Beautiful Mine (Beautiful Rivers #1) (3 page)

I feel like I’m sort of sliding into a vortex. Every time I look at this guy, it seems the effect he has on me gets just a little bit stronger. It’s kind of alarming.

The waitress comes to ask if anyone wants dessert. I’m finished with my lunch by now, as is everyone else. Maggie, Connor, and the bald man eagerly place their orders. The French couple says they’d better be on their way and start gathering their packs from against the wall. I notice Connor’s pack and walking stick are over there as well.

The interruption has been enough for me to back up a little bit and get a glance at this situation from a distance. If we were in a cafe back home, I’d maybe try to get to know him better. I realize I might have made an assumption about him the first time I saw him, but I’d still try to find out what he thought about what those guys were saying, because it was bad enough that it would matter to me.

If I was wrong about him, I’d maybe let myself slide into whatever vortex Connor is. Because it’s been a long, long time since I’ve come across anyone interesting enough to get this
tingly
over.

But I’m not home. I’m in Spain, and every single person at this table is eventually going to go their separate ways, including Connor. In five days, I’m flying back to San Francisco. Today, I’m walking the last leg into Santiago. I’ve been waiting fourteen days for this. Hell,
years
. I didn’t come here to crush on this mystery man. I’m here for me. I have a cathedral to see.

The waitress comes to me last, wanting to know if I want dessert or not.

“I think I’ll go,” I say. Now that the words are out of my mouth, my heart deflates a bit with regret, but my mind is firm.

I stand, and sense Connor watching me do it. I grab my pack and heft it over my shoulders. Maggie stands to give me a hug, and we say goodbye like it’s the last time, just as we have every time.

But Connor doesn’t say goodbye. I bid farewell to the others, then finally allow myself to look at him before leaving. He’s wearing a thoughtful, almost serious expression. “See you around, Whitney.”

The way he says it, it sounds like a hope, more than a certainty.

But maybe not.

After all, I’m leaving, and he’s not trying to get me to stay.

“Bye,” I say, and make myself follow through. I head out to the road several steps behind the others. The sound of my name on his lips echoes around in my mind, but I shake it off, and keep going.

The last few miles to the cathedral cut through the large, bustling city of Santiago de Compostela. It’s strange to be completing such a monumental, almost spiritual task while the busy sounds and activities of ordinary city life go on all around you. But when I finally approach the soaring, gothic cathedral, my lingering worries that reality might not live up to expectations disappear.

It’s far, far better than I expected. Standing there in the square looking up at the massive, intricate towers, I’m overwhelmed with joy. The line of pilgrims waiting for their certificate of completion is massive and does, in truth, seem too ordinary a thing for such a momentous occasion. But I’m buzzing anyway.

As I’m waiting, I end up seeing a mother and her son from Toronto, pilgrims I met clear back on day two, and we eagerly congratulate one other on making it. Later, seeing my own certificate, my
Compostela,
with my name written across the top... I couldn’t stop grinning. I’ve sat through almost an entire Catholic mass now, which I’m finding alternately fascinating and dull, but I am still so light in my heart. And I can’t stop running my fingers over the name on my certificate.

I can’t believe I really did this.

I’m on a hard, ancient, wooden pew, surrounded by other pilgrims. This is the daily afternoon “Pilgrim’s Mass,” so there are plenty of us. As the mass draws closer to the end, I feel the anticipation growing. We’re all eager to see the famous ceremony, the Botafumeiro.

The main part of the cathedral’s interior is laid out like a cross, with pews filling the long bottom end, called the nave, and more pews in each arm of the cross, called the transept. At the center point where the lines of the cross meet, there’s a large stage with an altar toward the rear. Behind the altar, in what would be the top of the cross, it’s floor-to-ceiling decorations that are all gold-covered and so ornate that it’s been enough to keep me entertained during the mass.

Hanging high above the altar is a large, very elaborate incense burner made of silver-plated brass. It’s over a hundred and fifty years old, and I read that when they load it with the coals, it weighs nearly a hundred and forty pounds.

The rope attached to the top of the Botafumeiro goes all the way up to the soaring, arched ceiling, then back down at an angle to a group of priests in red robes. They’re all standing in a circle, and just before it gets to their little group, the massive rope splits into parts so they each have hold of an end.

They slowly lower the Botafumeiro to the altar where two priests in red robes have to hold it still—the massive censer is nearly five feet tall—and other priests in white robes each ceremoniously take a spoonful of the incense and add it to the censer. It starts to emit soft plumes of gray smoke and they all leave the altar, save one priest in a red robe, who is standing next to the giant incense burner.

For a moment, all is still and the congregation seems to hold its breath. My skin pricks with anticipation.

The priests holding on to the rope tug together as one and the censer bounces high once, twice. It comes to a stop, still hanging straight, but with the base now just above the head of the priest at the altar. He grabs hold of the base, pulls back a few steps, then gives the Botafumeiro a strong but graceful push.

