Seeing him last night at the club was like waking up in the middle of a dream.
But tonight, it’s like the dream is coming to me.
He looks fantastic. His wavy dark hair perfectly styled, a black blazer over a grey V-neck tee, faded black jeans, black boots. He’s somehow gotten even more handsome over the last two years, though it could be confidence. He oozes it now, and it’s no longer a mask.
“Hey,” he says as he comes over to me and bends down, greeting me by placing his warm palm on my shoulder and kissing both my cheeks.
My eyes flutter closed and I instinctively breathe in. Sea salt. Pine. He smells the same. He smells like safety and happiness. If only I could bottle him and take it with me when I have to leave, put it on when I wake up in the night from the bad dreams that never go away.
He pulls back, his gaze lingering on my lips for a moment, and all the cells inside me tense, wondering if he’s going to kiss me and set me ablaze.
But he goes and sits down across from me and I have to exhale slowly, my breath shaking.
So, it’s been what, thirty seconds, and I’m already a mess?
“You look wonderful,” he says to me.
“As do you,” I tell him, flashing him a smile. “Doesn’t seem fair that you only get better looking with age.”
He snorts and picks up the menu. “I think my nose has gotten bigger.” He presses his finger on the tip of it. “This dent here is turning into a butt.”
I laugh. “Oh stop. You do not have a butt nose.”
That part of him was the last place I kissed, standing in his apartment, saying goodbye.
“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” I tell him.
He looks up from the menu, his smile wan. “I know. It’s good to see you. I mean, really good. I never in a million years thought I would see you again.”
I didn’t think I’d see him either.
But I’d hoped.
I’d been walking around Lisbon with Elena this past week hoping I’d see him somewhere. I checked out the places I knew he liked to go to, I stood outside his apartment a few times. I was looking for him, my fingers crossed.
“The last place I expected to see you was a nightclub,” I tell him, which is true. “I thought you hated those places.”
Marco’s scene.
“I do,” he says. Then he shrugs. “But we won the game and the team convinced me it was a good idea. I may be their captain, but I pretty much do everything they say.”
“You seem like you’re so much happier now. With your team, with the way you’re playing.”
Another shrug. “I think so. I think after the shit we went through last year that we all just dug deep and really looked at what was inside us and what we were contributing to the team. At least that’s what I did. I saw it as a challenge. It’s still a challenge. Even after this season and the seasons after.” He licks his lips, looking like he wants to say something else.
“What?” I ask.
But then the waiter comes by, asking for our drink and food orders. Luciano orders a bottle of red wine from Porto for the both of us, and I quickly settle on a truffle pasta dish.
“You didn’t want the bacalhau?” he asks, teasing.
“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve been eating nothing but bacalhau since I got here. It’s the cheapest thing on the menus sometimes. Anyway, you’re the one who just ordered a chicken breast with rice. I mean, who comes here and does that?” I gesture to the restaurant.
“A man who has practice in the morning. And just so you know, you’re drinking most of that wine too.”
“A wild man last night, but on his best behaviour for our date.”
“Oh,” he says, his eyes dancing. “So, it is a date after all?”
My heart does a little flip. “I guess that maybe turned into a yes.”
“I knew this place would impress you,” he says.
“You also know I’m easily impressed.”
“So, tell me, Ruby,” he says, and the sound of my name on his lips still makes me feel like I’ve got a live current running through me. “What have you been doing these last two years? How long were you in Barcelona for?”
“I was there for six months.”
“How did you manage to make it work?”
“When I got there, I started working at the hostel. I liked it. I got to meet new people every day, I was able to show people around the city and give them advice, I got to arrange pub crawls and beach parties. It actually felt like my calling for a while.”
“I can see that,” he says.
“And I picked up Spanish again, which was great.”
“Perfect. We can speak to each other now when we don’t want anyone to hear us.”
“You know Spanish?”
“I learned it in school, along with English and French.”
“Well,, I learned Spanish in high school and forgot it and then I learned it in Spain and forgot it again, so I’m sorry to say I’m not an apt pupil. Though it’s a hell of a lot easier than Portuguese. I don’t think I’ll ever get a hang of this language.”
“You’re not alone in thinking that,” he says warmly, as the waiter comes by and pours us the wine. He does that thing where he shows you the label and waits for you to take a sip, except Luciano puts the responsibility on me.
I look up at the waiter as he pours a millimetre in my glass and looks at me expectantly.
“You really expect me to have an issue with this wine?” I ask him. “I’ll drink anything.”
Luciano laughs. The waiter looks less than impressed, and he’s still waiting.
“Okay. Bottoms up.” I shoot it back. Yep. It’s wine.
“It’s good,” I tell him. “Tastes like wine.”
The waiter leaves and I glance sheepishly at Luciano. “Sorry. I’m just realizing how uncouth
