Page 25 of Hot to Go

As warm as the man’s energy is, I’m also wary of giving him too much detail.

‘Yes. I got separated from my group.’ The thought suddenly strikes me that maybe I should have spent more time looking for my cousins or worried about their whereabouts. I think they made it to shore. I just hope they’re not all in a prison cell waiting for me to bail them out.

‘Do we know any telephone numbers?’ he asks me. ‘I can lend you my phone if you need to call them.’

‘Is it awful I don’t know their numbers? C’est terrible,’ I say, throwing in some French to actually go along with this charade.

‘No one knows numbers these days. Do you remember the name of the villa? The road? Maybe we can get you a taxi?’ hetells me. But there is something in me that doesn’t want this little bench date to end. I just want to sit here for a little bit longer, with this random Spaniard. I don’t know how to tell him that without giving him the wrong idea because this moment with the palms and streetlights hovering over us feels like a very calm antidote to the panic of half an hour ago. ‘Whenever you’re ready, no pressure.’

‘You’re very polite,’ I tell him.

‘Isn’t everyone?’ he asks.

‘You’d be surprised,’ I tell him, thinking immediately of Paul. ‘You’re respectful of my personal space, there’s the way you lent me your T-shirt to protect my modesty…’

He shrugs. ‘The fact was I was very warm. I was going to take it off anyway. You did me a favour. It looked better on you in any case.’ I can’t quite take the compliment and look away for a minute to avoid the intensity of his eyes, to resist the temptation to tell him I’d quite like him to disrespect my personal space. I can’t say that out loud. ‘But I was raised right, you can blame mi madre,’ he says, smiling, looking out towards the beach. ‘So, Aurelie…where in France are you from?’

‘Nice.’

‘Nice,’ he replies. ‘That was an awful joke.’

‘I hear it all the time. Yourself? Where do you live in Mallorca?’

He pauses and I can’t tell if he wants to share that information with me. Crap, he’s married or something, isn’t he? I may be crossing a line. He’s just a nice man who helped me out, and it’s nothing but a good reminder that despite what the universe has delivered to you of late, those sorts of men do exist.

‘Palma. I am a teacher.’

Do I tell him I do the same? I won’t. I’ve already really distorted-slash-abandoned the truth by telling him I’m French. I’m not sure how I extend this lie. It’sfine. He’s a random Spaniard and I’ll probably never see him again. Maybe I just have some fun with this. ‘What do you teach?’

He frowns momentarily before answering. ‘Yoga. I go from hotel to hotel and do classes.’

‘Wow. You must be…’ Don’t say bendy, don’t say bendy. ‘Zen.’

He laughs and I smile at the sound. Being back on dry land, I feel the warmth of that Balearic heat again, but I can also feel that I am warming to this man, and a need to try and sit a bit closer to him.

‘Do you have any recommendations for my holiday then, Carlos?’

‘The markets in the plazas are great. That church is one of the oldest in Mallorca. You have to try traditional paella.’ He says paella like a Spanish person. ‘There’s the beaches, walks in the mountains. It depends what you’re into.’

‘What I’m into?’ I ask, blushing.

‘What do you want from your holiday? I see you like the risk of a naked swim.’

‘It’s just the group I was with,mes cousines, we wanted to be more spontaneous. I wanted to let go a little.’

‘Why?’ he asks me earnestly, leaning into me to show interest in my story as opposed to be leary. I allow our knees to touch slightly and feel a spark from the contact.

I shake my head. ‘You don’t need the details. But there was something very freeing about the water. I would recommend it.’

He smiles. ‘Oh, I do it all the time. It’s what we Spanish do. It’s good for the…’

‘Bunyols?’ I say holding up another fried doughnut.

He chokes a little on his drink and laughs. I like making him laugh like that. I put the bag out to offer him another doughnut and his fingers brush mine as he takes one. The touch makes the breath tight in my chest. He turns to me and smiles that warm smile again. I need to try and trust this feeling – it feels toomagnetic, too right. Even if I am wearing a mermaid hooded towel.

‘OH MY GOD!’ The silence is suddenly broken by Beth and Lucy running towards us, fully clothed, hair wet and matted. ‘GET AWAY FROM HER!’

Oh, shit. I suddenly realise how this must look. I’m sitting on a park bench with a man I hardly know, in clothes that must make it look like I may have lost my goddamn mind. A man I only know as Carlos who teaches yoga. Lucy practically launches herself at him and he falls to the floor as she tries to twist an arm around his back. ‘FUUUUCK…’he yelps.

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