Parc Güell.

In the far distance, we can see the turrets and sculptures that Gaudí designed for this park – and its accompanying crowds – but, up here, everything is trees and serenity. The air is so fresh and clean that my lungs are surprised. For the first time in months, the world stills. Since before Paris, since before New York…actually, I can’t remember the last time I felt such an overwhelming sense of calm.

“We must’ve come up the back way,” I say.

“We should lose the map more often.”

We wander down the main path in silence, our hands clasped together. I’m in awe. Several minutes pass before we see anyone else. It’s a young vendor with a blanket on the ground, attempting to sell feathery earrings to two Japanese women. Josh nods towards a narrow side-path through the trees. We take it.

I squeeze the water from my hair as we stroll, and he rubs a hand briskly through his scalp. Droplets fly everywhere. “Hey, now,” I say. “Watch where you aim that thing.”

Josh points his head in my direction and rubs harder.

“You are such a boy.”

“You love me.”

I smile. “I do.”

The air smells of mountains and pines. There are so many trees here. Cypress trees and olive trees and palm trees and mystery trees with plump red berries.

Josh holds out a hand to stop me.

And then I hear it. Behind a covering of bushes, a couple is having sex. My mouth opens in delighted shock. Josh laughs silently. We move ahead so as not to disturb them. There’s a good chance that they’re our age. Most European teenagers don’t have cars, and they often live with their parents through the end of college. Parks are somewhat notorious for amorous pursuits.

Josh gestures towards a secluded area, off path. He’s suddenly nervous.

But I was about to point it out, too.

It didn’t take long for the thought of the other couple to transfer onto us. We sneak through the foliage. I lean up on my tiptoes, our lips meet, and our bodies sink to the ground. Our hearts pound like crazy against each other. He unbuttons my coat, and his hands are around my back and under my dress. I wish I wasn’t wearing tights. But as quickly as our making out begins, he pulls away, gasping. “Never mind. Can’t do this. If we go any further, the stopping part will be excruciating. It already is.”

“I’m sorry.” I reach out to touch him, but he rolls away.

“No, it’s fine. Just…give me a minute.”

The other couple appears between the leaves on the nearby path. They sense our presence and giggle, exactly the reason why we’re waiting until our hotel room. I drape my coat over a thick branch to dry. I unzip my boots and strip off my wet tights.

Josh covers his face. “You’re killing me.”

I smile at him as I wring out the bottom of my dress.

He moans. “Unfair. Girls are so mean.”

I laugh. “Give me your hoodie. I’ll hang it up.”

Obediently, he takes it off. His T-shirt rises with it, and my eyes lock on the lowest portion of his abdomen until he readjusts it. My boyfriend doesn’t realize that he’s killing me, too. I hang up his hoodie and lie down beside him. We stare at the sky. His head rests against his backpack, and my head rests against his chest. The wind rustles, swirling the scent of pine around our temporary campsite.

“Your eyes remind me of pine trees,” Josh says.

“I always wished they were a brighter green. They’re so dull.”

“Don’t say that.” He kisses the top of my head. “Have I ever told you about the cabin?”

“Uh-uh.” I’m listening to his heartbeat.

“There was this cabin upstate that my family used to rent in the autumn – rough walls, stone fireplace, beds with patchwork quilts. The works. And when we were there, my dad would forget to be worried about politics, and my mom would forget to be worried about my dad. And we’d go hiking, and we’d pick apples from this abandoned orchard. And there’d be so many that we’d throw them into the creek just to watch them float downstream. And we’d play board games at night—”

“What games?”

“My favourite was Pictionary.”

I snuggle into him. “Of course.”

“My mom’s favourite was Cluedo, and my dad’s was Risk. And my parents would cook these home-style dinners like pot roast with mashed potatoes and baked apples—”

“From the orchard?”

“Yeah. And while they’d cook, I’d be spread out on the rug in front of the fireplace with these giant stacks of paper, and I’d draw. And…I’d look up, and my parents would be in the kitchen with this perfectly round window behind them. And all I could see outside of that window – from my position on the floor – were those pine trees.

“So I like pine trees,” he finishes. “A lot.”

I curl my hand around his thumb and squeeze it.

“What about you? Where were you the happiest?”

I have to think about it for a while. “Well, there was this one trip to Disney World—”

“Did you have mouse ears? Please tell me you had those mouse ears with your name stitched on underneath.”

I poke him. “No.”

“I’m gonna picture you with the mouse ears anyway. Continue.”

I poke him harder. “So Gen was ten, I was seven, and Hattie was four. Gen was adorable. She has those perfect corkscrew curls, you know? Plus, she was always in charge of everything. And Hattie was…Hattie. So they were getting all of the attention, like always, but then my parents surprised me with this Disney Princess breakfast. Just for me. And Belle and Snow White and Cinderella were there, and Jasmine told me that my dress was pretty, and that I was pretty, and it was amazing. My parents…they knew. They knew I was the one who needed it.”

“This,” Josh says, “is my new favourite story.”

“Of course, the whole thing was supposed to be a secret. But the second I saw my sisters, I was like, ‘Princess Jasmine thinks I’m prettier than you!’ Which wasn’t even true, but it felt true. Mom wanted to kill me, and Hattie threw this massive tantrum that lasted the rest of the trip, but it was worth it. Best day ever.”

“You are prettier than your sisters. You’re way prettier than your sisters.”

“That is…the most romantic thing that you’ve ever said to me.”

He laughs again. “It’s true.”