Everywhere, Everything

Prologue

    Esteban Flores was in a constant search for adventure. Following his heart first and his mind second, he wanted an exciting life, full of travel and laughter, and a boring death, somewhere foreign in a farm surrounded by flora and fauna.

    Annalise Creevey knew her calling was to nurture and to heal. To aid those in need and comfort them. To bring the best out of every situation and every person she encountered, acting like a beam of sunlight upon a flower on the wake of spring.

    So, naturally, at the great occurrence of a sprained ankle on the outskirts of London, these two would meet.

    Right away, Esteban knew he'd marry her. Or so he says.

    Annalise was sick with worry, having found him sitting on the side of the road rather casually, as if he were lounging at a park. He stared at her, amazed. Immediately he thought he'd died already, and this was the angel God was kind enough to send for him.

    "Are you alright?" She asked. British. Her brows were knit tightly as she nodded at his ankle, which was twisted at an awkward angle.

    Esteban hums and nods, absentmindedly, not taking his eyes off her. She's leaning down slightly and her fair hair is framing her beautiful face. Her cheeks are pink and he can tell she's been walking without stopping for a while because there are small beads of sweat along her forehead.

    "Can I see?" She talks so softly, he doesn't want her to stop. He nods again and she crouches beside him, pushing the hem of his pants aside to inspect the injury, not wasting a single second. Her dress flows in the wind and she's running her fingers gingerly over his swollen skin and winces. Esteban laughs because he should be wincing. She moves his foot from side to side slowly, looking at him for a reaction, which came when he scrunched up his nose and closed his eyes. "You need to get this bandaged. And rest. Where do you live? Is it far from here?"

    "You could say that," he answers and chuckles, "I live in America."

    "Oh!" She gasps, her eyes falling on the large backpack on his shoulders. "That explains the accent..."

    "I guess it does,"

    "Oh, well," she mutters, frowning and running the back of her hand along her hairline before wiping it on her skirt. "I'm staying with a friend near here," — she points to the right — "I can take you there to fix you up and then we'll figure out the rest, yes?"

    Esteban nods right away and he lets her pull him up to his feet even when he knows he's more than able to stand on his own. Her hand is soft and small, delicate but with a strong grip. Chipped green nail polish adorns her fingers along with a silver ring on her index finger. Not married, he thinks merrily to himself.

    They walk together and Annalise asks questions while she holds him with her arm around his shoulders, constantly glancing at his foot. Esteban answers the best he can, completely enthralled by the side of her face.

    All of the houses in the area are made of bricks and they have small yards, strikingly green now that the weather's pleasant. Annalise takes him to one of them and announces her arrival to a huge cat sitting on a windowsill. Esteban smiles because he likes the way she pronounces the letter 'R'. She doesn't skip it like most people in London do. He's suddenly very intrigued.