Spring in Seville – Part 2: Midnight Streets

They ate in six different bars, a plate at a time: salty ham, fried aubergine with honey, a tiny bowl of spinach and chickpeas, glasses of cold fino. They stood at crowded counters with their elbows touching, laughing at nothing.

At midnight, the streets were still full. They wandered, arm in arm, down alleys lit by yellow lanterns, past a quartet playing something slow in a tiled plaza. Carmen slipped off her sandals and carried them. Pablo watched her with undisguised delight.

"What?"

"You look twenty-three."

"I look forty-two and a little drunk."

"The same woman," said Pablo, warmly.

They climbed the narrow stairs of their hotel to the roof terrace, where the great cathedral tower rose gold against the black sky. The air was soft and warm, and the orange blossom was heavier at night.

"Can I ask you something?" said Pablo.

"Yes."

"May I kiss my wife on a rooftop in Seville?"

"Yes," said Carmen. "And if I say stop, you must take me dancing."

"You hate dancing."

"I know. It is a punishment for you."

He kissed her slowly, a hand at the small of her back, tasting sherry and orange. She kissed him back, her fingers in his hair, laughing softly against his mouth. It was exactly as it had been at twenty-three, and entirely different: calmer, deeper, certain.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Carmen. "Very green."

The next morning, they stood in the same square where they had met. A young couple sat on the kerb, arguing cheerfully over a map. Carmen and Pablo looked at each other.

"Left," said Pablo.

"Right," said Carmen, and took his hand.

More married couple romance: The Cruise · Couples Retreat · The Second Honeymoon