Heavy Love(17)

I have lost my mind. My legs should have fell open as his strong arms went around me. And those eyes...

Dead in my tracks, I stop.

Those eyes.

My gaze locks onto that of Chef de León's. Those molasses warmers seem  to pull me in. Like liquid gold, De León's eyes roam over me, and he  nods. His swagger is spot on as he points to the lady next to him, also  appearing to be a chef.

"Miss Curtis," The vibrant woman bounds toward me. "You're our last student. Glad you could join us today."

"Me? Huh? Oh, I'm late." Thank goodness, the wind carries my stuttering  over the cliff which is a powerful backdrop to such a handsome man.  Though I do suppose the chef's visual of me being a stuttering idiot is  the same.

Still star struck, my eyes search out de León. He's tall, just as tall  as in my dreams. And his biceps are just as grip-worthy as my daydreams  too. He's made his way onto the wood stage. Dressed in his signature  v-neck shirt, jeans and loafers he sets of a rainstorm in my thong. All  eyes are on him, even some of the women who are with their male  counterparts.

"I'm Beatriz," she says guiding with a hand at my back. "I'll have you  here next to Selena. She's really good at this. I'm going to get you  started then make a few rounds as the chef continues. How does that  sound?"         

     



 

I nod.

By the time the course is finished, I've gotten use to the charismatic  Chef de León and more importantly, I've made this enticing desert that  would have my parents telling me just how much they love me while  ushering me out of their apartment. They do that every once in a while,  get all starry eyed as if I need a hint to kick rocks. The desert has me  feeling good, besides the rum, I'm giggling with Selena.

"Oh that is sooo good," she laughs holding a hand to her mouth. "You did something different."

"Just a little extra umph."

"Jelly," she says, having learned my name halfway through the course,  "I'm hungry. All this cooking and I can't eat too many sweets. There's a  cantina, not too far from here. It's a little over the top, but the  food can rival you know who." She silently points to Franco, grin wide.  Then adds, "Whatdaya say?"

"All right," I nod. Though closer to full than hungry, due to all this delicious food, I add, "A margarita sounds good."