It arches out maybe ten feet away from him, as he calmly descends from the altar. He is out of the way well before the censer swings back to where he’d been. It swings through gently. As it comes back down, just as it reaches the center point, the priests pull together on their ropes and the censer jerks upward and down before completing its swing.

I watch it, captivated, as it swings out a little farther this time. Yet again, acting as one, the priests pull their ropes when the censer is at the center point. Again, it seems to bounce in midair and starts swinging much faster now. My heartbeat speeds up watching it.

Only a few more swings back and forth, and it’s going farther out, higher and faster. It’s trailing gray smoke and I catch a whiff of the sweet scent now as it rushes down one arm of the transept, then high up the other arm. It’s traveling in such a wide arc, I have to turn my head to follow its path.

Within seconds, the one-hundred-forty-pound mass of smoking silver is swinging so high, that at its highest point the rope it’s attached to is nearly horizontal. There’s a subtle but audible gasp from the congregation.

I read the censer gets up to forty-two miles per hour in only a minute and a half, but right now, as it speeds along, it seems to be going much faster than that. And here we all are beneath it. I wonder if I’m the only one hoping the rope doesn’t break. My heart is pounding in awe.

The priests are no longer tugging on the rope; instead they’re letting the laws of physics take over. Too soon the Botafumeiro is slowing down. It swings serenely for a few minutes, the arc getting smaller as it goes slower and slower. It’s strangely peaceful, after the powerful acrobatics it’s just performed.

When its arc is some twenty feet across, the red-robed priest calmly steps up to the altar, puts himself just in the path of the Botafumeiro, and grabs on with both hands. Immediately after he catches it, he brings it into a gentle spin, turning himself around with it, as gracefully as any dance team I’ve ever seen, and brings it to a calm stop.

I let my breath out. I didn’t realize I’d been holding it.

I glance around at the people near me.
That was amazing!
I want to say. I want to applaud! But maybe they know how to behave in church better than I do, because they all look full of reverent approval and not damnable Protestant excitement, like me.

At the conclusion, we file out. The peace I felt at the conclusion of the ceremony is still with me. I wish I could feel this all the time, and am even more resolved to make healthier decisions when I go back home. Maybe if I can try to stay balanced, like the Botafumeiro, I’ll be able to recreate some of this peace for myself.

I hear it’s flying again at the late evening mass tonight, a rare treat. While I’m not keen on sitting through another long service, I’ll not turn down the chance to see it twice. I’ll be back.

Not ready to leave the vicinity of the cathedral just yet, I mill about the square outside. I scan the crowds and the many pilgrims, wondering if I’ll see anyone else I know. I look for curly red hair.

In spite of myself, I look for a green shirt.

I come up short on both accounts, but I do run into Roy from Tennessee again. We compare notes on our Camino journey since we last saw one another a week ago. He’s flying home in the morning, and tells me he’s looking forward to his wife’s home cooked meals (he’s requested cornbread and fried okra). We chat for a while about the finer points of cornbread making (apparently, one
must
use buttermilk) before we say our final goodbyes and I head to my hotel to check in.

After days of basic accommodations, laundry lines, and thin mattresses, a private room with a real bed is pure luxury. But nothing,
nothing,
compares to the indulgence of the bath. Oh god, the warm water. The freedom to relax and take my time. I don’t even have to wear shower shoes!

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that my mind strays to Connor more than once. I’ll blame it on being naked in the tub. And his hotness. And the fact that it’s been
way
too long since I’ve been with a man. But I really don’t want to fantasize about someone I walked away from, so I force myself to think of other things and reflect on my incredible experiences over the past two weeks instead.

I stay in the tub until the water cools, then use the hotel’s blow dryer to actually dry my hair. Another luxury! I even decide to forgo the hat and ponytail and leave my hair down. Feeling clean and fresh, I head out so I can get some dinner before going back to the cathedral for a second viewing of the Botafumeiro.

I’m waiting for the elevator, wondering if I should ask the front desk for tips or just find a place on my own. Then the doors open to reveal someone standing inside.

My lips part in surprise. Connor does a double take, then gives me a slow, slow smile.

Umm.... okay. This is a whole new ballgame now.

Whitney

“We meet again,” he says, still smiling. My estrogen starts flowing at the sight of that smile and those eyes. I couldn’t stop it now if I tried. 

“Hello again,” I say as I step into the elevator. He looks—and smells—freshly bathed as well and I have a sudden vision of him naked in a tub. God. Between that and the fact that there’s apparently
no escaping
this guy, I completely forget why I was trying to escape him to start with.

The doors slide closed with a soft thud and the little space grows even smaller. I don’t stand too close, but I certainly would’ve stood farther away if I’d never met him before. The car begins its downward journey and my stomach swoops more than usual.

