by Taylor Hobbs
Talking to him made her want to throw caution to the wind and not over-analyze, so she found herself playing along that this was his home, rather than her own. Remy became lost in his face as he grinned and chatted, and the main square became a blur as they walked. He took her elbow and guided her over the ruts in the street, flattering Remy with his gentlemanly attentions. He was just as courteous to her as he had been on the beach, and Remy no longer questioned if he talked to her out of politeness rather than interest. His delight at running into her seemed genuine, and that in and of itself gave Remy a boost of confidence.
When he halted in front of the cottage, Remy squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no, she thought, internally screaming. When she regained feeling in her diaphragm to gasp for air, she said, “What? How?”
“Are you feeling all right, Remy?” Bieito asked, brow furrowed. “It is nothing special. Just my home.”
Am I on drugs? she wondered. “Pinch me,” she ordered Bieito.
“I could do no such thing!”
Much to Bieito’s dismay, Remy pinched herself, hard. Hard enough to leave half-moons of red blood on the back of her hand. “Are you feeling faint? Come inside and sit down. You are very pale.”
I’ll bet, Remy thought, and allowed herself to be led inside without protest. The cozy cottage looked almost exactly how Remy planned to renovate it. The biggest deviation from Remy’s open concept design was the fact that this version of the cottage was divided into three small, but tidy, spaces. It was simple but functional, with all of the old-world charm she could have hoped for. With the rustic exposed beams, the antique wood-burning stove, and the farmer’s sink underneath the window, it looked like a page straight out of a Homes and Gardens magazine. Farmer chic. The kitchen had a thick wood table situated right in front of the fireplace. A door opened up to one of the bedrooms off to the side, which housed two twin beds and a wardrobe.
“It is not much, but it is home,” Bieito said, as he watched Remy take it all in.
“This is your home? You live here?” Remy whispered, hardly daring to speak aloud. As if by startling the cottage, she could make it all disappear. “How long?”
“I’ve always lived here,” Bieito said. “My father and brother should be home soon. Would you stay for dinner?” Bieito’s eyes pleaded with her to say yes.
“All right,” Remy agreed, silencing the part of her that told her to run. Her cottage didn’t—couldn’t—look like this in real life. But if Bieito was actually the sane one, what did that make her? Not ready to face that possibility, Remy decided that staying for a hot meal was better than questioning her mental state. Plus, she could get some great ideas on how to restore the cottage. Her version of the cottage? Bieito’s cottage? She didn’t know.
When Bieito motioned for her to sit and poured her a glass of wine to “restore her color” as he delicately put it, Remy gulped it down without tasting it. As the wine tingled in her stomach and through her limbs, Remy relaxed into the moment.
Wait a minute. Remy sniffed her glass and did a double take at the bottle Bieito had poured from. It couldn’t be, could it? Tilting the glass up to her lips again, she swallowed the last drop, and the flavor exploded on her tongue. My mystery bottle!
“Bieito, where on earth did you buy this? I’ve been searching for it for weeks! What is the brand name?”
“Name?” Bieito shrugged. “It is local wine from the vineyard. Last year’s harvest.”
“It is incredible.” Sticking her nose in, she inhaled deeply. “Truly amazing.”
Bieito chuckled and handed Remy the bottle. “I was nervous to cook for you, but since you are so excitable about our wine, I do not think I need to worry about our simple fare.”
“You’d better cook a lot if your food is as good as this wine,” Remy said, pouring herself another glass and savoring it this time. After tasting it again, she recalled drinking all those other wines during her quest for this one. Not even the most expensive bottles had come close. “I need to stock up on this.” Try as she might to pace herself, Remy found herself staring at the bottom of her empty glass yet again and reached to pour a third. It was addicting, and she couldn’t help it. Don’t look like a lush in front of Bieito, she reminded herself. But her host didn’t seem to mind or comment as she sipped and watched him work.
As Bieito moved around the kitchen with ease, Remy wondered if all Spanish men knew how to cook, or if it was just because there wasn’t a female presence in the house. “What are you making?” Remy asked, face glowing and warm.
“A surprise for you,” he said, giving her a grin. “I like watching you enjoy yourself. You seem much more content than during our first meeting. Relaxed. You have settled into life in Galicia, then?”
Through her slight intoxication, Remy tried to remember what she had been so stressed about. Jack. I was upset about my ex-husband. But instead of remembering Jack’s accident, Remy could only focus on those memories of her and Bieito at the beach. Drawing in the sand, watching the sun go down, feeling the waves lap against her feet…There is no reason to be tense. Being here, totally comfortable in Bieito’s home, was the only thing that mattered at the moment.
“All of my worries are so far away,” Remy answered honestly, and tried not to slur. Her eyelids felt heavy as she watched Bieito light the wood stove. Such a simple life, so full of content. This was what was important, not whatever was happening out in the real world. “Galicia is a happy place.”
“For the moment,” Bieito said, and opened his mouth to continue, but the front door slammed open.
A straight-haired, younger version of Bieito walked in, taking long strides and shouting back over his shoulder at a barrel-chested, graying man who followed behind him. They appeared to be mid-argument, talking so fast that Remy couldn’t follow. Both were gesturing wildly with their arms, the younger man holding a loaf of fresh bread that looked dangerously close to being thrown across the room.