The chef and Beatriz promise that tomorrow we're in for even better things as the two of us begin down the slope.

~~~

The cantina in all-white stucco contrasted well with heavy dark-oak  seating. The servers are a tad "touristy" as Selena stated on the walk  over. She'd apologized saying the manager is a bit eclectic. The waiters  are extravagantly dressed like matadors, and the waitresses almost  appear to be in costume. The music is active. A Spaniard, with a meaty  caramel-colored face and sausage lips, is strumming a Spanish guitar.  Despite the pock marks on his face, and the fact that I can only  decipher a few of the words in his love song, he makes me sway in my  seat to the music.

Then thoughts of Eduardo pop into my mind. De León had been my only  thought while in class, but I blame it on addiction withdrawals from  watching so many of his shows. I know there could never be anything  between the chef and I. But Eduardo …  We fell asleep in the wee hours of  the night. The sky was a royal blue just outside of the sliding glass  door to my room. Every so often, I had awoken just to see if it was  real. Once I stopped myself from removing his hoodie. He could have left  a note, a phone number, something.

"Angelique, you look like you're thinking hard. We're on vacation  girlfriend, you all right?" Selena pulls me out of my thoughts. She  places her spoon back into the gazpacho without taking a bite.

"Yeah, just thinking, about nothing really," I say. Though our  friendship started on a high entertainment note, mostly due to the chef,  she had started to irritate me with talk of the chef during our walk  here. They have a history, maybe that accounts for the reason de León's  captivating personality zipped to the left, the right, the front and the  back of us, but steered very clear of the two of us.

The guitarist's melodic voice phases out. He begins with a more upbeat song and the rest of the band returns to the stage.

"You're waiting for your friends to arrive, huh?" She cocks an eyebrow with a sympathetic grin.

"Yeah," I nod, as thoughts of Eduardo No Last Name return to the hind parts of my brain.

"I'd be glad to show you around. There are some awesome tours here." As  if doped up, and a combination of ADHD, Selena begins to tell me how  much she can't wait for my bachelorette party and the best places "we"  can go when my friends arrive. She's invited herself.

"Oh, but you remember I said it wasn't a real bachelorette party per  se," I remind her. One of my closest friend's Josaline, called joking  about how much cash she should bring for the strippers when Selena and I  walked over. After the quick call, and Selena listening, I kind of  explained my quest for self-libration and how Melody weaseled me into  this trip.

"Yeah, I know. But even if it's not a real bachelorette party, I haven't  had fun like that in a while. So you ladies are going to spend a few  days up here before trekking down to Barcelona and all the other lively  places?"

I nod, with a smile. She continues to talk about the nearest clubs to  Cabo de Blanco, which don't appear to be near at all. Then all the  chatter stops.

My line of vision finds hers. The chef has arrived. His large frame  dominating the entryway. I stifle a long exhale. Whatever is going on  with these two, I want no part of it. Melody would slap me silly if she  were here for not flirting back. Though he had the entire class on the  cliff eating out of the palm of his hand, Franco and I connected a few  times. He'd stop to tell me how well I'd prepared this or that. Granted,  he is fine as hell, but Selena has marked her territory. It's all in  the way that she stares and how she couldn't stop talking about him on  the way here.         

     



 

Franco lifts his chin to us. I nod back. Selena waves like a schoolgirl,  while sipping a mojito. Before he can start in our direction, the  hostess calls him over. The interaction is touchy as seems customary  with Spaniards, but Selena cuts her eyes at the chunky Latina.

Then America's favorite chef commands the space between us. He asks us  about our meal. Before I can open my mouth, Selena is patting the seat  next to her.

"Sit next to me, Don Franco," Selena tells him, clueless to the fact  that he might have had other plans. She scoots further into the booth.  Though she's tiny, he just about swallows up most of the space. Large  forearms resting on the table, there's a butcher knife tattoo lining his  beefy, long forearm. His other entire arm is a canvas of colorful tats.  From colorful food to an ink about "passion" and a Rosary, woven  throughout.

While Selena jabbers a mile a minute and he politely listens, there's  only one thing I can do. I stare. But at least I have the good sense to  keep my tongue in my mouth and not drool.

He catches my gaze. The corners of my mouth tip upward, which is a  better technique then turning away He mirrors my smile. I. Literally.  Die. Inside. A slow death of desire. Somewhere beneath all that charisma  he is real, he is human, he seems humble and down to earth.

Then Franco's index finger taps his lip, and he orders something in  Spanish. Seconds later, I'm bathed in his attention once more.

"Angelique, are you enjoying yourself, si?"

"Yes," the one syllable word jumbles out of my month.

He begins to speak, but Selena's slender hand appears all the smaller as she grips his tricep.

Each time he makes small talk with me, Selena swoops in for the kill.  Pawing, patting, caressing, touching every bit of him that she can. His  square jaw tenses just slightly, Franco says something quick and  commanding and also in Spanish. I can't tell Selena's reaction since the  waitress comes to take Franco's order and the music has just gotten  people to clap and stomp. As the entertainment crescendos, so do the  conversations at each table. Selena takes this as an initiative to  cuddle closer to Franco once more while he attempts to engage with the  both of us. He's very courteous, but it's evident that whatever he told  Selena a few minutes ago to slow her roll, he will use again, and have  to be more demanding.

Starting to arise I determine, "I think I'll be on my way … "

"Angelique, don't go, chica. We're having fun, si? We have to paint the  town!" Selena exclaims, and I begin to wonder if she's battling a bit of  split personality disorder. There is something very dissociative in the  way that she forgot my presence until just now.

With one grip on my banana leather cross purse, I decline the offer.  Melody will be here. Either my bestie will help me dodge Selena or we  can truly try again. Though I'm banking that Selena gets exactly what  she desires in the form of the god before us, I promise, "Tomorrow? We  can do the winery you told me about tomorrow."