“It’s hard to believe that yesterday I couldn’t even get you to pick up the phone and now we’re on the way to Spain together. I mean, hello? Spain!”
Jack laughed.
“I can’t believe it’s this easy to make you happy,” he marveled.
“Yeah, I’m easy. All I need is a hot guy with a private jet,” she teased.
“Remind me to send Charlie a thank you note for bailing on me like a total dick. If he had stuck around and been a man about it, I never would have gotten the chance to jet off to Europe with you.”
“He’s hurting, Jack,” Britt said.
“And I’m not?”
“You both are. And everyone deals with grief in different ways.”
“Well, at least he was good for something besides skipping out on me. I do know he loved Dad and he loves me. He just can’t stick around.”
“Emotionally unavailable. I think I’ve dated enough guys like that to identify one.”
“Nah, this was different. Usually he just wants to do his own thing and escape the pressure of expectations, but this was sudden. Like he panicked or something.”
“Well, it’s a pretty intense situation, dealing with your dad’s estate. I imagine he couldn’t handle it. And he knows that for better or worse, you’re the man who’s going to do what has to be done. He can count on that.”
“Yeah, but I can count on you. And that makes all the difference.” He kissed her temple and messaged his dad’s longtime assistant to hold all calls and emails because he was going out of the country for a few days.
Britt messaged Marj to let her know they were heading out for a weekend away. She left out the bit where she was going to Europe on a private jet because it seemed too much like bragging, and she also just liked keeping it private. The truth was, she got so used to keeping their relationship a secret all those weeks that it new and oddly vulnerable to even talk about it.
She stretched her legs out in front of her, relishing the broad leather couch they shared, the ample legroom. He pressed a button to summon the flight attendant and the man came with a fresh margarita on a tray for her. She giggled and accepted it.
“For my two-margaritas girl,” he said affectionately and she thought that she had probably never been happier than she was at that moment in time.
When the plane touched down in Madrid, Britt was practically bouncing with excitement. Once they had cleared customs, they climbed into the plush back seat of an elegant car that awaited them. They whizzed down the main thoroughfares past sleek skyscrapers and down narrow medieval side streets flanked with stone buildings that looked like they would be more at home in another century. They reached an elegant but unassuming building with a tiny brass plaque among the vibrant flowers denoting its status as a hotel. A uniformed bellman took their luggage and they were whisked to a room on the second floor—which would’ve been called the third floor in the US, she noted, since it was three levels above the ground floor.
Their room was sumptuous but understated. The fine details of quality were everywhere—a modern silver vase bearing a single magenta orchid as stunning as a butterfly frozen in flight, the row of chocolate truffles lined up on a mirrored tray beside the bed with its black matte silken coverlet that was somehow both sophisticated and sexy. She wanted to stretch out across that silk with nothing on, just to feel its cool slickness on her skin. Jack had been relatively quiet on the last part of the flight, but she thought he was doing okay, as if the change of scenery and their trip gave him a positive focus. Still, she didn’t want to press him or make demands. If he felt romantic, she trusted him to make the first move. Just being in the same room with him was seductive to Britt.
“Gorgeous room!” she said, reaching for a truffle. “What’s the red stuff on top?”
“Ancho chile powder. It’ll have a real kick,” he said.
Britt bit into the sweet, wowed by the sudden rush of rich dark chocolate almost coffee-like in its fullness and the spark of spicy pepper undertones. Even the chocolate was sexy in Spain, she thought a bit ruefully. She offered him a bite and his mouth closed over the tips of her fingers as he took it.
“Spicy,” he remarked. “So, want to go out for tapas? Try the local wine?”
She laughed. “Absolutely! I have a pair of high heels that have never been out on the town.”
Britt changed into a short, hot pink dress she’d brought just in case she felt her wild side come out in a foreign country, and the stilettos. Jack whistled when she came out of the bathroom, her hair tousled and tumbling over her shoulders, her dress shorter than anything he’d ever seen her in apart from the ill-advised tunic at their Ocean Club date. But where the tunic had been loose and flowy, this was tight and form fitting, showcasing the fact that Britt was all woman. She hooked her hand through his arm and they set off downtown to hit a few of the local bars.
At the first haunt, they slid into chairs at a tiny table and Jack ordered their wine by region, not color. Their free tapas arrived with the glasses of a smoky read. A plate of anchovies and a little wedge of manchego cheese sat before them on a single plate. Britt forked an anchovy, surveyed it critically to determine that its head had already been removed, and ate it gamely, its saltiness a nice foil for the rich cheese. Jack ate two and then promptly ordered raciones and tostas with jamon iberio.
“You are going to die for this ham. It’s unreal. Melts in your mouth.”
“Why is there so much sausage?”
“The pig is a cultural heavyweight, a mainstay of Spanish cuisine.” He then pointed. “Those are albondigas and this is chorizo, which I’m sure you’ve seen.”
A man next to us smiled. “It’s a testament to the edible magic, when a pig meets spices.”
They both smiled.