Then she saw that they were both smiling, and what she mistook for anger was actually good-natured bantering. Without glancing in Remy’s direction, the pair clapped Bieito on the back and started unloading their rucksacks.
“It was about time you two came home. I thought you had gotten lost on the way. Not that I would have minded if you had,” Bieito said, and began pulling fresh produce out of the old man’s bag.
“What’s that now?” the old man demanded.
“Turn around, Father.”
Remy shifted in her seat and sat up a little straighter. “Hello,” she said.
The old man’s eyes widened, and he hit Bieito on the shoulder. “A special guest?” he asked.
“Father, meet Remy. Remy, meet my father, Afonso, and my brother, Lino.”
Both men were starting at her with naked appraisal, until Lino remembered his manners when Bieito nudged him. Remy stood as the young man approached, and he leaned over and kissed both her cheeks. “A pleasure,” he said. “You are the American that has captivated my brother so.”
Remy laughed. “I’m not sure ‘captivated’ is the right word. I think rather ‘stunned’ or ‘confused’ might be more appropriate. Either way, it is nice to meet you. Bieito has spoken very fondly of you and your father.”
“When did you arrive in our village?” Lino asked with rapt attention. He gazed at Remy as though he didn’t believe she was real.
“I came to Spain about a month ago.”
“We thought that Bieito was telling tales when he came back from the beach,” Bieito’s father confessed.
“You thought I made up a fantasy girl because I didn’t want to go to the wedding with Isabella!” Bieito interjected.
Lino shook his head at his brother. “You’ve spun crazier stories before.”
“I did see that smoking ship out in the bay!”
“Yes, yes, and it was the size of the entire village. And it had no sails. And it was as high as the cliffs. We’ve heard it before.”
A cruise ship? Remy thought. Why do
n’t they believe Bieito saw a cruise ship? Are they that rare in the bay? They must get big shipments into the port all the time.
By the time Remy opened her mouth to speak, the conversation had moved on. “You are staying for the wedding, yes?” Afonso asked.
“What wedding?”
“My wedding!” Lino said, blushing with pride.
Bieito laughed. “He finally convinced María to marry him. After asking, and asking, and asking again.”
“I would have proposed a hundred times to win her over. She is the most beautiful woman in the world, the light of my life. I would not go on living without her.”
“Always the romantic one in the family,” their father said. “A wedding brings such joy and celebration. My wife and I had hoped for years that Bieito would marry, and never thought that Lino would be first, but…” He shrugged, and a flicker of sadness passed over his face. “I will live to see one of my boys marry and find happiness. That is more than I could ask for.”
Remy turned to Bieito and was surprised to find that he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He appeared deep in thought, staring at the kitchen counter as he continued chopping vegetables. “An eternal bachelor, then?” she asked.
But it was Lino who answered, “Only because his face frightens women!” That earned him a slap on the side of his head from his father. Still, he possessed a boyish enthusiasm that would not be snuffed out. “Remy, you must come to the wedding. Bieito will escort you.”
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“I will talk to María, and she will insist that you come. You cannot refuse the bride!”
Remy was torn. She had just met these people, and already they were inviting her to attend such an intimate event. She didn’t know if Bieito even wanted her there, much less as his date. It would be completely understandable if he refused such a pathetic attempt at a set up. Hesitating, she waited for Bieito to jump in one way or another and let her gracefully accept or decline. “Well,” she said, stalling. “That would be quite the honor. Tell me about your beautiful wife-to-be.”
Lino launched into his tale of the woman who captured his heart down in Ortigueira, and how he couldn’t wait to move her into the village so they could finally live together. He was apparently hard at work saving enough money for them to build their own little cottage next door.
“All three of you work as fishermen in the port, right?”
“I have been a fisherman for forty years,” the father said, pounding his finger into his chest. “And I will one day die a fisherman, for the sea has half my soul. My late wife Catarina, God rest her, has the other half.”
“And you say I’m the romantic one!” Lino said. “The obsession with the sea, you and Bieito both. I prefer to take my opportunities and set down roots on land.”
“Bah! There is salt water in your veins. Less than your brother, maybe, but it is there all the same.”
“I haven’t been down to the port yet,” Remy said, interrupting their blossoming argument. “I was planning to drive down soon.” And stalk Bieito, but whatever. “It seems like such a fascinating cultural piece of Ortigueira.”
“Por favor, no Señora. It is no place for a lady. There are many rough men and it is very unsafe,” Lino said. “There are many travelers that come through looking for work. It is also a good place for people to disappear. Not like our village, where everyone looks out for their neighbors. It would be wiser to stay here instead.”
Remy scoffed. “It can’t be that bad. I can take care of myself.”
“Now is not a good time, Remy,” Bieito said quietly. “There is talk among the men, of discontent—”
“As there should be!” Lino said. “The idea that proud Galicians should be ruled by—”
“That’s enough!” Afonso silenced his sons in one sharp phrase. “There will be no talk of such things in this house. You know it is dangerous to even think of the changes that they want to bring about. I will not have my children involved in it. You will work hard, settle down, and live happy lives. Or I will stay alive forever to ensure it,” he threatened.
