Chapter 7
Chapter seven
The Next Day
I’ve been watching the green door for two nights.
Waiting. Anticipating.
Tonight I finally walk through it.
Can Cisa is perfection. A true locals’ joint. The walls are stacked with colorful bottles, every label softened by time. A handful of tables fill an ancient, narrow room. Candles reflect off glass. Everywhere, faces are lit with the kind of warmth and joy the very best wine brings.
I’m shocked when the host greets me by name and leads me to a small table by the window. Outside, the narrow street flickers with storefronts closing for the night. I watch the strangers moving back and forth through the glass.
Each one not him.
God, what if he changes his mind?
It’s happened before, so I’m not sure why I expect more from a man I met on a plane.
I’m early though, so rather than bailing out of fear, I sit, trace the rim of my wine glass and try to breathe normally.
Then I see him and my heart nearly stops.
Santiago. He moves with a grace born from confidence, not arrogance.
Holy shit, he’s more gorgeous than I remember. Dark eyes. A strong jaw. Mouth made for sin and sincerity in equal measure. Tonight, he wears a white shirt with an open collar and sleeves rolled to his elbows tucked into dark trousers. Tall, lean. Delectable.
The faintest smile plays on his lips when he spots me when he walks through the door. It’s no exaggeration—every eye in the room snaps to catch a glimpse of him.
He doesn’t even notice because his eyes are on me.
“You beat me.” He sits and scoots his chair close.
“I didn’t want to be late.” I shrug.
Santiago laughs. “I like a punctual woman.”
With a subtle gesture, he signals the waiter and orders in Spanish without opening the menu. His voice is quiet, sure. I find myself relaxing. It’s nice to let someone else decide a meal for once.
When the server leaves, he leans back. “You look rested.”
“I slept for nearly a day straight,” I admit. “Then walked my ass off. Got lost twice. Ate everything in sight.”
His eyes spark. “That sounds like the perfect way to conquer jet lag.”
“It was. Even better, it’s the first time in months I woke up without a list of problems waiting.”
“I’ve been there.” He rests his chin on his palm. “You forget how to breathe until someone forces you to stop.”
“You sound like you know from experience.”
“I do.” He folds his hands. “For the record, the reason I had to leave you so abruptly at the airport is because I sold my company yesterday. Ten years of work signed away in an hour. Today, I’m a free man with a nice little nest egg.”
“Wow. How do you feel?”
“Strange. Excited for what’s next.” He hesitates. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight since we parted ways.”
The blush from my cheeks creeps down to my chest. “Me too.”
Food arriving interrupts us for a moment. I’m delighted. Garlic prawns. Octopus croquetas. Thin slices of jamón. A basket of bread already glistening from a vintage olive oil he recognized when he ordered.
He chose with care, matching textures and pace, the way a talented sommelier pairs courses with a story. Somehow, he anticipated everything I would have ordered myself.
He pours the wine. “Montsant. I think you’ll like the balance, it’s not too sweet.”
“Are you guessing what my palate is?” I smile.
“I’m not…exactly.” His eyes meet mine. “It’s time for a confession. When I sat down next to you, I recognized you immediately because I’ve eaten at your restaurant. A few times. Not enough. I’d have visited more if my travel schedule hadn’t been so full.”
I’m immediately unnerved. I didn’t expect this. At all. I can’t believe I didn’t notice someone like him, especially with his Spanish accent. What else have I missed over the years.
Oh, shit…
My hand stills on the glass. I’m an idiot. This dinner is less about romance and all about business.
Disappointment washes over me and I can’t hide it. “You’ve been to my restaurant? Why wouldn’t you have just said something?”
“Well, I was planning on it but I enjoyed our time too much.” He leans back and looks me directly in the eye. “As to your restaurant, I never stop thinking about it. I love everything you’re doing there.”
Confusion washes over me. “My food?”
“Well, yes, and your pairings, which are brilliant by the way.” He smiles broadly. “Now, it’s more about the woman behind it all.”
I stare at him, stunned by his blunt proclamation. My mind whirls about why I’m here tonight. “It still doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t have said anything on the plane.”
“At first, I didn’t want to make you self-conscious.” He smiles cautiously. “I was fan-boying because you’re brilliant. Then, it was like something washed over us and we’d known each other for years. I feel stupid for not fessing up.”
His words strike somewhere deep. No comment by a critic or article in a food blog has ever felt so important.
“Well, if you’ve been to the restaurant, you must understand why I’m so burned out.
” I let out a deep breath and try to reset my expectations for the evening.
As far as I can tell, he wants to be friends.
Nothing more. “I’ve gone for many years without a break.
My parents and sister forced me to go on vacation.
I didn’t want to, but they mean well. I forgot how much I love being here. ”
“You sound grateful.”
“I am. Mostly,” I acknowledge, possibly for the first time. “Admittedly, it was nice for someone to make a decision for me. It’s not often I have such a luxury.”
His gaze softens, thoughtful. “I can work with that.”
“Work with what?” I laugh. “Are you gonna plan my vacation now?”
“Maybe. If you’ll let me.” Santiago reaches over and takes my hand.
Well, then.
“I’m not great at letting people I don’t know take over.”
He leans closer. “Try it. You might surprise yourself.”
The air between us pulls taut, every sound around us thins until it’s merely low music and our uneven breathing.
A server appears, breaking the spell for a beat, refilling our glasses. When she slips away, Santiago’s gaze returns to mine, steady, curious, too intimate for a public room.
He traces the rim of his glass. “Tell me something. What keeps you going at such a pace?”
“Creating something perfect for strangers. Watching them close their eyes when the flavor lands. It’s usually the only time my head goes quiet.” I take a sip of the wine. “It’s the only time I stop thinking.”
“You deserve to stop thinking more often for more pleasurable reasons.” Santiago’s accent is like warm chocolate.
“God, tell me how,” I mutter and then flush from head to toe, realizing what he means.
Holy shit. He is interested in me.
The question is, can I handle him?
Santiago’s eyes darken. “You make a decision to let go. One night at a time.”
“Oh, yeah?” My stomach flips and my words come out a bit sarcastically. “Starting now, I suppose. With you?”
He tilts his head, eyes boring into mine. “Absolutely. If you want to.”
God, I do.
More than I should. I’m not sure how, though. It’s not in my nature.
Perhaps sensing my discomfort, he eases back. We finish the wine and our conversation shifts away from innuendo and invitation.
Just like we did on the flight, he and I discuss everything and nothing effortlessly.
Every now and then our fingers graze and each time, the air thickens a little more.
When the staff starts placing chairs on top of tables, he signals for the check and slides his card to the server before I can offer to pay my share.
Outside, the street glows copper under the lamps. I start to thank him for a wonderful evening, but he steps close enough for me to feel his breath. “Let’s not let tonight end here.”
“Okay.”
His mouth meets mine. Firm, certain, tasting of wine and the promise of more. The kiss builds, slow, unhurried, until I forget every reason to hesitate. When we finally pull apart, my heart is pounding so hard I’m sure it’s visible.
“Tell me to stop.” He rests his forehead on mine.
I don’t.
In fact, I clutch his shirt so he can’t step back.
I angle my face up, lips finding his again, slower this time, deeper, until thought gives way to sensation.
His hand slips into my hair, the other steady at my waist, pulling me closer.
My body presses into his, soft meeting solid, and the world narrows to heat, breath, and the sound of his low exhale when I open fully to him.
I kiss him harder, hoping he understands what I can’t yet say.
My body explains what I want.
When we eventually break for air, I find my voice.
“Would you like to come to my place?”