Page 2 of All at Once

“No. No. Not at all.” I shake my head so quickly that I almost get whiplash. “I think your accent is beautiful.”Just like you. I obviously don’t add that last part. Even though it’s undoubtedly true.

Then it hits me. The accent.That’swhat it is.

The guy I tutored from Spain during freshman year of college had the exact same accent. There’s no way that this could be him, though.Right?

I look down at his left hand to find what I’m thinking will be there. The tiny oval shaped scar above his left thumb that I studied far too many times during our tutoring sessions. My heart starts to thud again when it’s right where I remember it.

“Oh shit. Enrique?” I say, taking off my sunglasses, hoping he recognizes me too.

His brows furrow as he appears to be in deep thought. “Oh wait. Uh…”

“Jasmine,” I answer after a few seconds.

He claps. “Right. From Lit?”

I nod even though that clearly took him a minute.

As Enrique runs his long fingers through his silky espresso hair, he gives me a crooked grin and says, “I miss our late-night study sessions where you’d play obnoxiously loud music to wake me up.”

The warmth covering my cheeks and traveling all the way down my neck reminds me how flustered just listening to him speak used to make me. How itstillmakes me. Glossing over Enrique’s face, trying my best to actually listen to what he’s saying now, I realize how much he’s changed. Maybe that’s why I didn’t recognize him as quickly, his hair slightly shorter and the baby face that’s generously morphed into rugged perfection through the years.

Even if I didn’t recognize his face, I still would have picked up on his charm. For starters, he’s making our study sessions sound way more romantic than they ever were. Given how we were just friendly classmates for one semester. Even though I always wished we could have been so much more.

“I’m surprised you remember,” I reply.

“How could I forget the girl who thought my last name was Iglesias?” he teases.

I’m mortified when the memory comes rushing back.

“Please don’t remind me,” I say.

His dimples appear as he smirks. “So you think my accent is beautiful?”

“I may have said something like that, yes,” I say coyly before finally addressing my terrible attempt at a joke referencing thefamous Spanish singer, “and you know I didn’t think that was your last name. It was just my social anxiety taking over.” Or my awkward attempts at flirting. I miserably tried to make a good first impression the first day that we met when little did I know that he already had a girlfriend at the time. “I’m still embarrassed by it.”

“Don’t be. I still think it was funny,” Enrique replies. “I’m pretty sure I told my friends the same day you said that to me.”

So he told his friends about me? This detail, though simple, is kind of making me have a meltdown, learning that I also crossed his mind before.

“I see you still like football,” I say, surprising myself with the relevant change of subject amidst this. “I’m still impressed by how you managed to find a way to bring upFC Barcelonaevery time we studied together,” I add, referring to his favorite Spanish club team.

“I forgot we talked about that.” He chuckles as his eyes shine. “It’s cool that you still remember.”

“Only because I likeReal Madrid,” I tease, referencing their rival team.

“Ah, okay,” he says. “NowI remember why we didn’t stay in touch.”

I laugh, feeling some nerves dissipate. “So are you just visiting, or did you move here?”

“No. We still live in Spain,” he explains. “My cousin lives a few blocks away, and we’re staying with them. We try to come at least once a year, especially during the summer.”

I’m a bit surprised I’ve never run into him all these years. But then again I barely go out.

“That’s so nice,” I say. “How long are you here until?”

“We’re actually leaving tomorrow.” His grin slowly begins to fade. “This is our last day.”

Of course it is.

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