“Yes.” Holding out my arm, I drop a handful macaroni into the pot with a flourish. “I’m making you my signature dish.”
“Is that so?” She laughs, and her eyes sparkle. She has the most beautiful eyes, light brown and perfectly clear like good whiskey. “It looks like mac and cheese.”
“Not just any mac and cheese.” Grabbing another handful of noodles, I drop them in and turn down the fire so it doesn’t boil over again. “It has a special ingredient.”
“Love?”
“Two special ingredients.”
I break an egg in a saucepan and add a bit of milk before stirring in cheese and the rest of the items.
“You’re adding eggs and cream to the cheese?” Her eyebrows rise, and she pokes out her lips. “That’s interesting.”
I wink and point to the bottle of white burgundy I uncorked shortly before she arrived. “Have some wine.”
“Aren’t you full of surprises.” She pours two glasses, leaning on the bar. “Who taught you to make this special mac and cheese?”
“Actually… it was my aunt.” I hate to tell her.
We had an unfortunate incident once a while back where I was out with my aunt and we ran into Angel and her cousin at a Rally’s hamburger place. We both wanted to rush together and hold hands, but Angel held back—I guess because of her cousin. I’m ashamed to say I held back, too, because what happened next embarrassed me to the core.
Winnie looked around the restaurant and took my arm. “We’ve got to go somewhere else, Deacon. This place is crawling with Mexicans.”
Looking back, the word Mexicans wasn’t the problem. There’s nothing wrong with being a Mexican—I’ve never believed that, and I sure as hell don’t think that way now. It was the way my aunt said it that made me want to crawl in a hole. So much disgust in her voice, like the presence of my beautiful friend and her family was shameful. In that instant, I hated that I’d held back from going to my girl. It was like I agreed with my aunt.
We’ve never talked about it. I never knew if she even heard Winnie’s statement, but any time my aunt’s name comes up, I feel a sting of shame over that moment. I wish I’d told my aunt to shut up that day. I wish I’d walked right up and taken Angel’s hand in mine, aligning myself with her family.
I’ve grown up a lot since then, and history will not repeat itself.
“I can’t wait to taste this.” Angel smiles at me, and she’s so purely beautiful. I only want to take care of her, protect her for the rest of my days.
“What’s happening with your art class?”
“One left, and I graduate.” Her eyes widen with excitement. “Then they announce the award winners.”
“Oh, you’ll definitely win awards.” I sprinkle salt in the pot and lift a noodle for testing. A few minutes longer.
“There’s one I really want… It’s twenty thousand dollars, a six-month residence, and a private show at the Palladium.”
My brow rises. “The Arthaus. That’s a big one.”
“I know!” She clasps her hands. “Want to see my last piece?”
“Yes.”
She types quickly on her phone while I take the pot off the fire, stepping over to give the noodles a quick rinse and let them drain in the colander. Angel always texts me pictures of her favorite works, and every time I’m blown away by her talent.
“I call it Spirit.” She hands me the phone, and I lean back against the sink.
“Wow.” It’s a magnificent horse swirled in a storm of brilliant color like a whirlwind. “I wish I could see it in real life.”
Tearing my eyes away from the photo, I catch hers and the light in them is so bright. “You like it?”
“It’s the best thing you’ve ever shown me.”
Bouncing to me, she laughs catching my forearm and kissing my lips. “Thank you!”
Warmth filters through my chest at her happy, shy response. She’s so amazing, yet she’s so cautious about it. “You get better every piece.”
Picking up the pot of noodles, I pour them into the buttered glass dish followed by the egg, cheese, and cream mixture on top. I’m about to cover it all with parmesan cheese and slip it into the oven when she stops me.
“You’re not finished, are you?” She’s frowning, and I hesitate.
“That’s the recipe.”
“No no no.” She shakes her head, shooing me to the side. “That’s no good!”
Turning to my refrigerator, she opens the door and pushes the few items I have around. While I’ve got a great view of her cute little butt, my curiosity is winning.
“What are you looking for?” I lean to the side trying to see.
“Don’t you have any peppers? Tomatoes?”
Chewing my lips, I look around the kitchen. “I don’t have peppers, but I’ve got this.”
I hold out a bottle of Tabasco, and she frowns. “Where are your spices?”
“You haven’t even tried my signature dish—”
“I haven’t tried it, but I know how to cook for babies. You’re a grown man! You need some spice in your life.”
“I’ve got some spice in my life.” Catching her by the hips, I pull her to me and plant a kiss on the side of her neck right below her ear.
That gets me a little squeal, and she wiggles out of my arms. “Here.” She grabs some chili powder and shakes it over the dish followed by a few hits of Tabasco, gives it a stir, and steps back. “Now continue. And remind me to take you to the grocery store. You’re missing some staples.”
Shaking my head, I cover the mixture with parmesan cheese and pop it in the preheated oven, setting the timer and pulling her into my arms. “What can we do with twenty minutes?”
Her teeth press against her bottom lip when she grins, and her hands are on my chest. “Only twenty minutes?”
Leaning down, I capture her lips with mine. They’re soft and taste faintly of the dry wine she’s been sipping. Our tongues slide together, and heat floods the lower half of my body. I want to sit her up on the bar and slip between her thighs.
My hands are on her legs, rising higher when she catches my wrists, and I stop. I take another nip of her lips, one last kiss, and I lean back, arching an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes are on my mouth and she shakes her head, sliding her thumb along my cheek. “Tomorrow’s a religious ceremony as well as a birthday. It starts with a special mass for Lola.”
“I’m okay with that.” Catching her hand, I kiss her thumb.
“It just makes me think how… I’m not very religious when I’m with you.”
“What are you trying to say, Miss Treviño? I’m a bad influence?”
“Yes.” She leans forward and laughs, kissing my cheek. “You’re a terrible influence. I forget all of my religion when you’re around.”
“I guess I should make an honest woman of you.”
She rests her elbow on my shoulder, looking into my eyes. “How are you going to do that?”
“Easy. I’ll make you my wife.”
Her pretty eyes light up, and she laughs. “You haven’t even met my family, and you think you want to join it?”