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She narrows her eyes playfully. “It was Vicente, wasn’t it?”
Instead of answering, I dip my head and press my lips to hers, licking the seam of her lips and sighing when she opens for me. I kiss her slowly, loving how her nails press against my head as though she’s trying to keep me from moving away.
She smiles against my lips. “Thank you for them, they’re beautiful.”
I lift my face and kiss her forehead before leading her into the kitchen where I pull a stool out for her.
“Romero said you were taking me to dinner, but considering the flowers, I imagine he misunderstood.”
“He was right,” I tell her as I remove my suit blazer and roll up my sleeves before washing my hands, “but tonight, I’m your personal chef and this is the restaurant.”
Her brows raise but her eyes stay on the veins of my forearms. “Oh! Well, by all means then, Chef Banderas, proceed please. I’d love to taste yourdishes.”
Fuck, the image she puts in my head with those words makes my mind blank for a second. I move to the refrigerator, breathing in the cold air as I pull a bowl of chicken breast.
I grab a cutting board and begin filleting them. “I’m going to make you a dish you’ve probably had before, but never like this.”
“Mmm, I can’t wait. What are you making?”
I wink at her. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
She purses her lips and sits back with a grumble, making me chuckle.
“Why don’t you tell me about your day at the beach. Did you enjoy the jet skis?”
She rests her chin on her palm, her eyes watching me as I season the chicken breasts.
“It was great. I thought it would be more difficult to learn, but it wasn’t.” She chuckles, her eyes far away. “You should have seen Vicente trying to show off for Kat.”
I want to ask her how his leg is doing, how the road rash and bruising is healing, but I don’t want to bring that up and ruin the mood. I remind myself that I had my best doctor look at him and check his leg, so I know he’s fine and healing correctly. But her brother's scars will always be there because of me.
I clear my throat as I put the chicken, raw onions and broth in a pot before putting the whole thing in the oven to roast a little.
“Did you win any races?”
She blushes as she bites her bottom lip and looks down, making me wonder what’s going through her head, what images are replaying in her mind right now. Images of Romero and her fly through my mind, my imagination running wild with what her prize for winning was.
I hum under my breath, making her look up at me with pink cheeks.
“Yeah, you definitely won.”
She blushes harder, clearing her throat. “Would you like some help?”
I chuckle at her abrupt subject change and shake my head. “Not tonight,Bruja. I want to do this for you. Talk to me about anything, I’ve missed your voice.”
Taking some chipotle, guajillo and ancho chiles from the bowl on the counter, I cut and deseed them as she tells me how her brother is doing and the bullshit her father said to cover his own ass with her mother. I swear to fuck, Victor is a real piece of shit. Sure, I admit that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place when Marío handed him an ultimatum, but I would have rather died trying to kill anyone wanting to take my daughter than hand her over.
I put the chiles into the airfryer oven so they can toast for a few minutes before putting them into a blender and setting it aside while I get some broth boiling.
“Have you spoken to your parents at all?” I ask her while getting more pots setup with other ingredients.
She scoffs. “No. I’ll never speak to Victor again, that’s for sure, but I do want to call my mom. I won’t, though. She’s a fragile woman and the last thing I want to do is upset her. Besides, what could I tell her without lying to her? I hate liars and I don’t want to lie to my own mother.”
“What do you mean by fragile?” I ask her curiously as I move around the kitchen.
Vicenta picks up a napkin and fidgets with the edge of it as she thinks through her answer.
“There’s something wrong with her. I’m not sure what it is because you know how older generation Mexican parents are. Depression isn’t real, anxiety is made up, etcetera.”
