I stepped out of the cab and waved as the taxi drove away. He was a familiar face, often the one to drop me home from work.
I moved to Spain a year ago as an English teacher through a cultural exchange program, and it had been the most peaceful, quiet year of my life. I wasn’t complaining, though. I missed home sometimes, but then I remembered Mama’s sermon, and suddenly I didn’t anymore.
Absently, I searched for my key in my bag until I bumped into someone and dropped my keys.
“I’m sorry, I was looking for my key,” I said, bending to pick them up.
I looked up to see a man with dark, untamed hair and deep brown eyes, almost black, staring down at me. He wore a tailored shirt and black jeans, his figure tall and imposing.
I straightened up, keys in hand, but the stranger didn’t bother