We start giving each other that
wondering
look from before. He’s still smiling, and there’s a smile teasing the corners of my mouth too. In spite of being freshly bathed, he didn’t shave. He still has that cute scruff on his jaw.

“You’re staying here, too?” I ask.

He turns toward me a bit and leans one shoulder against the back wall. Oh man. Just like when he turned toward me at the table, this little movement makes things feel more familiar. But this time it’s just us. In this little box. I like it. “I heard this is the best place for the weary Camino pilgrim,” he says.

I adjust slightly so I can lean against the wall as well. I really can’t help it. Because it seems like this is the moment we’ve been building to all along. “That’s what the guidebooks say anyway.”

“Do they?”

“Don’t you have a guidebook?” The car already starts to slow, dammit. I don’t want to walk away this time. I want to linger awhile.

“I’m not the guidebook type,” he answers, as we come to a stop. “I’d rather just ask around. But I think we have more important matters to discuss.”

The elevator dings and the doors open. Neither one of us moves. My heart is thumping in anticipation. “Do we?”

“Yes. You’re about to go your way and I’m about to go mine, but clearly the universe thinks we need to talk some more.”

Thump, thump, thump.
Now it’s my turn to give a slow smile. “The universe, huh?”

“Okay,” he says, grinning. “it’s me.
I
think we should talk more.”

The doors slide closed and we both ignore them. We’re just leaning against the back wall, giving each other smiles that have an edge of heat under them. “So, Whitney,” he says, and damn but I do like the way my name sounds on his lips. “Are you game for dinner?”

I might just be game for anything,
I think, but what I say is, “Sure, Connor. I’m game.”

After discussing options with the hotel’s concierge, we settle on a little restaurant that’s just a few blocks away but still off the beaten path. It’s a favorite of the locals, something Connor specifically requested.

We’re walking along a side street, away from the heavy activity of the busy streets we’ve left behind. His nearness is as stimulating as it’s been all along, if not more so. The physical attraction is a little startling, actually. But now that I’m out of the magic bubble of the elevator, my previous reservations come back to me: his involvement in the disturbing conversation I heard, and the fact that this is fleeting, whatever
this
is.

Part of me just wants to enjoy the flirtation and not worry. What does it matter anyway, if it’s temporary? I can live with temporary.

In fact, I’ll have to. Connor’s already going to be part of my Camino memories. There’s no preventing that now.

But if he’s the kind of guy who has so much disdain for women, do I really want to be doing this? Whatever
this
is? It’s the last little thing that’s giving me pause.

“So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “those guys I saw you with before. Are they friends of yours?”

“I wouldn’t say that. We met on the trail, but didn’t talk much.”

“But you talked some?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s giving me a searching look. I try to keep my expression light. I don’t want to accuse him of anything. I just have to know what he thought about what I heard, and if he was participating.

“They were being assholes,” he says firmly. “The little I heard was more than enough.”

Relief floods through me so strongly I have to wonder at myself. I didn’t realize how important it was to hear him say what he just said. I shouldn’t care so much. I barely know him. I could end this little outing any time, if I needed to, and go about my merry way.

But I’m glad I don’t need to. Really glad.

“I was kind of hoping you were going to go all
gangsta
on their asses though,” he says, and I laugh. “You looked like you wanted to.”

“I did. I thought you were part of it.”

“No fucking way. I don’t get guys like that. Don’t they have mothers?”

Damn, now he’s making my heart go all squishy. I know it should be a given, but there’s still something so endearing about a man who genuinely respects women. “Your mom wouldn’t let you talk like that, huh?” I ask, still smiling.

“It’s not just that. It would never
occur
to me to talk about women like that. I mean, how can you have women in your life and not realize they’re amazing?”

“Your mom must be pretty cool,” I say, and he nods. “You said you have a sister too, right?”

“You may as well throw my cousin into the mix. She’s practically a sister.”

“So three awesome women in your life and you’re convinced we’re all amazing,” I say, teasing.

He gives me a most delicious sideways glance. “Aren’t you?”

The heat from that look spreads through my body and blooms on my cheeks. Damn, this guy. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I say.

We’re approaching a small intersection and he smiles at me before glancing at the signs. “I have no doubt,” he says. “Here, it’s this way.” He points, indicating we need to turn to the right, and puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me, just for an instant. It’s not creepy or too much. In fact, it’s just right, and gets my chest fluttering.

“So where are you in the family line up?” I ask, keeping my eyes on him more than on the sidewalk in front of me. I notice he’s doing the same thing.

“My brother Rayce is three years older than me, then Lizzy’s next. She’s two years older.”

“You’re the baby, then?” How adorable.

He groans. “Yeah. They still like to rub it in, too. But Corrine is younger than me. Does that count?” He looks so hopeful, I have to laugh.

