He nodded.

  “Big cat? Gato?” That wasn’t what she was looking for. “Um . . . lion? Leon?”

  He looked confused for a moment, but then nodded and motioned a bit forcefully, like he wanted her to leave.

  “Gracias,” she said when she paid her fare and stepped out on the curb. The cab sped away, almost before she’d closed the door.

  She heaved a breath and looked around, trying to spy the jolly man she’d had such fun with, weeks ago, in Paris. Though she’d only met him a few times, he had the kind of face that stood out, the kind you’d remember. She looked for his head of abundant, more-salt-than-pepper hair, his slightly stout, but still fit--frame, his kind, handsome, ever-smiling face. He had a good face, the face of a person you wanted to know more about. Though it was dark, there was plenty of light around the monument, which should’ve made spying him easy.

  But she couldn’t see him. She hoped he’d spy her first and come rushing to her, complimenting her on some aspect of her clothing, as he usually did, with his Irish wit and charm. He certainly wasn’t shy in the least.

  I bet he’s by the lion, if I can ever find that.

  She turned in a three-sixty, then took off toward the centerpiece of the plaza—the tall column with the statue of Christopher Columbus on top. She meandered toward the monument, looking around, then noticed the majestic lion at the base of the column. Its surface was dark, shining like volcanic rock under a spotlight.

  There were a couple of people sitting on the steps surrounding it. As she neared its base, though, she confirmed it.

  No Sean.

  Now I am totally out of ideas, she thought, spinning. She didn’t figure him for the type to play games, to tell her one thing and then do another. Maybe he gave up and went back to the hotel.

  Awkwardness began to creep in. For late in the evening, the place was still busy. Not with people sight-seeing, though, she noticed. The square seemed filled with couples, strolling arm-in-arm.

  Just like she’d imagined doing with Sean.

  And here she was . . . alone, instead. I hate this.

  She let out a little sigh. She should’ve been used to being alone. She’d set out on this whirlwind trip expressly to be alone. To find herself!

  But every once in a while, a little tickling in her brain made her wish for something else . . .

  And if she was being truthful with herself, that was what had started the trip to begin with. A memory of the man she’d been madly in love with, decades ago. Stephane, her first love, from Paris. She’d set out, all those years later, hoping against hope that she’d meet him again. Of course, when she got to the ball at Versailles, which he’d been known to attend every year, she’d been disappointed. He was nowhere to be found.

  It was nothing. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that, after all those years, she and Stephane would’ve been able to pick up where they’d left off. It was simply human nature to want connection. That’s all. Love always brings complications. She’d do well to remember that.

  Easier said than done.

  She stood there, at the base of the statue, watching loving couples, walking together, whispering sweet nothings into one another’s ears, for about a thousand years. At least, that’s what it felt like. In reality, though, as she checked her phone, it was only nine-thirty.

  Had he stood her up? Sean didn’t seem like the type to be that cruel. But maybe she was wrong? She didn’t really know him well. Though he was always good for an anecdote, he rarely talked about himself. She knew nothing about his family, his life . . . he could’ve been a Russian spy with twelve wives, for all she knew.

  She checked her phone. No messages.

  After a few more moments, she yawned. Yes, she should probably get over to the hotel she’d booked and call it a night.

  She was just about to leave when a couple strolled by the lion. They looked up at the statue, and, a gleam in his eye, the man said, in a British accent, “Yeah, that’s an impressive statue, Gladys. But I prefer the other big cat. This one’s too ferocious for my blood. I prefer pussycats.”

  Diana blinked, as understanding dawned.

  She practically tackled the man as he started to walk away. “Other big cat? Is there another statue in Barcelona of a cat?”

  He glared at her, until she realized she had the sleeve of his tweed jacket in a death-grip. She slowly released her hold, and he said, “Yes. El Gato de Botero. On Rambla del Raval. That’s the cat. This is a lion.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  He gazed at her with a look that said, Did you fail preschool, when they talked about the different animals? “No.”

