives a little shake of his head.

“Sorry, I’ve got nothing.” He looks genuinely apologetic.

“I don’t think most people in the UK, or the States for that matter, would know who I am either.” I have a small readership in the US, but I’m hardly a household name. “The way I’m going, I’ll probably fade into obscurity, anyway.” I hadn’t meant to give anything away. I don’t want to bring the mood down. I cast my eyes down and sigh. A warm hand rests on my arm.

“I’m sure that’ll never happen; all books deserve to be read.” He gives my arm a squeeze, and I lift my head to look into his eyes. A fleeting recollection of the rich red-brown of the conkers I used to play with as a kid passes and is gone. His soft expression watches me with no judgement.

“Thank you for saying so.” The reassurance of a stranger casts my life and family in stark contrast. I press my lips together, his kindness almost overwhelming me, and I blink back the tears that are threatening to form. I desperately try to think of something to say, needing to change the subject before I find myself spilling the whole of my sad story. I look down to where his hand is still on my arm.

“You know, if you’re going to touch me, you could at least let me know your name.”

He smiles, showing a row of white teeth. “It’s not always necessary or desirable to be that familiar.” He withdraws his hand, though, and takes another drink.

Oh . . . Oh! It takes me a few seconds to understand he’s referring to hookups. Not something I’m familiar with, but the wine emboldens me.

“And what about in this case?”

The corners of his mouth twitch and he looks like he’s about to speak. I’m interested in hearing what he’ll say since he’s managed to surprise me more than once already. Another voice cuts in.

“I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I didn’t mean to kick you out.” I look up, straight into the face of the guy from yesterday—the bar owner.

I catch the eye of my drinking companion; his eyebrows are somewhere up near his hairline, and he’s giving me another of his appraising looks.

“It’s fine.” I make an open gesture with my hand. “It seems to be the day for apologies, so please come and drink with us.”

It’s only then that I realise the music has stopped and people are leaving. I’m not sure how it got so late.

“Oh, it’s closing time.” I’m a little disappointed as I don’t feel like leaving yet.

“You can stay a while longer and so can. . .” He turns to address the other guy.

“Florencio,” he replies. “Florencio Delgado. My sister calls me Florrie. You may not.”

I’m sure I see the serious mouth of the older guy twitch slightly as he bows his head. “I am Constantin Marin. ”

They both look at me. I guess I should introduce myself. “Rafe Alderson.”

“Give me a minute. I’ll just need to check on the staff and lock up.” He turns and heads towards the bar where the waitress is clearing up.

“Soooo.” Florencio draws the word out and smirks. “He kicked you out last night, and he didn’t know your name? Colour me intrigued.”

I laugh. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. It’s not nearly as exciting as you’d think. I’d never met him before last night.”

“Well, that just sounds more exciting. Come on, tell me all.” He leans a little closer and glances over to where Constantin is talking to the other musicians who are packing their instruments away. “He is very handsome, isn’t he? I can see why you stayed.”

“Oh, no! It’s nothing like that. He asked me to stay for a drink and I had nothing else to do. We talked for a little while and then he seemed to become sad and wanted me to leave.” I wasn’t going to disclose his story; that was for Constantin to decide who he told. As for handsome, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. I guess he is. I can appreciate that other guys are good looking, can’t I? Florencio is looking at me as if I’m lying, a smile playing on his lips.

“Look, nothing happened,” I protest. “I had a drink, and I left. And anyway, I told you, I’m straight.” I have no idea why I needed to blurt out that last bit again, but Florencio’s expression turns to full smugness.

“Mmmm, I’ve heard that one before.”