“Yes, I’m terrified of you now.”

“Does this mean GPS?”

“It means GPS.” He sighed resignedly, leaning back and pulling me off the car with him. I gave a little cheer and started for the door.

“No, no, no, you were harsh, Nightie Girl. I’m gonna need some sugar,” he instructed, eyes twinkling.

“You need some sugar?” I asked.

He tugged on my arm, bringing me back to him. “Yes, I require it.”

“You’re twisted, Simon.” I leaned into him, slipping my arms around his neck.

“You have no idea.” He licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows like an old-timey gangster.

“Come get your sugar,” I teased as he brought his lips to mine.

I would never get tired of kissing Simon. I mean, how could you? Since the night he “truthed” me right up on to my kitchen counter, we’d slowly been exploring this new side of our relationship. Underneath all the snark and spark, there’d been some serious sexual tension building these many months. And we were letting it all out—albeit slowly. Sure, we could’ve raced right back to the bedroom that night and let the sex ring out across the city for days, but Simon and I, without saying a word, seemed to be on the same page for once, and were content to let this unfold.

He was wooing me. And I was letting him woo. I wanted the woo. I deserved the woo. I needed the wow that would surely follow the woo, but for now, the woo? It was whoa.

And speaking of woo…

My hands slipped into his hair, tugging and twisting and trying to pull his entire body inside my own. He groaned into my mouth, I felt his tongue touch mine, and I fell apart at the seams. I sighed, the tiniest whimper, and it became harder and harder to kiss him due to the giant grin overtaking my face.

He pulled back a little and laughed. “You sure look happy.”

“Keep kissing me, please,” I insisted, bringing his face back to mine.

“It’s like kissing a jack ’o’ lantern. What’s with the grin?” He smiled down at me with a grin that looked as wide as my own.

“We’re in Spain, Simon. Grinning is implied.” I sighed contentedly, messing with his hair.

“And here I thought it was all to do with my kissing,” he answered, kissing me again, gently, sweetly.

“Okay, cowboy, ready to see where the GPS takes us?” I asked, stepping away. I couldn’t keep my hands on him for too long or we’d never leave.

“Let’s see how lost we really are.” He smiled and we were on our way.

“I think this is the turn…Yep, this is it,” he said.

I bounced in my seat. Turned out we were closer than we thought, and we’d gotten a bit antsy. As we made one last turn, we looked at each other, and I squealed. We’d seen bits of the ocean for the last few miles or so—peeking out behind a stand of trees or over a cliff. Now, as we turned down a tiny cobblestone drive, the realization that Simon had rented a house not just near the beach, but on the beach washed over me, and I was silenced by the sight.

Simon pulled up to the house, the tires crunching on the rounded stones. When he turned the car off, I could hear the waves crashing against the rocky coast about a hundred feet away. We sat for a moment, just taking it all in and grinning at each other, before I scrambled out of the car.

“This is where we’re staying? This entire house—it’s yours?” I exclaimed as he grabbed our bags and came to stand next to me.

“It’s ours, yeah.” He smiled and gestured for me to walk ahead of him.

The house was charming and magnificent all at the same time: white stucco walls, clay-tile roof, clean lines, and soft archways. Orange trees lined the walkway from the drive, and bougainvillea climbed the garden walls. The house was a classic cottage, built to weather the sea and cocoon those inside. As Simon looked under the flowerpots for the key, I inhaled the citrus scents and the distinctly salty air.

“A-ha! Got it. Ready to see the inside?” He struggled with the door for a moment before turning to face me.

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For bringing me here.” I smiled and kissed him square on the lips.

“Mmm, more of that sugar you promised me.” He dropped the bag and pulled me close.

“Sugar this! Let’s see the house!” I cried, wiggling free and charging past him through the door. But as soon as I made it past the entryway, I stopped cold. Close on my heels, he bumped into me as I took it all in.

A sunken living room, dotted with plush white sofas and comfy-looking chairs, opened up to what I assumed was the kitchen. French doors at the back of the house opened to several large, terraced patios, which sunk down toward the rocky beach. But what had stopped me cold was the ocean. All across the back, through the giant windows, was the deep blue of the lazy Mediterranean. The coastline curved back to the town of Nerja, where the lights were just beginning to sparkle as twilight drifted over the beach, illuminating the other white houses that clung to the cliffs. Remembering how to move, I ran to push open the doors and let the soft air spill over me and into the house, blanketing everything in the evening’s perfume.

I walked to the wrought iron railing, which perched at the edge of an earthen tile patio flanked by olive trees. Placing my hands on the warm metal, I looked and looked and looked. I felt Simon walk up behind me and without a word place his arms around my waist. He nestled in to me, resting his head on my shoulder. I leaned back, feeling the angles and planes of his body fit against my own.

You know those moments when everything is exactly the way it was meant to be? When you find yourself and your entire universe aligning in perfect synchronization, and you know you couldn’t possibly be more content? I was inside that very moment, and fully conscious of it. I giggled a little, feeling Simon’s smile stretch across his face as he pressed into my neck.

“It’s good, right?” he whispered.

“It’s so good,” I answered, and we watched the sunset in spellbound silence.

After watching the sunset until it was totally gone, we explored the rest of the house. It seemed more and more beautiful with every room, and I squealed once again at the sight of the kitchen. It was as if I’d been transported to Ina’s home in East Hampton, with a Spanish flair: Sub-Zero fridge, gorgeous granite countertops, and a Viking stove. I didn’t even want to know how much Simon was paying for this house. I’d decided to just enjoy. And enjoy we did, running back and forth, laughing like kids when we found the bidet in the hallway bathroom.