Chapter 1: Attraction

to Roció

I was at my parents’ house in a small town on the border with a neighboring country.

I had just graduated as a doctor but hadn’t yet completed my residency; I’m only 25 years old, and the residency program takes three years after becoming a general practitioner. I still have a year and a half to go, although I work as an intensive care physician at one of the best clinics in our neighboring country.

My father wasn’t in very good health, which is why I requested two extra weeks of unpaid leave; my vacation was two weeks long, so I figured I’d spend a month in my hometown with my beloved parents.

The first week, I spent taking my dear father for all his necessary medical checkups; I also took the opportunity to sunbathe and enjoy the beautiful beaches along the coast of my beloved hometown.

I had two or three friends from my childhood, but all three were married—and two of them had children—so they couldn’t go out, keep an eye on me, or join me in my vacation activities either.

I was sunbathing on a small beach towel, enjoying that time of day when a gentle breeze was already blowing—which, by the way, I loved. “Do you

mind if I sit next to you?

” a super-sexy voice asked me. I sat up a little and saw that the man was even sexier than his voice.

I smiled despite myself; handsome men didn’t usually impress me—I’m one of those people who think that men who are that attractive never mean anything good.

But this specimen…

“I’m Ramiro. How are you?

” “Hi, I’m Rocío,

” I replied, thinking he was very friendly and that it was strange for a man his age—he looked to be in his early 30s—to be alone on a beach.

He didn’t look like he was out to pick someone up, but he was incredibly attractive.—

Nice to meet you.

It seems he’s quite the talker and isn’t going to leave me alone, but I’m also alone on the beach, and when you’re chatting, time goes by faster—even though I was pretty relaxed listening to music.—Likewise

.

I replied politely, as I took off my headphones.

It looks like I’m going to be entertained for a while, chatting with this stranger.—I’m

staying at my brother’s house. For me, it’s a pleasure to be with my family. I’m Argentine, but Facundo, my brother, when he married a Uruguayan woman, apparently married this country as well.

I smiled at the thought that I, being Uruguayan, had “adopted” Argentina.

“I’m

Uruguayan, but I live in Argentina.” He smiled back at me, and I must confess that with every passing second, this man seemed more captivating to me. “But

I come back whenever I can,

” I told him sincerely. “Do you have

loved ones here?” “Of

course—and very close ones.”

“I’m talking about my parents,” he said. “I think

I’m going to get jealous.” “Of

my parents?

” I asked, playing along.

Ramiro’s laughter was contagious. “Absolutely

not—I already told you, I adore family, even though I live alone.”

“That has nothing to do with it; we often need our own space.” “That’s true, too

. I swear my two nephews take over my space, and since I don’t see them very often, it pleases me—though in Argentina, even when I’m alone, I’m also very comfortable.” “I suppose

it’s one thing to be on vacation and quite another when you’re working and studying, rushing back and forth to keep up with your schedule.”

-“It’s true—the pace of work sometimes means you don’t get to spend much time with family and friends.” “Exactly

. I can’t always let people know what time I’ll be home or where I’m going—not that I mean to be rude, but sometimes I just eat out because I don’t have the time.” “It’s the same for me

.”

I could feel his gaze sweeping over my body, and I swear I’ve never felt a pair of eyes burn into me like that before.

Still, I smiled and made some other small talk. “Can I take you

out to dinner?

” he said suddenly.

He seemed like a polite guy, and he took the time to chat before extending that invitation.

I was about to accept the invitation when I remembered the dinner invitation from Karen, my best friend—we went to elementary school and high school together.—I’d love

to, but I’ve already planned to have dinner at some friends’ house—people I don’t see very often but really appreciate.—Commitments

are commitments. Do you come to this beach often? I mean, are you in this area?

” “Yes, it’s convenient for me.”

He smiled like a kid who’d gotten the answer he wanted.

It would be easier to just ask for my cell phone number, but this is more fun, and I suppose that if he wants to see me, it’s more flattering for him to come all the way to the beach than to just call me on the phone.

At that moment, I looked around, and most people were glued to their phones.

Of course, I use mine a lot, but I don’t usually ignore the person next to me just because I’m glued to that little gadget, which is undoubtedly captivating and alluring.—

Wonderful, this beach is convenient for me, too; my brother’s house is nearby.