“Yes, Father.”
“Sorry, Father.”
What the hell was that about? Remy wondered. She made a mental note to ask Bieito more about it later. She had to know whatever it was that struck such fear into this grizzled old man’s heart.
“Supper is ready,” Bieito said, serving up heaping mounds of steaming rice onto chipped ceramic dishes. To each plate, he added a seasoned whole fish and steamed green vegetables. Remy scooted her chair back to rise and help him, but Lino gestured for her to stay put. He took the plates from Bieito and brought them over to the table while Remy tried to get over the head rush that standing up had induced. No more wine for me, she thought.
Unfortunately, the boys’ father had taken it upon himself to pour them all a generous amount of wine from an additional bottle that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Well, I can’t be rude, Remy thought, and giggled out loud.
Who were these people, this entire family, who said they lived in her village? She sat among them as she would any neighbors, eating and drinking, and speaking Spanish of all things, though she wasn’t quite sure about that last part. She wasn’t sure how it all worked and how she was communicating with them, but she just relaxed and let it happen. I should be more concerned, more worried about…something? Questioning the logistics of it all? It was impossible to remember.
It felt like she belonged here, with these men, sharing their supper. There was no time or place outside the little cottage. The welcoming spirit inside this dwelling was strong.
It was unclear how long they all sat around the table, eating and drinking and laughing. Once the sun went down, Bieito lit a merry fire in the fireplace and they all continued where they had left off. Nobody seemed in any hurry to end the evening and go to bed, least of all Remy herself. Empty dishes were left on the table and there was no discussion about work the next day. Everyone was simply content to live in the moment and make it last as long as possible.
The flickering firelight wrapped around Remy like a hug, and her eyelids grew heavy. Just before she began to drift off, she wondered if there would ever be a time when she actually slept in a bed again. The only sleep I’ve gotten in the past few days has been in a chair, she realized. But why is that, again? Her brain was turning itself off, and she couldn’t outrun the alcohol. Sleep washed over her, and the last thing she heard was Bieito’s rumbling voice asking her a question, but it was too late.
Chapter Seven
Remy awoke with a gasp on a hard dirt floor. Someone outside was calling her name, but her dusty throat could barely manage a “Hello?” from inside the cottage. Her head throbbed and her tongue felt swollen and sticky in her mouth. Squinting against the bright light permeating dirty windows, she tried to get a grip on her surroundings.
There was no table, no food on kitchen counters, no brightly woven rugs on the floor. There was no Lino, or Bieito, or their father. The air wasn’t filled with the smoky scent of burning wood and fish and wine. The only thing in the cottage was Remy, shivering on the cold ground, still her clothes from the day before, only with a hangover from hell.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hello?” she called, sitting up slowly.
“Remy?” The door pushed open and Anita walked in.
“Remy, what the hell?”
Self-consciously, Remy stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes. Her hand reached up to smooth her hair, only to discover it was a tangled rat’s nest.
“Have you been drinking?” Anita asked.
“Just a little,” Remy lied.
Anita shook her head. “Look, I know it’s been a terrible time, but you can’t just go on a bender! Not with Jack at the hospital. He’s been asking for you. I can’t believe you would just disappear on him. And me. I’ve been calling you all day. You’ve been MIA for two days, since you freaking walked out and left me with Jack and the doctors. Thanks for that, by the way—�
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Oh shit, Jack! A rush of memories bombarded Remy and cleared her foggy head. “Is he okay?”
Anita let out a huff. “You’d know that if you bothered to pick up your phone! Do you know how long it took me to find this place? Nobody would freaking tell me where it was! Then I couldn’t leave Jack all by himself, so it took forever until I could get over here—”
Remy cut Anita off mid-rant. “What do you mean two days? I left the hospital yesterday morning.”
“No, you didn’t. Today is the sixth. What the hell happened to you?”
It can’t be the sixth, Remy thought. She had come back to the village yesterday morning, found Sebastian there, then saw Bieito, and had dinner with him and his family. “I didn’t lose a day,” she whispered.
“Damn right you did.”
Her best friend would have understood if Remy wanted to get away for the night. Hell, she would have understood if Remy didn’t want to answer her phone for a few hours. But the only way that Anita would be this irritated with Remy was if what she claimed was true; Remy had been gone for two days. She had abandoned her ex-husband and best friend at the hospital without so much as a heads up.
Anita was still ranting. “So not only was I trying to keep it together for Jack—who, by the way, probably won’t suffer from long-term memory loss, if you care—I had to wonder if my best friend had been abducted or murdered or whatever and then try to track you down in the middle of nowhere!”
“I’m so sorry, Anita,” Remy said. Emotion usually surged forth with a heartfelt apology, but the words sounded robotic to Remy’s ears. “I—I don’t know what happened to me. Honestly. I should never have put you in this position.”
Anita sighed. “I came here to help you, and I understand why you wanted to escape for a while, but can you please not do it again?” Anita gestured to Remy’s rumpled appearance. “Time to get it together, girl.”
