“Her cousin, Sister Clara, is a nun there.”
“Sister Clara?” I smile as I repeat the familiar name. Most of the nuns were neutral toward me, but she was especially helpful and understanding when I first arrived. She went out of her way to make my transition easier. “She’s your mother’s cousin?”
Enrique nods with a smile of his own. “One of the few ties I have to my mother.”
“Did your mother come from Barcelona?”
He shakes his head. “Further inland, just outside of Logroño.”
“Have you been back to visit?”
“A few times. It’s a wine region.”
“Wine?” I repeat, one eyebrow raised.
Enrique laughs. “Is that your way of saying you’d like to visit?”
“Can we squeeze it into this week?”
“We can squeeze it into this day.”
Chapter Forty Leira
It was about five and a half hours to drive in from Barcelona, but the scenery made it worthwhile. Enrique rented a convertible for the trip, which made the ride that much more enjoyable.
There’s something to be said for coastal living, but seeing the diversity that land has to offer, I’m beginning to think it has its own benefits.
Enrique pulls to the side of the road at one point. We’re at the crest of a hill, looking down at the valley below the mountains further on.
“What are we doing?”
“This is the best spot to view it,” he says, turning off the engine. “I always like stopping here to enjoy it before going into town.”
I open my car door to follow him to the edge of the dirt. He’s right; it is a worthwhile spot to look out at the land. As far as the eye can see, there are vineyards, the closest only about a few yards away. It’s summer, so everything is still lush and green, even as the sun hangs low in the sky.
“Let’s go down to explore,” Enrique says, still staring out at it.
“Are we allowed?” I ask, already feeling the itch to do as he suggested.
“I’ve done it before,” he says, before leaping down the small crest to the clearing below. He turns around, reaching his arms out to me. “Come on.”
I laugh and leap into his arms. He sets me down on the ground next to him. After taking my hand, he leads us the few yards toward the first rows of vines. Small bluish bunches of grapes hang, nestled among the vibrant green leaves.
“Go ahead,” Enrique says. I look up at him to find an amused smirk on his lips. “You know you want to try one.”
I laugh to myself and reach out to pluck a grape and pop it into my mouth.
“Blech!” I almost immediately spit it out. “It tastes terrible.”
Enrique laughs. “I made the same mistake the first time I came here. The skin is too thick, especially this time of year.”
“It’s a wonder how anyone thought to make anything out of them,” I say, looking around. At least they present a visually stunning picture.
“These vines can’t all be from the same winery. It’s so vast.”
“No, there are several in this region. Some huge. This is one of the smaller ones, operating more like a family. The others are interesting, though. People come to this region specifically to see the architecture for a few of the wineries. In September, after the harvest, there’s a festival in town. We should come back then. It’s an even nicer time of year.”
He’s still walking, leading me down one row of vines, but the silence that follows what he’s just said is like a locomotive running full steam in our direction, waiting for us to dodge out of the way.
We.
“I’d like that,” I say quietly.
Enrique finally stops and turns to look at me. Instead of responding, he reaches out to push a stray strand of coiled hair away from my face. I sense a kiss coming, one that would make the wine-infused session from last night at the tapas bar seem like a tiny snippet of the main course.
“There’s a spot I want to show you,” he says instead, taking my hand in his.
We walk until we reach another rise, then climb to the top of it. By the time he invites me to sit down on the ground next to him, the sun is at that point where the sky is lit up in vivid colors. It’s a warm and blazing contrast to the cool hues of the earth below us.
It’s quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
From here, I can view a large house in the distance that’s probably as big as Dad’s mansion in Los Angeles. Although it’s a ways away, I can see that it’s made out of stone, giving it a slightly medieval feel. But the lights shine through beveled glass, presenting a more homey and comfortable image, almost like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Beyond that are even larger buildings that must be where the wine is made.
“What made you stop here of all places?” I ask as we watch the sun set.
Enrique doesn’t answer right away, and I assume he’s simply enjoying the last of the technicolor show before us.
“I just happened upon it in passing one day. Some instinct had me pulling over to explore. I’ve only been back to this part of Spain a few times, but I always make a point to stop here before heading into the city.”
The sun finally falls beneath the horizon, and it doesn’t take long for the sky to go from shades of pink and orange to shades of violet and indigo. From there, with no light to obstruct them, the stars pop into the sky like microscopic fireworks that don’t fade away.
“How are we ever going to find our way back to the car?” I ask, suddenly getting worried.
“We can just follow the rows of the vines.”
I’m just imagining tripping over some stray root and twisting my ankle, not to mention the climb back up that crest.
“But let’s head to the
