Meant to e-mail about Fernando. Charming, lovely Fernando. Oh, Caroline . . . He took me to Semproniana, a muy romantic place in L’Eixample. It’s converted from a ’60s factory. Has these great iron columns, old furniture, paintings. A very cozy atmosphere. Handsome Fernando (think Antonio Banderas without the wrinkles) is all habla, habla in español with his arm lightly around my waist, body whispering. I might have swooned a little because I don’t remember walking to the table. He knew everyone, including the owner, who sat down with us for a few minutes. We ate, talked, drank a little wine, but not too much. I’m still a Southern Baptist girl, but when in Rome—in my case, Barcelona . . . We strolled the shops, and C, it felt like we’d known each other for years. His English is perfect, yet sprinkled with the most delicious accent. He tried to coach my Spanish along and we laughed so hard we couldn’t speak at all. He kissed me tenderly good night and said, “Hasta luego.”
