A Sip of You(17)

The work out explained why his hair was still a little damp and curling about the nape of his neck. I loved it when it looked like that. He wore a pair of faded jeans that were slung low on his hips and a dark blue shirt that made his eyes look more blue than grey. He moved confidently between the prep area and the stove.

“What are you chopping?” I asked.

“Tomatillos for the salsa. We have a big farm garden so most of the vegetables we’ll eat tonight were picked right here. Everything else is local and organic.”

“Can I help?”

“Well, I’ve already chopped the onions, so I’ve think I’ve got everything covered.” William gave me a bemused smile, but there was no mistaking the hungry gleam in his eyes. I could feel myself heating up as he looked at me. The last time we had cooked together, his instructing me on how to properly chop onions had led to one of the most sexually decadent nights of my life. He could tell I was thinking about it.

“Great!” I replied a little too cheerfully, trying to regain my focus. “So what’s on the menu?”

“Well, the ceviche is in the refrigerator, and Fernanda and I are just finishing up the rest.” On his way back to the stove, he handed me a bottle of rosé. “This is one of mine,” he said in my ear. A zing of pleasure raced through me at his soft voice.

Back at the stove, he put some ingredients into a pan, and a few seconds later my mouth was watering from the smells that filled the kitchen. William turned and said, “The table is set under the pergola. Why don’t you go check it out?”

Carrying the bottle of rosé with me, I wandered outside, feeling the soft breeze ruffle my hair. There were a million stars in the sky and a crescent moon looking down on me. Lights in the trees twinkled and reflected in the pool, and outdoor heaters ensured I wouldn’t get cold. Beyoncé played on hidden speakers, and a fire crackled in the outdoor fireplace, filling the air with the smell of burning wood. A moment later Fernanda brought a bowl of warm homemade tortilla chips and the salsa William had made and beckoned me to sit at the table.

I realized belatedly I’d forgotten to bring out any wine glasses, but William showed up a minute later with two. He poured the wine and held his glass for a toast. I followed, smiling. This was all so unlike him.

“To dining al fresco,” he said, “with the most beautiful woman I know.”

I grinned. I was loving romantic William tonight and I felt again like I was the luckiest girl in the world. My nervousness at the airport, at William’s wealth on display, was slowly fading into the background of this perfect evening.

We clinked glasses and moments later Fernanda brought out a tray heaped with the most beautiful Mexican food I’d ever seen. Tacos and burritos were staples of the surfer diet and I’d eaten Mexican food for most of my life, even in Mexico, as I’d spent time on just about every major beach in Baja. But this was Mexican haute cuisine, and on a whole different level. There were small glasses of ceviche bursting with big, pink shrimp and a platter piled high with crispy fish, cabbage, and a white sauce that looked a bit like sour cream. There was a bowl of steaming rice and I detected the heady aroma of cilantro. There were beans and fresh tortillas, fresh guacamole, and a dark mole sauce that William said was made with chocolate. It was casual food but beautifully presented, and it smelled incredible.

“This looks absolutely delicious. I can’t believe you made all of this. You’re amazing. And there’s no way I can eat all of it,” I protested, but I was practically salivating.

“Fernanda is my secret weapon. I give her all the credit. I just helped.” He was trying to be modest, which was so cute, but he was obviously pleased by my compliments. “Dig in.”

When I tasted the first taco, I smiled, closed my eyes, and nodded approval. The dish looked simple, but the flavors exploded in my mouth. “Oh my God. William, this is so good.” I tried not to giggle. I was having what Beckett would call a “total M.O.” or mouth orgasm. He was always equating food with sex in ways that cracked me up. But that was very different from food and sex with Mr. Lambourne. I loved that William continued to dazzle me with his culinary talent. His skillful cooking and his deep appreciation of food and wine, of eating and enjoying it, were some of the most surprising things about him and I loved them. I loved him.

“It’s an old recipe,” William told me, still pleased with my response. “The secret is the batter. It’s made with beer.”

“It’s wonderful.” I took a sip of my wine. “I love this wine too,” I said.