Page 44 of The Little Porto Book Club

I gather my wits and my handbag and continue, leaving my wannabe attacker groaning on the path. Really, I should call the Polícia, but I don’t want to thwart today’s sting.

As I pass Zephyr, she gives the newspaper two short sharp tugs. Old Albert coughs into his hand as I trail past, which means they’ve got eyes on The Man in the Blue Beret, so he must be in the vicinity.

They soon power up their scooters to follow him together.

Where the hell is Tiago? It’s not like I need a man to help me, I’m a feminist, but I’m also a humanist, even some light cheering would have sufficed. I take a deep breath, thrilled at how well it all went, considering my only experience with crime fighting has been fictional. Detective Amber Quill would be proud, I’m sure of it.

What are the chances I get mugged on a sting though? The likelihood is low, Porto is a safe city, but like any big city you must keep your wits about you. Still, something feels off with the timing of it. That niggle returns. Did I detect a faint whiff of citrus on the guy?

I walk back to the mugger who is still writhing and moaning. I wrench his face covering down. Suspicions confirmed. ‘Tiago! What kind of ridiculous decoy act was that? I could really have hurt you.’

‘Bleh-gerd.’

I let out a frustrated sigh. We don’t have time for meme speak right now. ‘What?’

A bruise blooms on his cheek. I find myself lightheaded when he locks his glassy-eyed gaze on mine. I hurt him! His sweet face is now marred because of me. There’s nothing I can do except groan at my own stupidity, and his. I drop down and lie beside him, even though I’m wearing a white shirt, while Tiago clutches at his sore body parts.

‘Are you OK? This is clearly not the time to tell you that your decoy act was not your smartest idea, but, well, it wasn’t. Didn’t I mention to you that I’m trained in martial arts?’

‘Wot. Gerd it hurts.’

‘It hurts?’

There’s the slightest nod of his head. Obviously, I should have considered a random mugging during the sting was not likely, but as a woman in this world, I reacted in the moment. A lock of hair falls across his eyes, so I gently brush it back, my fingertips buzzing at the touch. Despite his pain, his lips quirk and soon he catches his breath enough to speak in full sentences.

‘You really do know how to protect yourself.’

‘Yes, my dad was adamant that I learn, even though those classes really took a lot out of me, because the sensei had the nerve to have other people in them. When I got to the level where sparring and grappling was introduced, I enjoyed it more.’

‘Because you could beat them up?’

I giggle. Actually giggle. What has become of me? ‘Yes. There is an element of bloodlust in me, what can I say?’ Tiago tries to stifle a groan of pain, but it spills out regardless. I edge closer to him, assess his face for clues. I’m so close I can see the golden flecks in his dark brown eyes, his lips are a whisper away. My heart beats dangerously fast as my gaze locks on his, all I see is longing reflected back. Do I dare? Is it the right time? I go to brush my lips against his when a dog bounds over and licks Tiago’s poor swollen face. The mood is broken, just like that. I’m not quite sure how to feel. I let out a nervous chuckle and Tiago follows suit. Eventually, the dog runs back to its owner and I hold out a hand to Tiago to help him up. I’m jittery and spacy and not myself.

‘We better head to the Cais da Ribeira, to wait for old Albert and Zephyr.’ There’s a lot of averted gazes, and clearing of throats, as we studiously avoid each other and pretend it’s all business as usual.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

We catch the bus to Cais da Ribeira, the riverside promenade by the Douro River, and wait in position for our friends. It should be no surprise that I only like my promenading in an episode of Bridgerton, but in the interest of being a fair and democratic book club member I shut my mouth against any protestations when old Albert suggested we meet here. It’s a scenic place where you can get right up close to hear the river lapping while you eat at one of the many cafés. I love the view of the colourful buildings that creep up the hillsides of Porto. It’s as good a place as any to reconvene, where a grandpa and Gen Zer riding electric scooters won’t be looked at askance.

Rabelo boats chug along the river while the Dom Luis Bridge catches the sunlight. It’s busy with tourists, and for a moment, I’m overwhelmed by the buzzing, the noise, the cacophony of it all. I look for escape but find none, as my breathing gets shallow. ‘Hey, hey,’ Tiago says. Taking my hands in his, he gives them a soft squeeze. He steps close enough that the background fades and all I see is him. ‘Take a moment. Some deep breaths.’

I try to centre myself. To inhale and exhale and blow the worry away. I can handle crowds like this, I just prefer not to, and sometimes, if my concentration slips these sorts of anxieties can take hold. How does Tiago sense these things about me so easily? He leads me to a patch of pavement with less of a crowd. ‘Thanks, Tiago. Really.’

He grins, making his dimples pop out. ‘Shall we find a place to sit?’

While studiously trying to block out the goings on around me, it’s impossible to ignore a team of people wearing shirts that say ‘Porto Gifts and Blooms’ setting up a huge floral arrangement around a picnic rug. It strikes me as odd, as it’s not a picnicking place, but they set up a beach umbrella and the space becomes more private with just a beautiful view of the water. Many marriage proposals take place here, because the famous Dom Luis Bridge makes a nice backdrop. Is that what this is?

‘How many flowers does one person need?’ I can’t help but think of all those flowers, being pulled from the soil for a brief few days in a vase. ‘Not to mention the pesticides and fungicides used to keep the flowers pristine.’

Tiago is still keeping a close eye on me, as if he’s worried I’ll flee. I’ve never met a man who sees me for who I am, quite the way he does. I’m simultaneously thrilled and terrified by the prospect, so I do what I do best in times of confusion. Blurt to divert. ‘Would you look at this ostentatious display of wealth?’ I point to the romantic floral display, the scent of roses heavy in the air, as a lone florist, holding a bouquet of red roses, walks towards us. Perhaps she’s about to ask me to move out of the way? I understand. No one wants their romantic moment overshadowed by someone spouting about how flowers grown in an artificial climate are an environmental menace. I should really try not to be so vociferous about the matter.

Tiago gestures to someone. I turn but only see more florists, the promenade positively teeming with them. Next a flash mob will jump out. This is why I opt for the peace of the more secluded Jardim da Cordoaria.

I lean close to Tiago, my skin prickling with goosebumps despite the heat of the day. The sting and its aftermath have me on edge. ‘Should we get out of their way?’ I point to the gigantic floral display. ‘Before whatever this is, happens. What’s your best guess, a marriage proposal?’

Confusion flashes across his face. Tiago is rather silent.

‘What? What is it?’ I dart a surreptitious glance around me but can only see florists scooping up the flowers they just spend an age staging. What on earth? Looks like the proposal is off. And is that such a bad thing?