The man looked down at his ruined shoes, then up at her. He had that effortless, slightly tousled hair that looked like it cost a hundred euros to maintain and a smile that suggested he’d never had a bad day in his life. "It’s fine," he said, his voice smooth and maddeningly polite. "They were getting old anyway. All three weeks of them."
He let out a startled, genuine laugh. "It’s Borja, actually. And the boat is named after my mother. My grandmother’s name was much too long to fit on the hull." Perdona Si Te Llamo Cayetano Raquel Tirado Fe...
"Since you've effectively branded me for the afternoon," Borja said, gesturing to the coffee stain, "the least you can do is let me buy you a replacement. One that stays in the cup this time?" The man looked down at his ruined shoes, then up at her
Raquel paused her scrubbing. The accent, the Barbour jacket draped over his arm, the leather weekend bag—he was a walking stereotype. "They were getting old anyway