"Since you've effectively branded me for the afternoon," Borja said, gesturing to the coffee stain, "the least you can do is let me buy you a replacement. One that stays in the cup this time?"

"I am so, so sorry," Raquel stammered, frantically grabbing napkins. "I was looking at my phone, and I just—"

She had bumped into him—literally—outside a coffee shop in Salamanca. Her iced latte had done a graceful, tragic arc onto his suede loafers.

"Fine," she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "But we’re going to a place I pick. And if I see a single person wearing a sweater tied around their shoulders, I’m leaving."