"I can't thank you enough," Clara said. Her hands had stopped shaking. She reached for her checkbook. "What do I owe you, Mateo? For the key? For Ignacio? For... this?"
Mateo sat with them. He was not drinking. He was watching the paseo—the evening stroll—as families began to emerge from their siestas, the streets filling with the hum of conversation. fixers in sevilla
Ignacio’s smile faded. He picked up a toothpick. "You know I cannot just open the door, Mateo. There is paperwork. A judge. It is Saturday." "I can't thank you enough," Clara said