Free Meet Me in Barcelona by Mary Carter Page A

bedside and set it on the little table. He was already back asleep and lightly snoring. Grace loved that sound. She wanted to kiss his head, but she didn’t want to wake him. The coffee might be cold by the time he woke up, but he’d appreciate the gesture nonetheless. There were no clocks in the apartment. He had all the shades down. It was seven a.m. The Gaudí house opened at nine. La Boqueria, nine-thirty. Some of the cafés might be open, but then again, maybe not just yet. Jake was right. She was starting too early. But she was wide-awake, dressed, and showered. Maybe she’d take her cup of coffee outside and wander around. That’s it; she’d go back to the town square. She could relax there, enjoy her coffee, watch pigeons. She’d probably be back before Jake woke up again.
    It was odd to see the lobby empty of the non-door-opening doorman. Did she expect he’d be sleeping there? She was just about to exit when she noticed a book lying on the desk. Curiosity drove her to go near it. She always had to know what people were reading, or listening to. She hadn’t pegged the desk guy as a reader. Of course someone else could have left it. She reached for it before she even registered the title.
    A T REE G ROWS IN B ROOKLYN
    Grace stood still and stared at the book as if it might make a sudden move, strike out like a snake. It was so random, so wild. Her all-time favorite book. One of Grace’s presents for her twelfth birthday. Grace had carried that book around so much that summer she had almost ruined it. It went in the bathtub, the car, under her pillow. She ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner with it clutched in her hand. What was it about a story about a girl living in Brooklyn that touched her all the way in Tennessee? Ironically, Grace used to read it in her tree house. What were the odds that the book would be right here, in the lobby in Barcelona?
    Grace stared at the book, almost afraid to touch it. Obviously, it was a famous novel. And this building catered to tourists. Another American, maybe even a young girl, must have brought the book with her to Barcelona, and was leaving it for someone else to read. How could anyone abandon this book though? Although with the invention of eBooks, paperbacks were hardly cherished anymore. Grace picked up the book and hugged it to her chest. Well, she’d take it. Or was that selfish? Should she leave it for someone who’d never had the chance to read it?
    No, it was meant for her. One of life’s little surprises, or happy ironies. Since she didn’t have her purse, she tucked the book under her armpit and headed outside.
    It was a mild morning, still warm but a lull before the brutal heat of the day. As predicted, the square was quiet. The benches were empty, and the small fountain in the middle was indeed occupied by pigeons. A single shopkeeper was sweeping outside. It was a pizza place at night, but they served breakfast, and most important to Grace, cappuccinos. She wished she hadn’t brought her coffee, but even so, she had left her money in the room. She couldn’t win. Either she had too much with her, or not enough. Maybe in the future, all financial transactions would be completed through some kind of microchip implanted in one’s finger. Grace would be drinking an espresso by now.
    Grace sat on a bench and set the book next to her. She took in a few deep breaths and gazed at all the apartments above her. Several had clothing hanging out the windows, one a potted plant, and Grace could make out curtains or blinds on most as well. Jake was right. Everyone was sleeping. She was surprised there were no homeless people sleeping in the square. It was where she would go if she were homeless. She sipped her coffee, stretched out on the bench, and picked up the book. How great was this, to sit and read her favorite book in a square in Spain. Maybe there was a song in there somewhere.
    There was a square in Spain