The second we stepped off the bus in front of the hotel in Seville, it felt like my bones exhaled. The heat was dry, clinging to my skin in a way that was more comforting than suffocating, and the scent of orange blossoms drifted through the air like something out of a novel.
The buildings rose like warm-toned postcards, all terracotta roofs and sun-washed walls, with iron balconies that looked too delicate to survive gravity.
“Wow,” I breathed, tugging the strap of my duffel higher on my shoulder.
“You good?” Braxton’s voice came from beside me. His hair was tousled from the travel; his expression relaxed in that way he only allowed when he wasn’t thinking too hard about who might be watching him.
I nodded. “Just taking it all in.”
He looked around, then back at me. “Well, Spain jus
