The Spanish Consultant's Baby. Kate Hardy
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right direction. He shrugged. ‘I’m still stuck on my own, in a place I don’t know.’ She didn’t utter a word, but her face said it all for her—she thought he was spinning her a line.
‘It isn’t a chat-up line,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t know your city. And…I could use a friend.’
She stopped dead. ‘Friend?’
‘Friend.’ He tucked her arm through his and continued walking, careful to match his stride to hers. ‘And friends have dinner together, do they not?’
‘Ramón, you’re bulldozing me.’
‘That expression isn’t familiar to me.’
She snorted. ‘Come off it. Your English is damn near perfect.’ His accent was so slight that it was almost undetectable. ‘This isn’t your first secondment abroad, is it?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘So where were you before?’
‘Have dinner with me and I’ll tell you.’
‘You’re infuriating.’
‘Are you stereotyping me, cariña?’
‘If you insist on behaving like a stereotype.’
The fire in her eyes was promising. More than promising. He gave her a mischievous smile. ‘Maybe I need you to teach me some manners.’
She tried to pull her arm away. ‘Leave me alone, Ramón.’
‘Have dinner with me,’ he coaxed. ‘Just as a friend. My treat.’
She was silent for a long, long time. He wasn’t sure whether she was going to argue with him or accept he’d outmanoeuvred her. To his relief, finally, she nodded. ‘All right. There’s a pub by the river. They do reasonable food. Though we’ll split the bill,’ she warned.
TWENTY minutes later, they were sitting on the pub’s terrace, overlooking the river. Ramón insisted on buying the drinks, so Jennifer accepted a sparkling mineral water. Ramón surprised her by choosing the same.
He looked up from his menu. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘Aren’t you going to order for me?’
He smiled. ‘Why would I do that when I don’t know your likes and dislikes?’
Andrew had always chosen for her, regardless. At the time, she’d thought it cherishing, that he’d been looking after her. It had only been when it had been much too late that she’d realised that hadn’t been his motive at all.
‘The salmon’s good,’ she said. ‘It’s local—comes from the farm down the road.’
‘Hmm. Poached in white wine, with dill. Is that what you’re having?’
‘Er…yes.’
‘Then I’ll join you.’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Let me guess. You only ever have two courses—if that.’
She flushed. ‘Am I that transparent?’
‘You look after others, but you neglect yourself,’ he said.
‘Whereas you would have three courses, I suppose?’
‘Four,’ he said, ‘if you count the tapas before dinner.’
Her flush deepened. ‘Sorry. I’ve obviously brought you to the wrong place.’
‘What could be more delightful than a summer evening in England next to the river?’ he asked. ‘Good food, pleasant surroundings and good company.’
She hadn’t exactly been good company so far. She’d been downright surly with him—because she was still annoyed with him for manipulating her into having dinner with him.
‘Are we having wine?’ he asked.
‘Not for me, thanks. I’ll be driving home. But don’t let that stop you.’
He flicked the wine list. ‘No, I think I’ll stick to water, too.’
‘Nothing Spanish there?’ The crack came out before she could bite it back.
He smiled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a little patriotic pride. We make good wines in Sevilla. Sherry, of course, plus Manzanilla and Montilla.’
‘You’re from Seville?’ From Andalucia. Andrew’s mother’s family had come from Castile. So maybe Ramón wasn’t another Andrew.
He nodded. ‘You know Sevilla?’
‘No.’ Andrew had never taken her to Spain. He’d fallen out with his late mother’s family many years before and the breach had been irreparable. In the early days she’d started learning Spanish in secret to surprise him, please him—but when she’d tried practicing her Spanish on him, he’d just criticized her accent and told her not to speak it in his house again.
His house. Not theirs.
Unlike her cottage, which he’d never set foot in.
Then she became aware that Ramón was talking about his home city.
‘Legend has it that Sevilla was founded by Hercules.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a beautiful city. The minaret of La Giralda, the cathedral, the Alcázar palace, the María Luisa park, the Triana bridge over the Guadalquívir, the narrow streets around the church of Santa Ana…And remember, it is the city of Carmen, Don Juan and Figaro. History, food, art…’ He waved his hands. ‘Sevilla has it all.’
He clearly adored his home city. She couldn’t help asking, ‘So why are you here?’ Why hadn’t he stayed at home in Seville?
‘Because there are work opportunities for me in England that simply aren’t there in Spain. And—’ He broke off. ‘May I order for us now?’
‘Fine.’
‘What would you like for dessert?’
‘I’ll pass, thanks.’
When he came back, he gave her a guilty smile. ‘I think you’re about to be angry with me.’
‘Why?’
‘There was a specials board by the bar. I ordered us dessert from it. But if you hate it, you’re under no obligation to eat it.’
Ordering for her without asking first—just like Andrew. And yet Ramón had offered her a choice. Take it or leave it, as she pleased. There would be no anger, no smouldering sulk that she’d gone against his wishes.
‘Am I that scary?’
She blinked. ‘I…Uh. No.’
‘For a moment you looked terrified.’
‘You must be seeing things.’ She wasn’t going to share those memories. Ever. ‘So where were you before you came to Brad’s?’
‘Sevilla. And before that London for six months. And Manchester and Birmingham before that.’
‘All in paediatrics?’
He nodded. ‘I like working with los niños. Children. What about you?’
‘I’ve always worked at Brad’s.’
‘No, I mean, why the children’s ward?’
Because it was the nearest she’d get to having children of her own. She forced the thought back. ‘I like working with children too,’ she said lightly. ‘It’s very rewarding.’
To her relief, their meal arrived and the subject changed naturally. ‘An excellent choice,’ Ramón said when he’d tasted