Si Te Llamo Cayetano Raquel Tirado Fe... - Perdona

Raquel looked at her watch. She was supposed to be meeting friends in Malasaña, a world away from the starched shirts and signet rings of this neighborhood. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of humor that didn't fit the 'Cayetano' mold.

"I am so, so sorry," Raquel stammered, frantically grabbing napkins. "I was looking at my phone, and I just—" Perdona Si Te Llamo Cayetano Raquel Tirado Fe...

"Fine," she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "But we’re going to a place I pick. And if I see a single person wearing a sweater tied around their shoulders, I’m leaving." Raquel looked at her watch

As they walked toward the metro, the girl from the outskirts and the boy from the golden mile, the labels started to feel a little less permanent. Maybe he was a Cayetano, and maybe she was exactly who she thought she was, but under the Madrid sky, they were just two people walking toward a better cup of coffee. "I am so, so sorry," Raquel stammered, frantically

She had bumped into him—literally—outside a coffee shop in Salamanca. Her iced latte had done a graceful, tragic arc onto his suede loafers.