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which is truly breathtaking. Stunning brownstone buildings sit around the edge of a vast semicircle. We amble across a gorgeous Venetian-style bridge with stunning ceramic balustrades. The bridge over the canal follows the curve of the buildings, creating a pathway between the buildings and the plaza. Numerous intricately designed bridges allow the buildings to be accessible over the moat. Many tiled alcoves dot the plaza walls, each nook representing a different Spanish province. The striking ceramic tile tells the history of that area of Spain. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a more beautiful man-made place.
    After walking around the plaza for over an hour, exploring every alcove and taking in as much beauty and history as we could, we decide to meander through the cobblestone streets and scope out a place to eat. We stop at a little restaurant for coffee and a late lunch. We’re seated at an outside table situated on the stone patio. Each table has its own white umbrella blocking the sun.
    Lunch is delicious. Nolan and I share a common Spanish meal—a large plate of paella that is made of rice, seafood, and vegetables. I sip my cappuccino as he sips his espresso, and we fall into a comfortable conversation. He reminds me that Abby is coming to visit in two weeks. I’m hoping that Abby and I hit it off on a more positive note.
    After our meal, Nolan grabs a taxi to go home, and I walk the short distance back to my place. I am anxious to get back to the house and get everything in order for class tomorrow.
    The house is empty when I get in. I should call home. Spain is six hours ahead of Michigan, so my parents will probably be getting back from church around this time.
    My mom picks up after the third ring. “Livi, love! How is it? Tell me everything!”
    I sure lucked out in the mom department. She and I have always had a close relationship. She has a tendency to worry a bit too much. That led to a few disagreements when I was in high school. But she only worries because she cares. I’ve always told her most of the details about my life. She is understanding and empathetic, and she consistently gives great advice. She’s supported me through all my dramatic girl issues during my tween and teen years.
    I tell her about everything I’ve encountered since arriving yesterday. She listens with interest, and before hanging up, I promise to call again soon.
    Next, I call Cara and tell her about the awesome club Nolan and I went to last night and the mystery man who took my breath away.
    The interest in her voice is almost tangible. “Tell me more! I told you there would be juicy details!”
    I chuckle. “That’s all there is to tell unfortunately.”
    “So, let me get this straight. The hottest guy you have ever seen engages you in a stare-down contest, and that’s it?”
    “Yeah, that’s it.”
    “Come on, Livi! Why didn’t you follow through? You didn’t go talk to him, wave, or acknowledge him somehow?”
    “I told you, when I went back, he was dancing with someone. What was I supposed to do?”
    “Hmm…” she says out loud. “There is more to this story that you are not telling me.”
    I revisit last night, and the entire evening plays through my mind like a movie on fast-forward. I pause and try to imagine what Nolan and I looked like while dancing and kissing. Ugh, the kiss. Of course Mr. Hotness did nothing more than stare. What choice had I given him? To a stranger’s eyes, I’m sure Nolan and I looked like we were together. Maybe he didn’t see the kiss? I don’t know when he first saw me. Regardless, straddling Nolan as we were dancing probably seemed intimate to any outsider.
    I sigh. “Nope, that’s all, Cara. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
    “Okay,” she says with deliberate slowness, obviously not content with my explanation. “Well, maybe you will see him again, and if you do, you need to at least introduce yourself.”
    “I will,” I say, knowing the chances of seeing him again