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“Go away. What did I ever do to you?”
I’m screaming now because they are not slowing down. In fact, they’re flapping their wings, flying up the edge of the fountain to get to me.
“Shoo! Get away from me. Aggghhh!” I cry, throwing my precious Love in the Times of Cholera in their direction. They flutter back enough to give me a moment to jump off the fountain and run. This gives new meaning to the term turkey trot. I feel like one of those crazy Spaniards running from bulls in Pamplona.
Now, I’m not a runner. If a murderer were to come after me with a knife, I’d weigh my options. But there’s something about those beady eyes and that bumpy, flappy skin that motivate me to run for my life. These birds are savage killers. They’re evil birds. They’re angry birds. And they one-hundred percent have it in for me.
“Heeeeeelp!” I cry, darting across the farm with the malicious fowl nipping at my heels. I can just see it now. Death by turkey—the bloody and untimely end to Jersey’s own, Olive Isaac, non-runner, donut lover.
And then, just as I think I’m toast, Ignacio swoops in like a superhero, diverting the turkeys away from me.
“Go back to the house,” he says, taking off his shirt. Okay, full pause. The man is TAKING OFF HIS SHIRT! Does he really expect me not to watch?
He’s using his t-shirt to swat the evil turkeys back into submission, but turkeys are not like sheep. They won’t just let a human round them up. I have absolutely no idea how one does take control over a flock of turkeys, but I’m thinking swatting the buggers with a shirt isn’t gonna do the trick. Not that I’m complaining. Ignacio is a glorious specimen—all rippling muscle and rock hard abs. The way he careens and lunges, waving those statuesque arms, flexing the hills and valleys of that strong, exquisite back.
I’m basically drooling.
Next thing I know, there’s a high-pitched whistle, and a beefy rottweiler comes out of nowhere. Not gonna lie, it’s a big, scary dog. For the first couple of seconds, I think we might have bigger problems on our hands than a bunch of turkeys, but I soon find out the dog is a friend. He barks and charges at the birds as Ignacio’s abuelo advances onto the scene with a garden hose.
Hallelu! The cavalry is here.
“Chah, chah,” he shouts, firing at the turkeys with the spray nozzle on ‘ludicrous’ setting. The water is coming out like bullets and the turkeys scurry back to the pit of hell whence they came.
Abuelo and the dog keep going. At one point the hose reaches its limit and then Abuelo abandons it, still chasing the turkeys down.
Ignacio turns to me with a stormy look on his face. He’s simply magnificent—that stubborn tendril falling over his twisted brow, those charcoal gray eyes etched with concern. Those lips.
He’s coming my way and my mouth turns into the Sahara desert. His muscles look even better from this angle. His bare chest is a sight to behold. And those shoulders! Beast mode.
“You okay?” he says as he approaches me. His voice is so rumbly, it evokes lava deep in my core.
“Uhhh…”
My eyes dip to his happy trail, where a dusting of yummilicious dark hair circles his belly button, then files into a perfect line until it disappears into his jeans.
“Olive?” he repeats, touching my cheek. “Are you hurt?”
“Me? I’m fine. Just a little…”
I lick my lips. Yes, lick my lips. It’s hot as Hades, there’s a sexy, shirtless man in front of me, and he’s tenderly stroking my face. I’m licking these lips, baby, and I have no shame.
Then he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest, stroking my hair. I can hear his heartbeat—strong and steady, and elevated just a little. I don’t know what to do with my hands. Would it be weird if I sneak them up his torso to cop a feel of that six-pack?
Slowly, his body begins to tremor, and I feel a rumble coming from his chest. The sound amplifies in my ear as he begins to chuckle, then giggle, then propels into a full-blown laugh.
I lean back to look at his face. “What’s so funny?”
“I wish I’d caught that on camera. What did you do to cause a turkey stampede?”
“Nothing. I was minding my business, and they just attacked out of nowhere.”
He keeps laughing and I should be righteously peeved about it, but his laughter is contagious, so I shove his perfect chest to fight it.
“It’s not funny. I could have died.”
“Come here.” He drags me into him again. I could get used to this. “You weren’t going to die. Just maimed a little.”
“Whaaaat?”
“Just kidding. Let’s go inside. I want you to meet my brother, Memo. He just arrived with my parents and Bernadette.”
