by Lia London
She bowed her head in acknowledgement. “I try.”
“Maybe that’s how you could pay me what you owe?”
“I’m already cooking for you several nights a week.”
Antonio held up his hand. “No, maybe you could teach me to cook.”
“You? Cook?”
He shrugged. “Not all Mexican men are afraid of the stove.” He waved his hand in a circle and bobbed his head with a self-deprecating frown. “Though, I admit I use the microwave more.”
Zaira chuckled. “So did I until you came along.” She sighed and studied his face for a long time. “It’s nice to have someone to cook for.”
“Teach me?” His voice cracked, but he held her gaze.
“You’re not too macho?” she teased.
Antonio placed his hands on his hips and struck a pose. “I’ll have you know I wore a white, cotton dress earlier today designed by a dozen crazy women. I am confident in my masculinity enough to explore my feminine side.”
Zaira shook with a sudden burst of wheezing laughter.
He reached for her instinctively to make sure she wasn’t choking. “You okay?” he asked, brushing her arms lightly with his fingertips.
She froze, a wide smile on her lips. “I am now.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t be doing this in your kitchen?” protested Antonio.
“No, you want to learn to cook. You should practice in your own kitchen,” said Zaira, tightening her apron. “If you practice in mine, it won’t be set up the same, and I might have different utensils. Besides, it’s easier to keep Gabi with the boys at my place.”
Antonio’s pout wasn’t convincing, but it highlighted the adorable curl of his lips. She tried all week not to notice, but he always stopped by the Clinica at least once during her shift, and their parking lot chats and pick-up-Gabriela chats kept getting longer with each passing day. As much as she wanted to resist it, his presence comforted her.
Except now that she found herself alone with him in his house, her vital signs wanted to stage a demonstration of their full capacity. How did he manage to look so handsome in an ugly green sweatshirt with a giant snowman face winking at her? And why did it send her pulse into overdrive?
“Do you have an apron to protect Frosty?” She poked the carrot nose, noting the tautness of the flesh beneath.
“You don’t like my sweatshirt?” He patted his belly. “The kids think it’s great.”
Zaira grinned. “I bet they’d love my jingle bell scrubs.”
“Do you seriously have jingle bell scrubs?”
She waved a wooden spoon at him. “Focus, Frosty. You wanted to learn to cook, and I have to be at La Casa at two. We don’t have time to waste.”
“How long does it take to make spaghetti, anyway?”
“If you want it to taste better than lumpy ketchup, it takes time to simmer.” She searched his cupboards and found a Pyrex measuring pitcher. “Here, put some mantequilla in that and melt it for a few seconds. We’ll need it for the garlic bread.”
Antonio complied, unwrapping a stick of butter and dropping it with a thunk into the pitcher.
“Uh, you might want to mash that down a bit, or it’ll drip down the outside,” she warned. Studying the cupboards, she frowned. “Don’t you have anything but salt, pepper, and taco seasoning?”
Antonio finished squishing the butter lower in the Pyrex with a spoon and slid it into the microwave. He hit the 30-second button and joined her at the cupboard, reaching to the back to retrieve three spice shakers. His reach brought his jaw within inches of her face, and she sensed the heat of his body, or was it the sauce bubbling behind her.
“Here. See? I knew I had something.”
She forced her eyes up to his. “Huh? What have you got?”
Antonio leaned back against the counter and examined the containers as her heart made sparking noises.
“Whoa, what’s going—Oh, crap!” Antonio leapt forward and slammed the Open button on the microwave. A flash and a pop answered him, and he reached for the Pyrex. “Ow! Hot!”
Zaira peeked around the door of the microwave. “You left the spoon in the butter?”
Antonio yanked his sleeve down over his hands in a protective mitt and lifted the glass pitcher out of the microwave. “Yeah. Oops.”
She chuckled. “See, this is why we’re not doing this at my house. If you blew up my microwave, I’d have to kill you.”
He peered at the sizzling butter. “Do you think any of the spoon melted into it?”
Zaira shook her head. “No, but careful not to splash it. It’s going to be hot.”