  Her jaw dropped in a way that said, Clearly, yes. “Oh, my gosh. I just made a huge mistake.”

  The man slowly backed away, eyeing her as if she’d just pulled a fish out of her ear, then quickly hurried off with his spouse.

  She rushed to the curb and held up her hand to hail a cab. Her years of working in New York City were good for something, because one pulled to the curb right away. She climbed inside and said, breathlessly. “The big cat! The statue? You know!”

  The elderly driver nodded. “Everyone knows El Gato de Botero. You seem to be in a rush,” he said, not unkindly.

  “That’s right. I misunderstood directions, and I’m late to meet someone. I thought he was talking about the lion.”

  “Ah. No problem. I get you there in a minute flat.” He stomped on the gas, so hard that Diana got mild whiplash.

  She didn’t mind. Her heart raced, wanting to get there as fast as possible. After all, Sean didn’t know much about her. She didn’t want him thinking she was the type to stand people up, either.

  Minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of a cheeky, fat feline, that was, indeed, a big cat. It was sitting, very plainly, on the sidewalk, about the size of an American SUV. There was nothing else around it, no fanfare whatsoever, just normal city buildings. It seemed a bit out of place, for where it was.

  But even before Diana paid the fare, she saw a familiar, smiling face, in front of it. She jumped out of the cab. “Sean!”

  “Hello, macushla,” he said brightly, coming toward her with his arms outstretched. “Saw your train arrived an hour ago, and no you. Where’ve you been? I was about to leave. Thought I’d been stood up.”

  She laughed as he pulled her into a warm embrace. “Oh, well, it’s a bit embarrassing. I misunderstood. I didn’t know you meant this big cat.”

  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask, something she was thankful for. She didn’t want to relive it any longer than she had to. Plus, it was over and done with. She was here, with him, and she couldn’t wait for whatever adventure lay ahead.

  He linked an arm through hers and said, “So, Love . . . what would you like to do first?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sean knew Barcelona well. He took Diana’s carry-on bag, and despite the late hour, they strolled at a leisurely pace together, chatting like old friends who had no intention of calling it a night. The city, too, was just as alive as New York would be—people around them scurried in and out of the shops, cafés, and clubs, with clearly no plans to call it a night.

  As they walked, he pointed out different sights on the way.

  “That over there is Sagrada Familia, the Church of the Holy Family, Gaudi’s famous creation,” he said, pointing at an enormous church with four ornate spires. “And over there, you have La Pedrera. Another one of Gaudi’s famous buildings. Very beautiful, yes?”

  She nodded, her head spinning as she squinted to see the detail. “I’m sure it’ll look better in the daylight.”

  “Oh. Sí, señorita,” he said as they stopped at a small, stucco building with hurricane shutters. “I hope you are hungry. I am so famished, I almost ate that cat statue, and that would’ve done a number on my constitution, I tell you. Don’t think I’d be standing here, talking to you, if I had!”

  He patted his stomach.

  “Definitely,” she said with a laugh. He always knew how to make her laugh.

  They went through a narrow doorway of what looked like a private residence. But inside, there was the low rumble of conversation. The place was dark, but there was a long bar in one of the rooms, and plenty of tables packed into the small space. The hostess led them up a narrow staircase, and out into the fresh air.

  “Oh, a rooftop café!” she remarked, charmed. The few tables up there were each lit only by a small votive candle.

  “That’s right. I’ve been all over Barcelona, and I’ll tell you, this place has the best view in town. Good food, too.”

  They were led to a small table for two, at the roof’s edge. Beneath them, the lights of the city sparkled. It was truly breathtaking. She sat down, and opened her menu, squinting to read it in the sparse candlelight. “So you’ve been to Barcelona many times before?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been all over, in my life. Have to do a fair bit of traveling, now.”

