Pleased to note that there was only aslightwobble in her hands, she plated the meal. She speared a piece of chicken with a fork, twirled it around an onion and a pepper, blew on it lightly, then took a bite. The meat dissolved in her mouth,followed by a spike of tart sweetness before leaving a peppery burn that warmed her from the inside out. If she closed her eyes, it almost felt like being in her grandmother’s kitchen.
Using the same fork, she prepared a bite for Matthew. She lifted the fork to his mouth, cupping her hand underneath. As soon as his lips closed around the bite, his eyes widened.
She smirked. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Mhm,” he groaned. He took the fork from her, then ate another piece. “That isthemost delicious thing I have ever tasted.” He winked at her. “Yourabuelais wise. If you made this for me once a week, I would never complain about anything.”
He continued eating, eyes closed in rapture, and Jasmine couldn’t keep the smile off her face. It would be hard to argue with a man who looked as happy as Matthew did in that moment, shoveling food into his mouth. With passionate kisses and a well-fed, hard-working man, she could have floated up to the moon.
And this feeling, this warmth inside of her, ithadto be love.
Abuela is wise indeed.
Jasmine took the fork back from him, took a bite, and scrunched her face. “This isn’t bad, butAbuelamakes it better.”
“You’re lying to me. You mean to tell me thatthis”—he gestured to the plate with both hands—“getsbetter.”
“Yes.” She giggled. “Truly, it doesn’t compare.”
“You’ll need to prove it.” Matthew held her gaze. “What do you say to a Spanish honeymoon?”
Jasmine’s heart fluttered. “You want to honeymoon in Spain?”
“I do. Take me to Zarautz.” He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I want to meet your grandparents. Eat yourabuela’scooking, taste yourabuelo’swine, and walk in the waters where your parents fell in love. I want to know that side of you.”
“I do too.” She laced her fingers tighter with his. “Yes, I’d love aSpanish honeymoon.”
As she leaned in to kiss him once more, an uneven thumping rocked against the other side of the kitchen door. Matthew moved to open it and turned the handle. Rose tumbled into the room, missing a shoe, with the buttons on her pink dress half undone.
She shrieked, “Uncle, help!”
“You little imp,” Matthew teased. “What are you doing down here?”
“Rose?” Cassandra called out from above the stairs. “Come here right now!”
“I’m in trouble.” Rose ran behind Jasmine and gripped her skirt. “Hide me!”
“No ma’am,” Matthew chided. “I can’t hide you, or I’ll be in trouble too.”
He pried Rose’s fingers from Jasmine’s skirt and lifted the child into his arms. She protested at the betrayal with a pitched squeal.
“I’ll take her back to Cassandra.” He tossed her over his shoulder and bent to kiss Jasmine’s cheek. “Keep everything the way it is. I want seconds.”
She gave a contented sigh as he closed the door, grinning wider than she thought possible days ago. With as good as Matthew was with Rose, he would be a wonderful father. What a day she was having! And to return to Spain so soon.Married. Possibly conceive their own children there.
She hid her face in her hands, cheeks burning.
Composing herself, she glanced around the kitchen, taking in the mess. Not wanting to leave such a disaster for another, she cleared the dishes and placed them in the washbasin. Her time there was drawing short, and soon she would need to go home.
But how much time did she have?
Curious, Jasmine reached for Matthew’s watch on the table, released the clasp, then flipped it open.
She blinked hard, as if she had imagined it. But when she opened her eyes, there was no denying it. On the lid of Matthew’s watch was a miniature painting, yellowed by time and frayed at the edges.
An old portrait.
Of her.
