favorite time of day, dusk.
People
sat on their terraces above, enjoying the evening as well. The buildings looked
outdated by fifty years, but a vintage feel added to the ambiance of Chrissie’s
surroundings. She loved what she could remember of the village and its
occupants. It was comforting to have familiar surroundings. Even the smells of
the churros baking in the café brought back the feelings of nostalgia,
An acoustic
guitar began to play. The older gentleman’s agile fingers strummed as he sung a
Spanish song that Chrissie recognized as “ Adorro .”
The song pricked her heart. Somehow, she felt it had meaning to her. She sat
down on the bench to enjoy the music. His white cotton shirt contrasted against
his dark cocoa skin. She stared at the old man almost in a trance. Every finger
flew easily to pluck its strings. He sang the song like he was the one who had
written it.
People
dropped coins into his open guitar case as they passed by. Chrissie was the
only one who stopped and listened, paying a silent but true tribute to the
talented musician.
This man probably deserves more than I can
afford .
She felt someone sit down beside her and
thought it was Arturo. She turned and looked to see who was sitting to her
left. It was not Arturo.
* * *
Brant
trailed the Datsun from the mansion into town. He tried to keep out of sight as
he watched Chrissie shop. Although he felt somewhat like a stalker, he didn’t
want her out of his sight. He couldn’t afford to lose her again. To him, she
looked like a bag of bones. As emaciated as she was, Brant wanted nothing more
than to pick her up and carry her around town while she shopped. To be able to
be close to her—that would be heaven.
He
peered around the corner of the alley to watch Chrissie sit to listen to the
old musician play. Arturo nonchalantly came and stood close to Brant’s hiding
spot without giving him away.
Brant
kept his eyes trained on Chrissie. “How is she?”
“She’s
okay.” Arturo shrugged. “She got a little winded a few moments ago. Hasta
ahora, bien.”
Brant
breathed a sigh of relief. “At least she is awake and standing.”
“She’s the
same feisty thing that we all know and love, just slightly diluido.” Arturo
chuckled. “You should have seen her face when I asked her to put the blindfold
on.”
“I think
I’m going to go over there and get a closer look for myself. Maybe seeing me
will bring back some memories.” Brant straightened his shirt and smoothed down
his hair before he walked around the corner and across the street toward
Chrissie.
She
looked like she was stuck in a daydream when Brant sat next to her. “I love
this song, don’t you?”
Chrissie’s
brilliant blue eyes flashed up at him instantly. His heart melted.
I love her .
Chapter
8
“I love this song, don’t you?” a handsome
stranger asked, his deep British voice making Chrissie’s heart skip with pleasure.
At any moment, Chrissie expected him to say “Bond, James Bond.”
“Yes, it sounds so familiar.” Chrissie
stared at him, confused, as she began to take in the features of the man
sitting next to her. He was tall—not in a lanky way, but rather broad-shouldered
and solid. His chiseled, muscular form would make Trey look like a wimp. If she
had a black-and-white photo of him, it would rival anything in GQ .
Did
men as handsome as this exist outside her dreams? He was even talking to her. Chrissie
thought she should pinch herself. She wished she looked the way she used to. She
was acutely aware of her hair wrapped up in a scarf and the huge bags under her
eyes.
She
guessed him to be close to thirty. He looked like he spent most of his day in
the sun, judging by the darkness of his tan. His light brown hair confirmed
that he was definitely not a native. He looked like a handsome American who could
even pass as someone from Hollywood, but fit in here
People
sat on their terraces above, enjoying the evening as well. The buildings looked
outdated by fifty years, but a vintage feel added to the ambiance of Chrissie’s
surroundings. She loved what she could remember of the village and its
occupants. It was comforting to have familiar surroundings. Even the smells of
the churros baking in the café brought back the feelings of nostalgia,
An acoustic
guitar began to play. The older gentleman’s agile fingers strummed as he sung a
Spanish song that Chrissie recognized as “ Adorro .”
The song pricked her heart. Somehow, she felt it had meaning to her. She sat
down on the bench to enjoy the music. His white cotton shirt contrasted against
his dark cocoa skin. She stared at the old man almost in a trance. Every finger
flew easily to pluck its strings. He sang the song like he was the one who had
written it.
People
dropped coins into his open guitar case as they passed by. Chrissie was the
only one who stopped and listened, paying a silent but true tribute to the
talented musician.
This man probably deserves more than I can
afford .
She felt someone sit down beside her and
thought it was Arturo. She turned and looked to see who was sitting to her
left. It was not Arturo.
* * *
Brant
trailed the Datsun from the mansion into town. He tried to keep out of sight as
he watched Chrissie shop. Although he felt somewhat like a stalker, he didn’t
want her out of his sight. He couldn’t afford to lose her again. To him, she
looked like a bag of bones. As emaciated as she was, Brant wanted nothing more
than to pick her up and carry her around town while she shopped. To be able to
be close to her—that would be heaven.
He
peered around the corner of the alley to watch Chrissie sit to listen to the
old musician play. Arturo nonchalantly came and stood close to Brant’s hiding
spot without giving him away.
Brant
kept his eyes trained on Chrissie. “How is she?”
“She’s
okay.” Arturo shrugged. “She got a little winded a few moments ago. Hasta
ahora, bien.”
Brant
breathed a sigh of relief. “At least she is awake and standing.”
“She’s the
same feisty thing that we all know and love, just slightly diluido.” Arturo
chuckled. “You should have seen her face when I asked her to put the blindfold
on.”
“I think
I’m going to go over there and get a closer look for myself. Maybe seeing me
will bring back some memories.” Brant straightened his shirt and smoothed down
his hair before he walked around the corner and across the street toward
Chrissie.
She
looked like she was stuck in a daydream when Brant sat next to her. “I love
this song, don’t you?”
Chrissie’s
brilliant blue eyes flashed up at him instantly. His heart melted.
I love her .
Chapter
8
“I love this song, don’t you?” a handsome
stranger asked, his deep British voice making Chrissie’s heart skip with pleasure.
At any moment, Chrissie expected him to say “Bond, James Bond.”
“Yes, it sounds so familiar.” Chrissie
stared at him, confused, as she began to take in the features of the man
sitting next to her. He was tall—not in a lanky way, but rather broad-shouldered
and solid. His chiseled, muscular form would make Trey look like a wimp. If she
had a black-and-white photo of him, it would rival anything in GQ .
Did
men as handsome as this exist outside her dreams? He was even talking to her. Chrissie
thought she should pinch herself. She wished she looked the way she used to. She
was acutely aware of her hair wrapped up in a scarf and the huge bags under her
eyes.
She
guessed him to be close to thirty. He looked like he spent most of his day in
the sun, judging by the darkness of his tan. His light brown hair confirmed
that he was definitely not a native. He looked like a handsome American who could
even pass as someone from Hollywood, but fit in here
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