Page 76 of Tough Call

“Isn’t most history?”

“Fair point.”

We continued down the street, checking out menus in the windows of various restaurants. A lot of them were British, and some even leaned American. Probably for tourists coming in off the cruise ships, Madars guessed.

We eventually found one that had a wide variety of Spanish dishes as well as Moroccan food. There, we sat at a table on their patio and split an order of kefta, which was a Moroccan kebab. For our meals, Madars ordered mussels with chorizo and white wine, and I picked Almejas al Ajillo—clams with garlic.

While we waited for our entrees, we relaxed with some cold water. Wine would have been perfect, but Madars had to drive soon, and we did still have to walk back to the car. No point in letting myself get tipsy when I had to walk across an active runway.

“That whole runway thing still blows my mind,” I said. “Like it just… cuts through the middle of town.”

Madars laughed. “I mean, they didn’t really have many options.”

“Okay, true. I guess they can’t land jetliners on the Rock.”

He snorted. “That might startle the monkeys.”

“Oh God. Can you imagine getting off a plane and having monkeys storm the jetway?”

He quirked his lips. “Probably wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen at an airport.”

“No, probably not. Especially since they let hockey players run wild in them.”

“Hey!” He kicked me lightly under the table. “We behave in airports! Usually. Mostly.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you do.”

Rolling his eyes, he gave me the finger. I just laughed.

We carried on bantering and talking about whatever. The food was perfect. The company was even better. Sitting out here with Madars, enjoying the gorgeous weather and incredible food, I was happier than I’d been in a long time.

Sometimes I still caught myself marveling at how long I’d gone without not only seeing Madars, but thinking about him. After we’d drifted apart, I’d moved on with my life and he’d sort of faded into the past.

Ever since Prague, though, I couldn’t imagine life without him. Even if it was mostly texting and FaceTiming from across an ocean, I wasn’t letting go of him this time.

And for now, I didn’t have to text or FaceTime him. He was right here with me. Across the table in a café in Gibraltar. Walking beside me as we explored Sevilla. Curled against me while we watched a movie. Swimming with me in the pool. Working out with me or skating with me. Lying beside me in bed.

He was here. I was here.

And it just didn’t get any more perfect than this.

CHAPTER 25

MADARS

I took a different route back from Gibraltar to Sevilla. It took about the same amount of time, but it changed up the scenery a little. Instead of following the coast, we went deeper into the rolling, forested hills and farm country.

“Okay, I have to ask.” Connor gestured up ahead. “Why do I keep seeing random giant bull silhouettes and beer bottles with cowboy hats?”

I instantly knew what he meant. Up on a hillside were two billboard-sized cutouts that were common around Spain. One was just a black bull. The other was a beer bottle with a hat, vest, and guitar.

“Oh, those? They’re ads. The bottle is Tío Pepe. It’s sherry, I think.”

“Oh. Huh. And the bull?” He grimaced. “Those aren’t for bullfights, are they?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s also some kind of booze. I want to say wine? Might be brandy. I can’t remember.”

“Hmm.” Connor tapped his phone screen a few times. “Oh, it’s the Osborne Bull. It was meant for advertising brandy, but now it’s just a cultural thing.”