-“My parents’ house is nearby, too

.”-“Maybe we’re neighbors.”-“I

don’t think so; I know almost everyone around here, though there are always new neighbors.”-“That’s

true. Do you come to Uruguay very often?

”-“Whenever I can—it’s been four months since I was last here

.”-“Maybe we’ve never crossed paths, which is why we don’t know each other. I come twice a year, though not for very long.”

-“When I come, I try to stay as long as I can—you know, so I can catch up with my friends…” “I don’t really

have any friends here—just my brother, his wife, and their two kids.”

-“If we’re talking strictly about family, my parents are here and an aunt who lives pretty close to them—that’s it.” “Are

you an only child?

” “Yes. Does it show?”

“No, I just guessed… I don’t know what traits only children have.”

-“As adults, I don’t know, but I suppose as kids we’re more selfish—since we don’t have to share our parents’ affection or our toys—and besides, we get all our parents’ attention, so maybe that’s why we’re a little spoiled.”-“I

don’t think you’re spoiled.”-“I’m an adult now

.”-“A

young adult

.”-“I’m young, but I’m not a little girl—I’m 25.”-“To

me, you’re a little girl—I’m 32.”

Exactly the age I figured you were. Physically, you looked great—you had defined abs and were in tip-top shape—but you could tell you weren’t a greenhorn.

“You’re not much older than me. Besides, as we get older, the age gap shrinks.” “Yeah

, that’s true. If I were 17 and you were 10… I wouldn’t have even looked at you.” “Thank

goodness! Otherwise, I would’ve run away.”

We laughed amiably.

“Too bad you’re taken. I hope I get the chance to ask you out another day.”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

He’s really attractive.

I’m a beautiful woman—I know that—but there are thousands of pretty girls, at least on this beach, which is pretty exclusive, and sometimes I get the feeling that the only people who come here are the ones who never leave the gym in the winter.

The thing is, this man keeps insisting, and while it’s a compliment, I don’t know what could have caught his attention so much about me, when surely a dozen women must have already noticed him, and it’s obvious he could have any woman he wants.

I’m not putting myself down, but I haven’t had good experiences with men this attractive.

Anyway, I’m not looking for a husband—or even a boyfriend.

I’m very comfortable just the way I am—that is, single and in no rush.

Of course, I hope to start a family someday, but I think that’s still quite a ways off.

I have to finish my residency and keep studying for a few more years; I’ve even thought about signing up with Doctors Without Borders, or a similar organization, not just to gain experience, but to use my knowledge to help people who lack resources.

I’m a doctor by conviction; I love my career, and I love helping people.

Gabriel, my boss, always tells me that doctors have to live our lives too and stop thinking only about responsibilities all the time.

Maybe that’s why he gave me the extra two weeks I asked for, because I always work much harder than the rest of my colleagues.

Although Gaby stressed that I shouldn’t neglect him—he misses me a lot.

I figure he’ll call me any minute now, saying he wants to be my boyfriend or partner, or something like that.

I don’t understand why he’s so shy.

He’s 40 years old, 15 years older than me, and he can’t hide that he has feelings for me.

He doesn’t make a move or act inappropriately, though.

But he’s a mature, pleasant man—he isn’t exactly a heartthrob, but I can’t say he’s ugly either.

Let’s just say he could be my ideal man.

I think he doesn’t have a family, and he owns the clinic where I work—it’s a major clinic. You can tell Gabriel is a wealthy man, aside from being a renowned doctor, which is why I don’t understand his shyness.

I’d never be with a man just for his money.

But Gabriel is my ideal in many ways; I admire him greatly as a person and as a doctor.

I don’t understand why I’m thinking about Gabriel instead of enjoying the handsome man right in front of me.

Maybe it’s to avoid the temptation of doing something foolish and ending up with a broken heart again. “We’ll decide tomorrow

where to go for dinner,

” Ramiro says.

I smile at him—he’s persistent, and I like that, even though I’m not the type to play hard to get. “Perfect

.”

I tell him, thinking that a dinner doesn’t have to lead to anything more.

Besides, his conversation is engaging, and you can tell he’s a cultured man.

I can’t stand men who, at a certain age, haven’t quite matured and still talk as if they were with their friends in high school—and there are plenty of them, no matter what social class they belong to.

I suppose I’m a mature woman, or maybe it has to do with my profession and everything I experience day in and day out on call and in the intensive care unit.

Maybe that’s why I don’t have much fun in my life.

I live on the other side of reality.