As he set it down gingerly, she turned to stir the sauce and pre-heat the oven for the garlic bread. “Can I trust you with a knife?” she asked wryly.
Sirens sounded, reminding her of the shower scene from Psycho, and she gaped at him.
“What now?” he whined. “Oh, it’s the fire alarm. It goes off if the temperature rises in the room.” He vaulted onto the counter and began waving his hand in front of the smoke detector. “No fire, stupid.” He pushed the silence button several times before it finally stopped.
Zaira snickered and unscrewed the top of the spice container labeled Chili. Just as she began to tap in a few teaspoons’ worth, the fire alarm blared again, and she jolted. The entire contents of the shaker landed in a cylindrical lump in the middle of the pan. “Aaaugh! Shut that thing off!”
“I’m trying! I’m trying!”
Zaira tried futilely to extract the lump of chili powder without breaking it up and spreading it around. Behind her, Antonio huffed and puffed, trying to silence the alarm. Exasperated, she spun around to help him, heaving herself onto the counter to pound on the defective detector.
They took turns jabbing it until it fell into Antonio’s hands, dangling a 9-volt battery from tiny wires.
“Good! Stupid thing can’t tell heat from smoke or fire,” he complained, slumping down to sit on the counter. “Aaugh! Smoke!”
“Fire!”
Somehow during their battle with the alarm, the pitcher of melted butter had tipped onto the open gas flame and ignited like a five-star flambé.
“This is not happening!” roared Antonio in shock.
“I’m pretty sure it is,” gasped Zaira. “Do you have a fire extinguisher?”
“Under the sink.” He leapt into action, digging out the dusty implement from behind the garbage can.
Zaira stood back as he took aim and fired.
Nothing.
“Hurry!” she shrieked. “The flames are getting bigger.”
Antonio fumbled with the controls. “How does it work?”
“I thought you told me you worked in a restaurant. Didn’t they teach—?”
“Got it!”
Powdery foam erupted from the nozzle, splattering Zaira’s chest before he could redirect the stream. Almost immediately, the extinguisher malfunctioned, allowing only frothy drips to fall. Antonio shook the canister over the fire desperately, and Zaira stared around the kitchen trying to find something with which to smother the fire. Giving up, she pulled off her apron and began beating the fire with it. Foam and sauce spewed all over, but the fire fizzled until she crammed the cloth in a bundle over the last of the flames and extinguished them.
“Wow.” Antonio stared at her, breathing hard. “That was impressive.” He still hefted the useless extinguisher in his hands. “You were a beast. Remind me not to catch on fire.”
Zaira laughed weakly, the adrenaline chasing her pulse around. Exhaling a shuddering breath, she reached over and snapped the burner and oven dials off. “I guess we won’t be doing spaghetti after all.”
Antonio sighed out a laugh. “Maybe not today.”
With her hands on her hips, Zaira surveyed the damage. The buttons on her blouse had come undone lower than she’d ever choose. Quickly, she angled away and fastened them, registering after the fact how Antonio’s glance had not strayed to her bust.
Good. An honorable man
instead of a lusty jerk.
Or was she too flat-chested to bother looking?
She smacked her head at her own stupid insecurities and then groaned to realize she’d smeared sooty sauce onto her face. “I give up!” Her hands gave a frustrated flap, and too late she saw her mistake as she whacked the handle of the frying pan and sent it somersaulting to the floor with several loud clangs.
Covering her mouth, she snorted. Antonio squeezed his eyes shut and shook with more silent laughter.
“Sorry about your floor!” she said between gulps of air.
“Sorry about your apron,” he replied, picking it up from the debris. “That’s probably not salvageable, is it?”
Zaira wiped mirthful tears from her cheeks. “Next time we cook together, we need a fire alarm and a fire extinguisher that both work.”
Antonio grinned. “Maybe we should stick to cold stuff. Smoothies or something.”
She slapped his chest playfully. “With you in the kitchen, the lid would probably come off the blender and spray strawberry banana goo all over the walls.”