“Wait, is that your cousin? Was she raised with you?”

“No, but she lived nearby for most of the time we were growing up so we spent a lot of time together. Plus,” he says raising a finger like he’s making a point, “she lived with us for a bit when we were in college.”

“Hmm,” I say, playing along, “
maybe
that counts since you guys both lived at home when you went to college.”

“Well...” he says, slowly, like he doesn’t want to say whatever comes next. “We were just home for breaks,” he admits quickly, and I laugh. “But we were both working for my folks, so...”

I shake my head. “I think you’re pushing it. You really don’t like being the youngest, do you?”

“I’ve been accused of that a time or two.”

We come to a corner and stop, looking up at the street signs. “Wait a minute...” I say, thinking back to the directions we’d been given. “Did we go too far?”

He looks confused too, and turns around to look back in the direction we just came. “Ah, yeah,” he says pointing. There it is: the deep purple sign with white script. We’d walked right by it.

We look at each other and start laughing.

“Whoops,” I say, as we head back. “Maybe we should pay better attention.”

“You’d better stop being so distractingly beautiful then.”

I glance at him. He didn’t say it like a slick compliment, but rather a simple statement of fact. He’s still half-laughing at our mishap, actually, and I can’t help but feel flattered by his off-handed sincerity. It’s nice to feel pretty, too, since my no-makeup-hiking-boot-Camino style is about as plain as it gets. I’m feeling anything but plain around him though.

We make it back to the restaurant, a tiny little alcove of a place with a dark, alluring color scheme, glass jars with candles on the tables, and an aroma that gets my mouth watering. It’s not very busy—we’re well ahead of the dinner rush since people here eat so late—but it does seem to be a place for locals since there’s not a pilgrim or tourist in sight.

As we’re settled at a table in a back corner, I have to wonder if the concierge sent us to such a romantic atmosphere on purpose. I guess we
were
kind of giving each other looks when we were at the desk.

Connor’s giving me another such look right now. It gets a heat going, deep in my core. And he’s so fucking
scrumptious.
Seriously, looks this good aren’t even fair to normal humans.

At this point I want to just rest my chin in my hands and take him all in.

Oh, god. Take him in. I should
not
have thought those words because my mind’s in a
completely
different place now.

I straighten, grab the menu, and hope I’m not blushing too much. I glance at him and he winks at me before turning to his own menu. If he keeps poking me with those winks of his, I’m going to have to ask him to poke me with something else.

I try to focus on the menu and soon realize I’ll have to rely on my rudimentary Spanish for this one. “I can read maybe a quarter of this.”

“I can help if you want,” Connor says smiling and glancing at my menu. “I’m fluent.”

“Are you? Have you spent much time in Spain?”

“Yes, some. I also took Spanish in school, but I figured out pretty quickly it’s a little different here than what we learned in class.”

“I’ve noticed that too. I just took one year though, so it’s been interesting. I tried to refresh my memory before I left, but...” I wave at the menu helplessly.

“Here,” he says, putting his menu down and gently turning mine so we can both look at it together. He leans in closer, and I do too. “These are the soups and salads,” he says, pointing, and starts going down the list for me. I’m not looking at the menu though. I’m facing it, because I don’t want to be too obvious, but my eyes are looking at his face.

As I take in the angle of his brow, his soft lashes, the way the candlelight flickers over his skin... I’m back to wondering again. He glances at me briefly, then realizing what he saw, looks again. I could’ve quickly dropped my eyes to the menu and pretended I wasn’t watching him, but I don’t. He keeps his eyes on mine and I let our gaze linger, faces close, flame dancing quietly nearby.

A moment passes. It’s short. Just a moment. But in that moment, whatever draw we’ve been feeling toward one another mingles with something deeper. I think about what he said earlier, about the universe wanting us to talk more. Does it? Because something’s happening here, for sure.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the waiter approaching. We both glance at him, then lean back in our chairs, still watching one another.

The waiter asks a question in Spanish and I pick up enough to know that he’s asking if we’re ready to order.

Connor glances at me, and I think he’s about to send the waiter away since we haven’t finished going through the menu yet. But I’m feeling bold and up for anything. “Surprise me,” I say.

He gives that half-smile of his and my heartbeat thickens. He quickly glances through the rest of the menu, then places our order in what sounds like flawless Spanish. The waiter nods and collects our menus. We hold a silent gaze for a moment longer, then he leans closer, one forearm on the table, and asks quietly, “What brought you to the Camino, Whitney? Was it all you’d hoped?”

“More,” I say. So much more. “I’m so glad I’m doing this.” He’s listening, really listening, and it makes it easy for me to want to share. “It wasn’t a spiritual thing, exactly. It was just something I’d always wanted to do but never had the guts to do. And...” I shrug. “Life’s been a little unbalanced lately.”