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I choke on my inhale of breath. My fingers clutch onto the counter as I fight hacking up a lung. “What?”
“Do you want to help me?” He ignores my question and points to the ingredients covering the counter.
“Really?”
“I’ll consider it my duty to society. We can’t have you out in the world eating frozen vegetables and risking the lives of others by burning bread.” He smirks.
I flash him a smile, enjoying his lightheartedness. “If I went back to America knowing how to make anything besides instant Mac and Cheese, I think my best friend, Brooke, would personally send you a gift basket.”
Santiago chuckles, rough and warm. “Do you know how to peel potatoes?”
I nod. “Brooke and I attempted a few too many unsuccessful holiday dinners.”
He passes me the peeler and the bowl of potatoes. “How about you do that while I finish up here?” He resumes his chopping.
I work at the pace of an arthritic grandmother, not wanting my time with Santiago to end. The way he completes tasks takes the definition of food porn to a whole new level. He moves along, working on different ingredients with such ease. I’m seriously tempted to fan myself with an oven mitt.
I grab another potato from the bowl and get to work. “What are you making for dinner?”
“Empanadas because they’re Marko’s favorite, and other tapas for us.”
Seriously, this man is a whole other level of irresistible. He cooks, he babysits, and he’s grumpy. My kind of kryptonite.
“Wow. Most kids like pizza and chicken nuggets, yet he likes fancy-sounding Spanish food.”
“Empanadas are anything but fancy.” Santiago laughs.
Way to make yourself sound classy to a millionaire, Chloe. “Oh. Right.” I ignore the heat crawling up my neck, hoping Santiago misses it.
Based on how his smile grows larger, I can’t count myself as that fortunate. His stare zaps my skin to life. “I can see why you think that based on how many ingredients we need. It’s my mom’s recipe. She taught me this one when I was a little older than Marko.”
“Really? Your mom is a smart woman, training you from a young age to be ideal husband material.” The words escape me before my filter intervenes. I’d smack myself if I didn’t have my hands occupied.
“More like I would beg Mami to teach me so I could steal pieces before dinner. But I won’t lie, it does come in handy though when I’m trying to impress a beautiful woman.”
Of course he cooks to lure in unsuspecting women. Why would I think I’m such a special snowflake that he cooks with?
“Has anyone told you that you have an extremely expressive face?” He points the tip of his knife in my direction.
If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d consider it serial killer scary. “No. Why?”
“Because your smile dropped after I spoke. I should be clearer. I’m impressing you through empanadas, tapas, and good wine.”
My heart goes into overdrive, racing in my chest. “Really?”
He winks. I blush. The cycle repeats itself.
I clear my throat. “So, where is the wine you speak of because I could use a glass right about now?”
He shakes his head with a smile. “Not until after the pointy objects get put away.”
We work side by side, with Santiago explaining each step of the process. Together, we make a batch of empanadas. The ones I created are a bit wonky and stuffed to the brim, but Santiago laughed and cooked them anyway.
Santiago works on a couple of his tapas while I chug a glass of wine.
Marko comes when Santiago calls his name. The three of us sit together and eat, acting like some happy little family I have only experienced in Santiago’s presence. My youth didn’t include anything close to this. But instead of the typical coldness seeping through my veins at the idea of my past, a shot of something warm spreads through my chest.
Oh God. Don’t go getting attached to something you can never have.