  “You have to?”

  She hoped he’d elaborate. Work? Play? Why was he traveling so much? She didn’t want to pry, but she was interested. But he simply nodded and said, “It’s a fine city.”

  She’d recalled him saying the same thing about Paris. Truthfully, she couldn’t imagine Sean not liking any place he went to. He was so agreeable, the type of man who didn’t need a party to be thrown in his honor. He brought the party with him, wherever he went.

  “Well, it’s my first time. How was Portugal?”

  “Oh, it’s Portugal. Fine city,” he said, just as she expected. “Ran into a lot of foreigners along the coast, mostly Americans. They’re all moving there from overseas. Cost of living is much cheaper than the States, I hear. Are you making plans to go down there in your whirlwind trip, maybe scope it out?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not right away, I don’t think. I just got here, so my plans might change, but I think I want to go up north, after this; I think. Maybe to your neck of the woods?”

  He clapped his hands. “Dublin? Shah, well, you should. Lots to be seen up there, for sure. And maybe I can be your guide?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  She laughed. She’d been hoping he’d say that. “We’ll see.”

  “And I can give you insider tips, too. Like, don’t kiss the Blarney Stone, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The locals pee on it when it’s closed to visitors.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re not serious.”

  He crossed his heart. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. It’s a favorite spot for pissing contests.”

  She had to giggle. She’d had plenty of friends who’d bragged about doing that during their trips to the Emerald Isle. “Okay, well, I’ll avoid that. And I’d definitely appreciate your help. But right now, I just want to enjoy Spain.”

  He nodded. “So what crazy adventures have you gotten yourself into since we last spoke?”

  “Oh, it’s been crazy, definitely. I saw a performance at Musikverein in Vienna. I went to a Shakespeare Festival in Verona. And I took in all the regular tourist traps.” She left out all the murders she’d witnessed, and how, for a time, she’d been considered a suspect.

  “You’re a wild woman, Diana St. James,” he said, and then stopped, as if realizing something. “St. James . . . do you have any plans to visit the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela while you’re in Spain? The Botafumeiro is a sight to see, as long as your eyes don’t water up too much from the smell of the incense, eh?”

  She frowned. “I hadn’t . . . it’s actually not even on my radar. What is it?” It certainly wasn’t in any of the guidebooks and websites she’d poured over, while making her first itinerary. “Why?”

  “Santiago. St. James. I thought you might visit your namesake.”

  “Oh! That’s right. Where is it? Close by?”

  He shook his head. “On the northern coast. The cathedral is there. I’ve always wanted to go there because I hear it’s a great sight to see, but I’ve never made it. The Botafumeiro is a giant thurible, or incense burner, that they swing from the dome of the cathedral. It’s supposed to be something.”

  She stared at him, nonplussed. “I don’t . . . why do they do that?”

  “Well, in the olden days, back in the medieval times, pilgrims would visit the cathedral, and they’d be unwashed and uncleaned. The incense was supposed to cleanse them, protecting against the plague,” he said with a smile. “Maybe you’ll get there, in your travels?”

  “Maybe. Maybe you will, too.” She added it to her mental list, hoping she’d remember to put it in her itinerary, later, so she wouldn’t forget. It was Evan’s last name, really, but she’d never even considered changing it back. It was as much a part of her, now, as her own heart. Still . . . it hadn’t even been on her radar. And as much as she tried to be fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, the old Diana, the one who planned everything to the letter, seemed to be screaming at her to stay in her lane.

  The waiter came by, and Diana was happy when he ordered a carafe of their house red. All she’d ever seen him drink, so far, was beer. She glanced at the menu and ordered the paella, simply because it was the only thing she knew by name.

  He spoke in perfect Spanish to the waiter, then added, “Pulpo a la gallega.”

  The waiter nodded, and as he headed off, she leaned forward. “What did you order?”

  “Spanish boiled octopus. It’s delicious.”