“Like the decorations at that party last week.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” She poked at his splattered clothes. “You should probably pick shirts with patterns. You know, to hide the stains.” Her hand came to rest on his chest and she leaned in, aware of a heat that had nothing to do with kitchen appliances or open flames.
Antonio pressed his thumb to her cheek. “You’ve got sauce on your face.”
Rooted to her position, she reminded herself to breathe. “How does it taste?” She watched as he licked his thumb.
“Hot,” he said with a sexy hoarse voice.
“It is, isn’t it?” Was she giving in to her attraction?
He coughed into the back of his hand, eyes watering. “How much chili did you put in that sauce, anyway?” He bolted to the sink and stuck his tongue under the cold faucet.
The front door banged open and Emilio marched in. Seeing the disaster in the room, he stopped short. “Okay, never mind. I came over here to tell you we kind of made a mess in your kitchen, but you guys got us beat!”
Chapter 7 ~ Christmas Lights
Antonio drew a deep breath and stared at the small Douglas Fir tree strapped to the top of his Subaru. After the cooking lesson fiasco on Saturday, he couldn’t stop thinking about Zaira and how, even in the chaos and mess, she’d been fiery and beautiful, no pun intended. The laughter as they cleaned up still rang in his ears, and her smooth, even skin stirred a longing in him that he could no longer push aside.
But how did she feel about him?
“Do you think she’ll like it? What if she doesn’t do Christmas?” he asked, fumbling with the bungee cords.
Carlos snickered. “Who doesn’t do Christmas? Of course, she’ll like it, and Gabriela’s going to go nuts.”
“Do you think they have decorations?” asked Emilio.
A flashback to the overdone bridal shower décor made Antonio smile, and he tugged the pointy end of the tree forward until it slid down the hood of his car. “If not, maybe we can make some for her.”
“Or we can stick Gabi’s toys in the branches,” suggested Emilio. “A lot of them are pretty glittery stuff.”
Carlos maneuvered himself into his traditional position at the top of the tree, and Antonio lifted the trunk up onto his shoulder.
“Don’t forget the tree stand in the back seat,” called Antonio.
“And the mistletoe in the glove compartment,” added Carlos with a chortle.
Antonio stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t buy mistletoe.”
“I did,” said Carlos. “It’s time you get some lip action with Z.”
Antonio blushed and resumed his trek across the dark street, muttering, “Show some respect for women.”
“A kiss, Antonio. Jeez. What’s the big deal? A girl like that needs to be kissed. She’s too pretty to waste.”
“She’s not a decorated doughnut, Carlos.”
“Okay, okay,” huffed Carlos. “But really. What’s holding you back?”
Antonio failed to dismiss a daydream of Zaira’s face drawing nearer to his with a sensuous expression. No, she’d never given him those kinds of signals. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, Carlos.”
“How is a kiss going to ruin a friendship? It’ll make it better.”
“When you’re older, you’ll understand.” Romance could steal his focus, make him lose concentration and his ability to provide for and protect his little family. Carlos couldn’t comprehend that at his age, but Antonio had learned the hard way.
Still… a kiss?
Carlos shook his head. “When I’m older, I’m going to be kissing every beautiful girl who will let me.” He stopped. “Hold up, we’re going to crash through her door.”
Antonio called to Emilio. “Can you knock?”
Emilio dutifully skipped in front of them and rapped on Zaira’s apartment door. “Special delivery!”
A moment later, the door opened. Antonio swiveled his end of the tree enough to catch her reaction. Her surprised smile lit a candle of delight in his heart. “Merry Christmas, Z!” He beamed at her, probably looking as boyish as Emilio.
“Oh my gosh, you guys are the best!” Zaira backed up and called to Gabriela. “Hija, come and see! The boys brought us a Christmas tree. Now Santa can come!”
As they pushed carefully through the door, Emilio’s voice rang out. “Hey! You already have mistletoe up. Good. ’Cause we brought some for you, too.”
Antonio crossed the threshold and glanced up to see a tiny cluster of the festive plant. Zaira put up mistletoe? His lips buzzed a little, clearly contemplating the possible ramifications.
