I pressed my legs together, squirming a bit. He had no idea.

It was then that I noticed Becca and Sammy were hanging around at the back of the crowd waiting for us. I cleared my throat and we quickly went to join them. Sammy, dressed in a too-tight purple bodycon dress that put my cleavage to shame, was watching us with a dazed smile on her face.

“Look at you two,” she cooed. “What a lovely couple.”

I gave her the stink-eye. “Hey, how are things with you and Peter the Everything Man?” I warned.

She drew her lips in a thin line and nodded, getting the point. We weren’t a couple, and to even suggest it in front of Mateo wasn’t really the best idea. However, I snuck a peek at his face and he was just staring at me, eyes lit up from the waning light and still kind. Maybe even more than kind…

We made our way through a block of the town, enjoying the look of it in the evening, the lanterns all lit and casting romantic shadows across the narrow streets. When we finally came to the restaurant, I felt that perhaps we were all a bit overdressed. The storefront looked like nothing special, and the name of the restaurant—Horno de Leña—was hanging from the neck of a creepy mannequin. Sammy immediately started giggling at the name and Becca told her to grow up.

Once all of us piled inside, however, my opinion changed. We were led down a staircase that seemed to be carved right out of the wall until we were underground in what appeared to be a dungeon, or at least a cellar. The whole area was just one room, with another staircase on the opposite wall. From floor to ceiling it was old stone, even the supporting arches were made from the same grey rock. At one end I could see what looked like an oven of sorts built right into the stone, and at the other was a bar. The tables were all laid out in a square, with chairs on either side, tastefully decorated with white tablecloths and candelabra centerpieces.

Jerry, who was looking absurd tonight in a powder blue suit, told us that the other staircase led to the back patio if you needed air or wanted a cigarette. We were free to sit wherever we wanted.

At that I saw Claudia and Ricardo and a few other smokers make a beeline to the tables closest to the patio. She immediately started waving me over, gesturing that she saved some seats.

I looked up at Mateo. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

He grinned. “Can we pretend I’m paying?”

“Of course. And I’ll pretend I’m paying.”

We went and sat down with Sammy, Becca, Polly, Eduardo, Nerea, Manuel, Jorge, and Ed. I had Mateo on one side of me and Becca on the other, which was better than Sammy who I was sure would have kept badgering me.

The dinner was three courses and by the time we were on the second course—mouth-watering paella—I was brimming with emotion. I kept looking around at most of the Anglos and all of the Spaniards, and my chest just ached for the sort of affection I felt for them. I never in a million years thought I would have made all these friends, friends who felt real, genuine and true. And here they all were, my family for the last month. I wasn’t exaggerating much when I told Josh that it would kill me to have to leave. I just couldn’t fathom life without them. I couldn’t fathom the life I was living before.

From the looks of everyone else, their smiles on their lips but the sentimental sadness in their eyes, I knew they felt the same. This was one of the last nights to just enjoy each other before we all had to say goodbye.

I felt like I needed to start with the man next to me. We were sitting close to each, closer than we normally did at Las Palabras, and I could feel the heat coming off of him in the damp chill of the underground. Though we made conversation with everyone, whenever I had a chance I was looking at him, talking to him, soaking up his face like I’d never see it again.

I was also drinking quite a bit. Instead of Heineken, this place had Colombian beer—Aguila—which tasted like a rainbow. Mateo laughed when I told him that, telling me it tasted like piss and that my taste buds had been compromised. Then we moved on to the wine, which the ever-so-picky Mateo admitted was a million times better than the wine we’d been drinking all month long back at the resort.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I wanted to do more than just lightly touch my hand on his knee or whisper in his ear. I wanted to put my hand on his inner thigh and squeeze, I wanted to suck on his earlobe. I wanted to bring his face around to mine and kiss him with abandon like Ricardo and Claudia and Polly and Eduardo and so many other people were doing.

It was as if some alarm inside of me was going off, blaring, “You’re running out of time, you’re running out of time!” and I kept hitting snooze, over and over and over again. I started fidgeting in my seat, running the napkin through my hands, playing with my hair, trying to keep my thoughts distracted and my digits occupied.

It was a losing game. Eventually, after the dessert was finished and everyone was just drinking and talking, Mateo noticed.

He had been deep in a conversation with Jorge about something or other when he leaned in close and whispered in my ear, hot breath on my neck, “Are you okay?”

I swallowed the brick in my throat and nodded.

The next thing came out of nowhere.

“Are you afraid to be with me?” he asked softly, his lips now brushing my earlobes. Perhaps by accident. Perhaps not.

I stiffened. I knew what to say. I would say, “No” and leave it at that. But there was so much in his voice, so much want, sincerity, and emotion that I knew I couldn’t lie to him.

“Right now I am,” I admitted just loud enough for him to hear. But we were in a room full of people, their laughter and words bouncing off the stone grey walls, and that’s all I was going to say.

I had to get some air.

I quickly got to my feet and pushed my chair back and went for the staircase. I breathed a giant sigh of relief when I pushed the door open at the top and saw that the patio was completely empty. It was also totally beautiful.

It was a brick courtyard with a tall wall around it lit up by fairy lights and covered in flowering vines. A small fountain with a cherub was in the center while in the corners there were giant terra-cotta pots filled with purple and blue flowers. There were a few tables and ashtrays, empty beer bottles stacked on the end of one, as if someone was going to bring them all downstairs but just forgot.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the air. Though we were in the town, the air was pure and wonderful, balmy compared to the cellar. After all those days of rain, the warmth invigorated me, brought some clarity into my alcohol-infused, heart-frazzled, hormone-frenzied veins.

The clarity didn’t last for long. I heard the patio screen door close and I immediately knew who was behind me.

“Vera,” Mateo said hoarsely.

I slowly turned my head to glance at him over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

What was I supposed to say to that? He knew how I felt; he had to. Everyone else knew how I felt, why couldn’t he?

I sat down at the nearest picnic table and wished I had brought something with me to drink.

At that thought, the patio door opened again. I looked up to see Jorge holding Mateo’s half-finished beer.

“Jerry is going to start giving out awards for the program soon,” he said cautiously, knowing he wasn’t wanted. “He wants everyone to be present.”

I thought Mateo would have said something to that, but he didn’t. He was still staring at me, waiting for an answer to his question. He ignored Jorge, and instead pulled up a chair, sitting his large frame down across from me.

The silence crackled above our heads like a live wire. I could feel Jorge’s eyes on us as he reluctantly placed Mateo’s drink on the table and walked away. Part of me wished for him to come back, to break up the tension and the startling intensity in Mateo’s eyes. The other part was selfishly glad Jorge was leaving us in peace. Alone.