A very long weekend that started Friday morning (I need a vacation after this one) means this week’s Friday Fictioneers is only coming today, on Sunday evening.
Better late than never, etc. Enjoy!
The first time I had sangria was on an exchange semester in Spain.
I felt very adult at not-quite-seventeen, sitting on a patio at midnight with a wineglass at my lips and my host brother’s hand on my thigh. We had spent my final day there together; I’m still not sure if the heady feeling I had was from the sangria, the day in the sun, or his fingers slowly sliding up my leg.
When we kissed, my heart played percussion with the furious flamenco guitar nearby. I was completely smitten. So was he.
I wonder what happened to him.