Chapter Four

She felt like she was lagging the entire day as she visited Montjuic to examine some of the old buildings. She was dressed comfortably in jeans and a fitted tee, ready to get dirty if necessary.

She sighed as she finished her break, and replaced the safety goggles and hardhat back on her person.

Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail so it wouldn’t interfere with her work. The only accessory she wore was her watch, only to make sure she was keeping on schedule. She picked up her clipboard that had her notes, and gathered her team. They basically would help her determine what types of repair would be necessary, and the estimated cost.

She forced her mind to focus on the task at hand, and not linger on her nightmares from the night before. No, losing focus could get herself killed.

Nina pushed through the rest of the day.

When she got home, she grabbed the pile of mail from the mailbox, and headed up to her apartment. After taking care of Lola, she sat down at breakfast bar, and went through the bills.

There were also a few letters from friends.

However, the last envelope caught her eye, as there was no return address. She opened it, and frowned as the contents fell out onto the counter. She grabbed the folded piece of paper, and a smaller object fell out.

Dear Nina,

I can’t believe how insensitive I yesterday, and I feel I need to apologize to you. I know you probably thing that it was your fault for not telling us, or for ruining our fun. But we knew you were in the military, and should have realized what that meant. I think both of us just forget that you were a soldier because you seem so normal, and not the stereotypical one we often hear about.

As a token of apology, I have sent you a ticket to the Spain vs. Austria game. I hope that you will come and watch. As my personal guest you will sit with my family, and get to meet some of the other players after.

Please think about coming, and I hope that we are still friends,

Xavi

Her eyes widened in surprise. Those tickets had to cost a fortune. And one was sitting in her hand. More than that, she would be meeting with other players. It all seemed so surreal.


~~

Adela woke up around noon, yawning widely as she began her day.

First, no white clothing. She hated wearing white. If only her job didn’t require it. After getting ready for the day, she grabbed her camera, and headed outside into the beautiful city. She still had yet to explore everywhere, but that was the beauty of photography. The entire would was her canvas, her eye the paintbrush, and her camera the paint.

She wandered into the gothic corridor, an ended up taking many shots in that area, enjoying the traditional architecture. It made for beautiful pictures, ones she hoped would get published, giving her a little extra income. But even if they weren’t it was still worth it.

As she headed back, she passed by Camp Nou, and looked up at the beloved stadium. It was the pride of the city, and the history. The club really was more than a simple football team. It was so much more. It was unity, pride, adoration, and most of all, strength. At first she hadn’t understood that, but she’d learned. Sure there were fake fans, bandwagon fans, and fans that were too zealous. But most saw the club as a family. It was a beacon of support that unified the Catalan people.

It was that feeling that Carles Puyol fought for. She could hear the pride in his voice when he talked about the club, and the affection in his eyes.

She wondered if and when she would see him again. She really did hope she would. She hated herself for wanting it so much, but she did. They just talked. He was genuinely interested in what she did, and who she was. He also was kind enough to not point out the various stains she collected throughout the night. And of course, he bought her the best drinks without hesitation.

Carles Puyol was an enigma. He seemed so powerful and strong, but talking to him she had learned he was sweet, kind, and caring.
How could she not like him? No, he made that impossible.


~~

“What’s bothering Xavi?” he asked Pepe Reina, who was warming up next to him. The goalkeeper looked over that the mentioned man, and saw him frowning deeply.

He shrugged, “No idea. Why don’t you ask him?”

The striker sighed, “I did, and he just shrugged it off while texting his brother pretty intently.” “Maybe a family thing then,” the keeper guessed, shrugging. But David knew his friend well, and Xavi normally told him about stuff like that. He always knew when Àlex or Ariadna was mad. He wondered if something had changed, or if it was something new.

He sighed, and broke off to go and start the drills with his fellow strikers, hoping his friend was all right.


~~

Carles was ready to shove one of the footballs into Gerard’s exceptionally large mouth. Not only did half of the Barça squad know of his ‘cute crush’, but most of La Roja did as well.

The tall defender really had no clue how to turn off his mouth, or at least decide who and who not to tell.

Xavi was greatly amused by it all, as were Pepe Reina and David Villa. They considered getting involved, and only Casillas managed to shut them up under threat. He was thankful the captain had some control over them, no matter how little he had. His teammates didn’t really understand his situation. Adela was beautiful. He was the Tarzan of Spain, as many called him. He was primal to most, and a far cry from people like Iker and Cesc. He wasn’t traditionally handsome or attractive. She would be crazy to be interested in him.

Several times he’d come close to asking her out, but always chickened out. It seemed like an inevitable no. He wouldn’t blame her for rejecting him either. He could understand why. It was honestly why he never really dated much before. But he felt drawn to Adela. Something about her had attracted him.

He’d first seen her across the club from the VIP section, cleaning up a spill on the bar counter. She was dressed in all white, and was swaying to the music.

He saw her again later that night passing by, looking absolutely exhausted.

He saw her for the third time the next night they were at the club. She was taking food over to the areas in which it was served, balancing a large tray with unnatural grace. She weaved easily through the crowd, not a single crumb dropped. However, on her way back, a drunk customer spilled sangría on her white top, staining it red.

And then he’d talked to her several visits later of not seeing her. He’d almost tripped over her himself, and had been outraged that Márquez hadn’t even admitted his error. He would have reacted that way for any woman, but it had been the stranger that had caught his eye. And he could be the hero. To his luck, she hadn’t minded his attention at all, and she seemed to enjoy talking with him. But if he wanted more than that, he would have to bring it up, and of that he was scared.