Page 20 of Sombra
She immediately switches to thickly accentedEnglish. “We are pleased you are here. Were your travels good?”
“Sí. The flight passed so fast. I can’t believe I’m in Spain!”
I’m so grateful she’s housing me, but she still has a reserved look on her impassive face. No warm smile. Again, is this a Spanish thing or her personality?
Another brother steps forward interrupting her, slaps Tavo on the chest, and starts sayingsomething rapid-fire. “Hombre, ¿Cómo no me dijiste que era tan bonita la guiri?”
The noise from Tavo is almost a growl. “Mantente alejado de ella, Antonio. Es mía.”
Antonio cracks up laughing at whatever Tavo said. He’s handsome like Tavo and Guillermo, but his hair is shaved almost in a buzz cut, and he has braces on his teeth, which make his grin goofier. He turns to me and asks,“¿Todas en los Estados Unidos son tan hermosas como tú?”
Now Tavo really growls, shooing him back. “Joder. Antonio, sal de aquí.”
“Vale, vale. Es tuya.” He reaches in, kisses my cheeks, and says, “Bienvenidos.” Then he raises a suggestive eyebrow at me, turns to Tavo, cackles in laughter, and beats a retreat. Okay, so he’s a flirt like his younger brother. I’ll watch it around him,too.
“Mucho gusto,” I call after him and wave.
Tavo introduces me to his grandfather, who steps forward, dapper in a sweater vest and a snap-front hat, even though it’s not by any means cold. He kisses my cheeks, too.
This time, I figure it out and internally congratulate myself for learning how to be kissed in Spain.
“Es un placer conocerte,” his grandfather says.He has the same eyes and proud air as Tavo, but his hair is shorter and neater. I can’t help thinking if Tavo grows up to resemble his grandfather, he’ll be an outstanding specimen of man. Hoo-boy.
More and more people step forward to meet me. I’m introduced to Tavo’s grandmother, aunt, uncle, sister, and another guy who I think is the sister’s boyfriend. I’ve now officially been kissedby more people than I have in my entire life, and I’m appreciative of the gentle respect with which Tavo takes care of me.
While thankfully, most of them try to speak English to me, it’s almost as hard to understand their English as their Spanish. Their English pronunciation follows Spanish norms, like not saying thehin hello, so I need a moment to understand what they said, even thoughit’s in my language. And their real-world Spanish isn’t like my college class, where we spoke slowly, repeating everything, with long pauses between words. I figured it would be hard, but not this hard.
Also, I’m the center of attention. In Iowa, everyone always knew what I was doing, where I was going, and who I was doing it with, since I lived with my parents. Not that I ever did anythinginteresting. But here, it’s another level. Like major leagueeveryone in your business. I can’t imagine keeping anything from this family. There are just too many of them.
Tavo steers me away from the family, saying something in Spanish that gets them to back off. I think he’s saying to give me a chance to rest. “Allow me to show you to your room.”
My mouth dries and adrenaline rushesthrough me as I’ll finally see where I’ll stay for the semester. I waveso longto everyone and follow Tavo, who’s carrying my bags, into the stone farmhouse. I could do it, but I’m sure Tavo wouldn’t hear of it. While I’m good with being a competent, modern woman, it’s a luxury to be treated like this.
He glances over his shoulder and gives me his smile, which makes my breath stutter.Will I ever get used to it? “I will give you a tour later, but I think you want to see your room now, no?”
“Yes.” I nod vigorously, getting slightly lightheaded. While I want to explore the grounds of this historic farm, I can’t help but ogle him as we walk. His tight ass in those jeans is scrumptious. He has a swagger to the way he walks. Like he’s secure in who he is and his place inthe world.
We enter the ancient stone house through a heavy, dark wooden door, and step into an enormous old kitchen.
It fascinates me—I just love other people’s kitchens.
Huh. That’s something I didn’t realize I’d shunted aside until I came here, but I’ve always loved to be in a kitchen. Mom discouraged my experiments because of her weight loss company. Shane rarely eatswhat I make, choosing instead to cook steamed broccoli with baked chicken—or those protein shakes. As I’m here though, I want to take every opportunity to learn to cook Spanish food. I scan the room.
Faded green cabinets line the ceiling and floors. There’s an ancient, commercial grade range, several ovens, and all sorts of things hanging from the ceiling, from well-scrubbed copper pansto dried herbs to bunches of braided garlic, onions, and peppers. Open shelving takes up one wall, storing olive oil in a dark corner. A huge center wood block table appears to do double-duty, both as a place to prep meals and to eat. It could seat sixteen easily.
I follow Tavo out the back door of the kitchen, down a stone-floored corridor with open double-hung windows that let in thebreeze. We take a sharp left and head to a tile-floored newer wing of the house. We pass a living room, several closed doors, which must be bedrooms, and finally at the end of the hall, we stop at a dark red door. Tavo opens it, and my heart leaps.
“This is yours.” He hovers in the doorway, as if he wants to come in, but he’s giving me privacy. I appreciate that. It’s courteous, and he’sputting my needs before his.
I step inside.
The small room has white walls with a cross over the bed, a twin bed, a little desk and chair, and a tall, dark wood wardrobe. Nothing else. No closet. It’s the definition of minimalistic.
I immediately love it. There’s space for me to figure out what I want. Unlike my bedroom at home, this room is my clean slate, my new me, a launchpadfor exploration. My mind starts constructing how I’m going to make it my own—at least for the months that I’m here.
A leafy tree outside shades it from the heat of the day. I stride over to the window to take in the view of rolling rust-colored hills and soft olive trees spaced evenly throughout.
He holds up my bags as a question, and I gesture for him to come in. Stepping in andsetting down my bags by the bed, he pauses, watching me. Then he tilts his head and rubs his chin. “You like?” he asks with a hopeful tone.
