Page 97 of Guarded Love

The fountain creates a natural gathering spot, and I watch as Tyler animatedly explains something to Madison while she snaps photos. They're completely absorbed in what the other is saying. I haven’t fully been able to pinpoint if there is somethingmore than friendship blooming there yet because I’ve been too absorbed in my own shit.

"They don't have to hide," I observe quietly.

Blaise lets out a small sigh. "No. They don't."

The weight of our secret sits between us like a third person. Three days since that night in his room, and we've been playing this careful dance of making sure no one notices anything going on between us. It's exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. And how will we continue this when we get back to Virginia?

"Willow! Blaise!" Madison waves us over. "You have to see this up close."

We join them at the fountain's edge, where Tyler is pointing out details in the sculpture. "See how the three figures represent the cultural influences?"

I lean in to get a better look, genuinely interested despite my mind refusing to focus on any one thing. The figures seem to dance together, each distinct but unified in their shared space. It's beautiful and haunting given the history behind it.

I reach for my phone to take a photo, but my fingers fumble with the case and it slips from my hands. "Shit," I mutter, watching it bounce once on the cobblestones.

Blaise moves before I can even register what's happening, bending down to scoop it up. When he straightens and hands it back to me, our fingers brush. It's barely a touch. It looks like nothing to anyone watching, but to me, it’s everything.

"Thanks," I manage to say, hoping my voice sounds normal.

"No problem." His eyes hold mine for just a beat too long before he steps back.

Madison, thankfully, is too busy adjusting her camera settings to notice our moment. Tyler is still examining the fountain like he's planning to write a thesis on it.

"The Taíno influence is fascinating," Tyler says, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between Blaise and me. "You can see it in the way?—"

"Tyler, breathe." Madison laughs, lowering her camera. "You're about to hyperventilate over historical architecture."

"Sorry." He grins sheepishly. "I just find it interesting how all these different cultures created something beautiful together although that wasn’t the goal.”

None of us have to say what the actual end goal was because we all know. We stand at the fountain for a few more minutes, taking in the significance of it before we drift off and continue our self-guided tour of Old San Juan.

We drift from the fountain toward the heart of the marketplace, and suddenly we're hit with the scents of garlic, cilantro, and something sweet and fried that makes my mouth water instantly.

"Oh my God, do you smell that?" Madison stops dead in her tracks, nearly causing Tyler to crash into her back.

"Which smell?" Tyler asks, steadying himself with a hand on her shoulder.

"All of them," she says, spinning in a slow circle with her arms outstretched. "It's like someone bottled up every amazing smell in the world and dumped it here."

She's not wrong. The market stretches out before us in a riot of color and sound that makes my senses go into overdrive. "I don't even know where to start," I admit, watching a woman flip what looks like plantains on a massive griddle.

"Start with these," Tyler says, already gravitating toward a stall selling small paper boats filled with golden-brown fritters. "Alcapurrias. My roommate at Crestwood is from Puerto Rico and he told me about these."

"What's in them?" Madison asks, peering over his shoulder.

"Taro root and meat, I think? They're fried." Tyler's already digging for his wallet. "Four, please," he tells the vendor in careful Spanish.

The elderly man behind the counter beams at Tyler's attempt at the language and hands over four steaming portions.

"Gracias," Tyler says proudly, then immediately turns to us after we thank him for buying us food. "Okay, who wants to taste it first or should we all do it together?"

"Together," Madison declares, holding up her fritter like she's making a toast. "On three. One, two?—"

"Wait!" Tyler interrupts, nearly dropping his alcapurria as he fumbles for his phone. "We should document this occasion."

"Seriously?" I laugh, but I pose anyway, holding my fritter up to match Madison's.

"This is important," Tyler says as he snaps a photo. "My roommate will never forgive me if I don't have evidence."

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