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“Where’s Beau?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t come in. Not that I minded. In fact, having Luisa to myself for the evening was a dream come true.
“He said he needed to help Ridge with something.”
“Excellent,” I said under my breath when Luisa was out of hearing range.
An hour later,my stomach rumbled as heavenly aromas wafted from my kitchen. It was all I could do to stay put and not ask when dinner might be ready. Instead, I went outside to watch the sunset.
Luisa joined me a few minutes later.
“What’s this?” I asked when she handed me a glass of wine before sitting on the chaise beside mine.
“Barrett Family Vintners Sauvignon Gris.”
“Outstanding. One of my favorites,” I said, swirling my glass and breathing in the bright fruit aromatics.
She set her glass on the table between us and went back inside.
“May I assist?” I called after her.
“Nope. I’ll just be a minute.”
This time when she returned, she brought two plates with her. “I thought we could have our appetizer out here and watch the sun go down.” She handed one plate to me. “Mexican street corn flatbread with an avocado and cilantro oil drizzle. I hope you like it.”
“I love it.”
Luisa giggled. “You haven’t tried it yet.”
“I still love it.”
She smiled and took a sip of wine. “You’re way too nice to me, Press.”
“You make it easy, pet…err …Luisa.”
She rolled her eyes and took a bite of the flatbread at the same time I did.
“Well?” she asked, biting her lip as I savored the flavors of corn slathered with sour cream, Cotija cheese, lime juice, and chile on top of the crunchy crust.
“Brilliant. Truly,” I said before taking another bite. “Now, stop chewing on your lip. Eat this fabulous food instead.”
Luisa scowled at my correction, then beamed.
Once the sun dipped below the horizon, we went inside, where I saw the table was set for two. “Where are your mum and sister this evening?” I asked.
“My mom ate earlier and is reading, and I’m not sure about Seraphina.”
“May I assist?” I repeated when she ducked into the kitchen.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right out.”
Like before, she carried two plates into the dining room. “You were supposed to take a seat,” she said, tsking at me.
“This smells fantastic,” I said when she set a plate of stuffed poblano peppers in front of me.
“The peppers are stuffed with burrata, black-eyed peas, and chorizo, then topped with pico de gallo. Be right back,” she said, disappearing into the kitchen again.
She returned with two bottles of Mexican beer. “I hope you don’t mind. The dish doesn’t pair well with any of the wine I could find.”
“This is perfect.” I took a bite and groaned. “You have been holding out on me. Again, this is brilliant. Where did you learn to cook like this? Your mum?”