  She made a face.

  “It is! If you are adventurous, Diana, a right chancer, I will let you try some?”

  “A right chancer?” She thought for a moment. Octopus was one of those delicacies she knew existed but was perfectly fine never sampling in her life. She’d seen calamari at Italian restaurants and always thought it looked rather nasty, with all those little coiled tentacles. But she was in Spain, and maybe a little giddy from exhaustion and the night air. So she said, “Sure. Why not?”

  He grinned. “I knew you were my adventurous colleen!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far!” she said with a laugh. “I mean, before I came over here, to Europe, I hadn’t done anything new in ages—”

  “It’s time to try new things.” He leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. “Which is why I wanted to offer you a proposition.”

  She winced, concerned by the sudden seriousness of his tone. It was totally unlike him. “You’re scaring me.”

  The wine came. He lifted his wine glass. “Arriba!” She stared at him until he motioned to her with his chin. “Lift your glass.”

  She lifted it.

  “Abajo!”

  He put his glass down on the table, and she followed.

  “Al centro!”

  Understanding now, she reached out and they clinked glasses.

  “Al dentro!”

  She watched as he chugged the entire glass of wine and finished with a big smack of the lips. “Or as we say in my old home, Sláinte! Ah! Good stuff.”

  He poured himself another glass as she took a demure sip. She wasn’t sure she could be, or wanted to be, as adventurous as he was. She’d had a hangover once, in college, after a night of too much champagne with Stephane. She still remembered the pain, the feeling of the room spinning. Still, Sean was so ebullient and fun, she couldn’t help wanting to be around him. He was a magnet, drawing people to him. “About that proposition . . .?”

  His face, now a bit ruddy, contorted in a question. Then his eyes brightened. “Oh, right! As I was saying . . . I’m thinking of taking a little journey tomorrow. . .”

  “Journey?” Her spirits sunk. She knew he was a bit of a tumbleweed, going where the wind took him. But here, she’d hoped that she would have him around a few days, to show her the sights. Now, he was leaving . . .

  “But I’ll only go if you come with me.”

  That made her smile. That he would alter his plans, for her? “But I just got here. I haven’t even had a chance to--”

  “I know, but the truth of the matter is, the San Fermín festival begins tomorrow. That’s when they start the Running of the Bulls, and I’ve always wanted to do it.”

  Her eyes bulged. “The Running of the . . . wait.” He’d likely said something else, and she just misunderstood it because of his thick Irish brogue. “The what?”

  “You know. The Running of the Bulls. In Pamplona?”

  She stiffened. “That’s what I thought you said.” She shuddered, her body already aching at the image of being trampled by two-ton, raging animals. “You’ve always wanted to get gored by a bull?”

  He laughed and drained his second glass of wine. “Nonsense. That doesn’t happen often. And it only happens to the people in the back. The slow, stupid ones, that don’t know when to get out of the way.”

  “But . . . Pamplona is . . .”

  “Yes, it’s quite a distance away, by train. The route takes three hours. We’d have to leave early.”

  “When is this, again?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Now her eyes practically popped out of their sockets and rolled across the table. “And you seriously just want us to go there, tomorrow morning? I’ve barely even had a chance to look around Barcelona!”

  He shrugged as if it was a reasonable idea. “They have a running every day of the festival, but the first day is the best and most energetic, I hear, so I wanted to try to make a go of it.”

  She shook her head. She’d seen video of poor men being tossed into the air like balloons, by those large animals, white uniforms streaked with blood. It made her shudder, just to think of it. “I don’t know if I’d be able to just sit there and watch you do that. It’s inhumane. Bloody. Not just for you but for the bulls. I mean, what if you—”

  “Not watch me, macushla. I expect you to run along with me.”

  She stared at him for a moment, sure he was joking. He was a lighthearted jokester, after all. But though he was smiling, his gaze was intent, suggesting that he was completely serious.

 

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