Page 18 of One Year Ago in Spain
He was making empanadillas de atún con sofrito.He already had the half-moon pastries in the oven (some families fried theirs, but his had always baked them), and now he was working on the sauce of tomato, onions, garlic, and bell peppers. The onions were already browning on the stove in Spanish olive oil, filling his small apartment with their rich aroma while he chopped tomatoes.
What Matías knew from the art world was that first impressions meant a lot, so he was throwing everything he had into cooking for Claire.
He hoped this dinner would show her as much about him as his paintings had last night, and that she would like what those flavors revealed.
—
Her world wasso different from his. Inside this tower of steel and glass was an entire industry Matías knew nothing about—high-powered corporate attorneys who helped drive the global economy. While he made pieces of art one by one, Claire and her colleagues helped build new companies and cement landmark deals for everything from cutting-edge windmill technology to fish hatcheries, luxury hotel mergers to Super Bowl beer distribution rights.
Increíble,Matías thought as Claire led him through the Windsor & Black offices. This woman in front of him had the power to shift the way the world worked, just with her words.
She took him to the law library, where she had said they would have more room to unpack the dinner spread he’d brought. Claire scanned her badge at the glass double doors. He held it open for her, and she paused for a second as she looked up at him and smiled.
“No one’s opened a door for me in a long time,” she said. “It’s surprisingly nice.”
“You need to be spoiled more,” Matías said.
Claire laughed as she flipped on the library lights. “Not really. I mean, look at where I get to work.”
“Oh wow.” All around him were gleaming marble columns and shelves and shelves of polished oak filled with handsome leather-bound tomes. There was a circular desk—presumably forthe librarians—and above it, painted in gold on the ceiling, was a quote from Jorge Luis Borges: “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of a library.”
Claire shook her head, although she was still smiling. “I’m not sure that quote applies to alawlibrary…But I do like it.”
“I like it, too,” Matías said, but he wasn’t looking at the quote; he was watchingClairelook at it. Just like last night when she was studying his paintings, there was somuchgoing on behind those eyes. Her intelligence was palpable, and he wanted to know every single one of her thoughts.
“Anyway,” Claire said, “let’s go deeper into the library. There are some tables back there where we can spread out and have a proper dinner. It would’ve been terrible if we’d tried to eat squeezed between all the stacks of paper in my office.”
She turned to a corridor to the right, but before they left the library’s foyer, Claire flipped off the lights.
“To save on the energy bill,” she explained when she caught Matías glancing back over his shoulder at the dim room behind them.
He liked that she cared, even though the firm was the one paying for the lights.
When Claire had found the perfect table in the back corner of the library, Matías unpacked the bag and cooler he’d brought with him. A tablecloth his brother Luis had given him as a New York housewarming gift. A set of plates and silverware, which seemed to surprise Claire, probably because she was accustomed to eating off of paper or from disposable plastic containers. And of course the food—a tart apple salad with that delicious Manchego cheese, and the empanadillas and sofrito.
Claire ate with the same quiet expressiveness Matías wasbeginning to adore. She would take a bite, then close her eyes to let the flavors roll around in her mouth, and then she would swallow and a small smile would blossom across her face.
“This puts my cafeteria salad to shame,” she said.
“I hope so.” Matías grinned. She liked his cooking. Shecould—he was pretty sure—taste the passion he’d put into it. And he thought she might like him, too.
Claire asked him about painting and Spain, but he felt like they’d had plenty of his work last night at the gallery, so he asked about her life and her work instead. She gushed about the exhilaration of putting together multinational deals, of bringing together teams from different companies and countries. Her zeal for her work was something he understood, too—that thrill of losing yourself in something exciting.
But as they bit into the tuna pastries, Claire seemed to lose the thread of what she was saying. She went still for a moment, staring at his lips. The little hollow at the base of her throat turned a darker shade of pink.
Matías wiped away the bit of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth.
She inhaled sharply, then shook herself out of her momentary trance. She creased her brow, as if having an argument with herself. The blush crept up her neck and bloomed onto her cheeks.
Yes,Matías thought.She likes me.
He had promised to take only thirty minutes of her evening since she still had work to do, but it would be hard to leave her.
When he unveiled dessert and fed the sweet almond confection to her on a spoon, she moaned. Then Claire bit her lip, contemplating for just a second, before she swiped aside the dishes in front of her, climbed over the table, and kissed him.
She tasted of sugar and heat, almonds and yearning.
Matías pulled her onto his lap and kissed her deeper, her lips parting, his tongue finding hers. And that would have been enough for him, just to hold her there, feeling her body against his, the pleasure of the meal he’d made her swirling through her veins.
