Page 9 of Curvy Love

I slam the book closed and move it back to my purse. “Right.”

He sets the plate in front of me.

“I can’t believe you made mole. That’s really difficult, right? And has like seven-hundred and forty-two ingredients?”

“Seven-hundred and forty-three,” he corrects.

I smile.

“It’s not that hard. It’s my abuelita’s recipe. I usually make a big batch and freeze it so I can eat it whenever I want.”

“I’ve never had mole not in enchiladas.”

“This is herPollo en Mole con Quesowhich she bakes until it’s bubbly and then you make tacos with it.”

I watch him scoop some of the chicken, mole cheese bake on the tortilla. I follow suit and take a bite and the taste explodes across my tongue. The deep rich flavors of all the spices, cinnamon and cocoa and all the chilis. It’s unbelievable and I can’t help but moan my approval. “Oh my gosh, this is so good.”

His dark brown eyes watch me, going hooded and darker. Like watching me eat is turning him on.

This man is dangerous with a capital D.

He keeps me entertained while we eat with stories about his family. How crazy his sisters are and how much he loves his grandmother—his abuelita—as he calls her. I remember that much from my high school Spanish class.

He tells me how close he is with his mom and aunt and how all his fellow Marines would fight over the treats his family sent him when he was overseas. When we’re done eating, I stare at my empty plate, only a reddish brown smear remains.

“Seriously, Alex, that mole was the best I’ve ever had.”

He smiles. “I’m glad you like it. There is nothing better than to cook for someone who enjoys food.”

I wince. I try not to, but I do. I try to cover it up with reaching for the covered plate I brought. “I made you brownies.”

“My sisters are going to love you,” he says. He reaches into the container and pulls out a thick chocolaty square and takes a bite. His eyes roll back and he moans. “These are amazing, Laurel.”

“Thank you. Baking is pretty much the only thing I can do in the kitchen.”

“Then it sounds like we’re the perfect pair. The only dessert I can make is sopapillas. My abuelita tried to teach me how to make hertres lechescake, but,” his eyes close and he shakes his head. “I’m a disaster with it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I find it impossible to believe that a man who can make mole like this, can’t maketres leches. It’s just cake, soaked in milk and topped with whipped cream. Even I can maketres leches.”

He chuckles. “Hey, I’m a cook, not a baker. Totally different skills.”

I give him a suspicious side eye. “Not totally different.”

“Maybe not.” He finishes his brownie and then stands and pulls me to my feet, before reaching over to brush a crumb from my mouth. “They’re different, but complimentary.”

Before I can put too much thought into the look he gives me as he says that, he leads me out on his back porch and there’s the bay, sparkling beneath the moonlight. He’s got twinkle lights on his patio and colorful furniture. He pulls me to the two-person glider and we sit, the gentle sound of the waves echoing in the distance.

“This is beautiful,” I say.

“You’re beautiful.”

I know I’m blushing, but I ignore the heat in my cheeks. I turn to face him. “Do you want to talk some more about this weekend and how that’s going to work?”

“We can, if you want to. I’m just happy to get the chance to spend the time with you.” Then he frowns and I get a glimpse of the hardened Marine he once was. It’s brief though and then his features soften again. “How long were you and dumbass together?”

I bark out a laugh. “We actually moved here together. He wanted to go to graduate school up here for architecture and so I got into the MBA program. Three months after we got here he met Gwen. He was doing some project with the city and she works at city hall or something. Nothing happened between them for another three months - or so Mark tells me. Then he broke up with me when we went home for Christmas. I almost didn’t come back here. We have graduate schools in Texas where my sisters are. But something about that felt like letting him win.” I shrug. “So I came back and here I am. Though I did switch to the accelerated program so if everything goes well, then I’ll graduate in August.”

“Then what?”

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