She closed the door behind him. “Your cheeks are so rosy from the cold, Antonio,” she said with a warm smile.
“Yeah.” It wasn’t the cold. He lowered the tree to the ground, and his eyes ventured up again. “Mistletoe, huh?”
Zaira’s smile closed into a shy fold. “Oh, you know. Sofia insisted.”
He swallowed his disappointment. “Well, Carlos hoped he’d get a kiss from somebody.”
On cue, Gabriela tackled Carlos. “Ca-lo!” She raised her arms, so he would lift her, and then planted a sticky kiss on his cheek.
Zaira rocked back with a laugh. “There you go, Carlos. She’s only eleven years younger than you are, if you want to wait for her to grow up. I think she’s in love!”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” Carlos squeezed Gabi, then tossed a meaningful look at Antonio. Mistletoe, he mouthed.
Embarrassed, Antonio spun away and caught Zaira’s gaze instead. Was she blushing? He couldn’t be sure, but she was definitely paused under the mistletoe. His eyes lingered on her lips, and heat rose up in his cheeks. He’d blush enough for both of them.
Pointing, Zaira spoke to Carlos and Emilio. “Couch there, tree in the corner by the outlet, shift the TV over a bit. The recliner will be a little crowded, but I think we can make it work.”
“Awesome!” Carlos swung his arms in an exaggerated wind-up and then leaned into the couch. “Do we get to keep any spare change we find when we move the furniture?”
Zaira laughed. “Good luck with that. I haven’t been here long enough to lose much.”
“Yeah, but you had a party here a while ago. Maybe one of those ladies dumped something good.”
“Yeah, maybe you’ll score some lip gloss or a cough drop,” said Antonio.
“Can we help you decorate the tree?” asked Emilio, using his knee to scoot the TV stand out of the way.
“Uh.” Zaira bit her lip and glanced at Antonio apologetically. “I don’t actually have any Christmas decorations, so maybe this weekend after I get a chance to go to the store?”
“But that’s too long away!” whined Emilio. “It’s only Monday. You can’t go that long in December without a tree all decorated.”
Antonio back-handed Emilio’s shoulder lightly. “Ease up, Emi. We don’t have our tree up yet, either.”<
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“What? Oh no. How could you have put us first?” Zaira’s face flushed. “How did I score such generous neighbors?”
“Any excuse to see our favorite girls, right?” asked Carlos with a sly glance at Antonio.
Zaira’s heart lurched, and she snapped her eyes to Antonio. Could it be…?
Antonio cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, Gabriela’s finally old enough to know about Christmas, right? It’s important to make it fun for her.”
Zaira couldn’t help noticing the way Antonio avoided eye contact with her. Maybe Carlos’ comment made Antonio feel awkward? She willed herself not to think about it and gestured at the tree. “How about you and I move this thing?”
Antonio grabbed the tree. “Right. Where to? The corner?”
They both reached through the branches for the trunk, and when their hands grazed each other in the fumbling, Zaira buried her face in the fragrant, soft needles. “I’ll pull, you push, okay?” Keeping the tree upright, they waddled into position and Emilio slid the base under the trunk.
Antonio let go and stepped back. “You hold it straight, and I’ll tighten the screws in the stand, okay?”
“Right.” She tried to ascertain if the tree stood tall or leaned. “Can you check that this is the best side first?”
As Antonio rocked side-to-side, checking the angles of the tree, Zaira allowed her eyes to flow in similar fashion across his shoulders. Midway through the third sweep, her gaze caught his smile and climbed up to take in his whole face. The look of approval he gave thrilled her.
“Yep, it looks perfect.” He gave two thumbs up.
“Right. The tree.” Of course, he wasn’t giving her the positive appraisal. Duh.
With less than fluid grace, he dove under the bottom branches to tighten the screws around the trunk. She tried not to study the stitching on the back pockets of his jeans too closely, but the pleasing curve of his—
“Whoa, don’t let go yet!” cried Antonio. “I’m not quite done.”
Zaira refocused her gaze on the boys’ efforts across the room and gripped the tree with both hands until Antonio rose up to his knees and pronounced the work done.
