Blood in the Valencian Soil (Secrets of Spain) Read Online Free PDF Page B

when they imagined a tall, dark and handsome Latin man who could whisk them away. She had that fantasy a few times herself, as cheesy and predictable as it was.
    “Buenas noches, preciosa,” he purred.
    “Good evening. I almost didn’t recognise you.”
    “In that case, let me re-introduce myself,” he said, and put his hand out. “I am Cayetano Morales. I’m pleased to meet you.”
    It occurred to Luna that she hadn’t even got his surname earlier. “Luna Montgomery,” she said and shook his hand.
    “Shall we, Señora?” he said with a tempting smile and offered his arm. She tucked her hand into his elbow, and they set off toward the restaurant. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for us already. The degustation menu, so we can try a little of everything.”
    “Been here before, have you?” she asked as they were greeted by the waiter at the entrance.
    “Once, with work colleagues, they brought us for dinner.” Slight lie there, it was your wife’s Christmas party last year.
    “Just for the record, I would have been just as happy going to a little tapas place, to laugh at Spaniards who toss their little napkins on the floor.”
    “What else are we supposed to do with them?”
    “Put them in the bin?”
    Cayetano scoffed. “Foreigners, you just don’t get it.”
    They were seated in the corner, the silver of the cutlery and the sparkle of the crystal wine glasses glistened in the dim light of the candlelit tables around the high-ceiling room. Cayetano felt relieved when the c ava, a sweet sparkling wine from the Catalonia region, was poured. For the first time in a while, he felt nervous. It had been a while since he had been on a date, and the beautiful creature across the table enchanted him. They sat there through the small courses of their dinner, the meal full of light and relaxed chat about anything that seemed to come up, but Cayetano was so taken with her that he didn’t pay too much attention to the polite conversation. Silence would fall over on the chit-chat at times, but he hadn’t minded. He was comfortable to sit there with her.
    “So how did you become a bicycle tour guide?” he asked as the final course was cleared from the table, which left them with the remainder of the second bottle of c ava.
    “It was the only job I c ould get,” Luna cringed. “I needed a job, and I like bikes and can speak Spanish and English. Plus I know Valencia well. It’s shift work, which is what I need.”
    Cayetano frowned . She seemed ashamed of what she did for a living. “What did you do before this?”
    “I was a road-racing bicycle mechanic on the European pro-racing cycling circuit.”
    “Wow! That’s new to me. How did you get into that?”
    Luna shrugged. “I just always like riding bikes. I used to ride with my father when I was a kid. I got a job after school at the bike store close to home, and it was fun. I like working on bikes. Then, when I was 18, the world changed on me.”
    “What happened?”
    “There was a professional cycling event on in Australia, and my father and I decided to fly over and watch. It was the racers from Europe who came to compete. For me, as a kid, it was so exciting, and a chance to see my heroes. When I got there, I happened to meet a guy, Darren. He was my age and had the same job as me.”
    “Sounds like a romance.”
    “No, no,” she dismissed him. “But Darren had a friend who worked on one of the cycling teams. He managed to get us through to where the riders were and see the bikes that we were in awe of. That is where I met Fabrizio Merlini.”
    Cayetano sat back in his plush chair for a moment. That name was familiar.
    “You have that look,” Luna sighed. “The one everyone has.  The ‘why do I know the name Fabrizio Merlini?’ look. What did he do to get his name on the television?”
    “He died,” Cayetano said as it came to him. Of course, the famous Italian sportsman killed in Spain.  That had been hot news. “A cyclist