CHAPTER NINE ALARA #2
His expression instantly softens. He steps forward until he towers over me, and when he lifts his hand to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth, I feel my breath losing itself somewhere in my lungs.
His touch disappears as soon as it lights my body on fire, and when he locks his gaze to mine before licking the pad of his thumb to collect the powdered sugar he found on my face, a flush of embarrassment creeps up my cheeks. “I’d like that,” he murmurs. “Let’s go.”
We eat lunch at the mall, walk around, and take mental notes for our Christmas shopping, and when we get back to my place, we both take an impromptu digestive nap on my couch with a Hallmark movie playing on the TV.
I wake up an hour later, feeling warm. I don’t remember falling asleep with a blanket covering me, but when I realize it’s because Diego has draped it over me, I hide my face to mask my foolish smile.
He’s still asleep when I chance a look at him – lying on his back with one hand on his stomach and the other limp by his side, Tabby curled on his chest with her face resting in the crook of his neck, and a blanket covering his legs.
With the early afternoon sun filtering through the curtains, a kaleidoscope of golden light caresses his face, and, like this, he might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I snap a picture, assigning it as his contact photo in my phone, then go busy myself with content planning for the next couple of weeks.
Diego wakes up thirty minutes before we have to leave for our skiing lesson. When he notices the black cat still sleeping on him, he grunts loudly, but doesn’t move her until he has to get up and use the bathroom.
His eyes lock on mine as he lifts Tabby to set her between us. He notices my smug smile and grabs the nearest throw pillow to chuck it at me. “Not a damn word, Alara.”
“You like Tabby,” I sing-song.
“I fucking don’t.”
I can’t help the laugh spilling out of me. “Yeah, yeah, keep lying to yourself.”
Once at the resort, he’s still adorably sleepy and doesn’t engage much with me, which I don’t mind. I don’t miss the way he so very often looks my way, though, and I like to believe he’s thankful for my company.
This week, in the group of kids we’re teaching, we have Sammy who clings to Diego every minute of the lesson. He keeps staring up at Diego like he’s a superhero, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks for an autograph by the end of the week.
When we’re back in the car as the sun is setting, I quickly snap a picture of the sky tinted in a coalescence of burning colors with the snowy mountains in the foreground. Diego stares at me, amused.
“What?” I ask, starting the engine.
“I bet you have an entire album called sunsets in your gallery,” he mocks, unzipping his coat.
“I do.”
“Cute.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No, actually. I like that you capture everything you find beautiful this way.”
My cheeks flush as I think of the picture I took of him and Tabby sleeping. I don’t say anything, but, surprisingly, he talks all ride long about his family’s plan for Thanksgiving and how he doesn’t want to see his distant cousin Miguel, who always tries to steal his watch.
Arriving in town, I ask him, “Am I dropping you off?”
I feel his gaze rest on my profile like a lover’s caress, tracing the contours of my features like he’s trying to ingrain my portrait in the back of his mind. It both unsettles and makes me hot. “Can we hang out again?”
There’s a hint of desperation dripping from his words, wrapping itself around my heart. “You’re not sick of me yet?”
He smiles. “Depends. You’re tolerable today.”
We stop at a red light, and my gaze finds his. “I was going to make pasta for dinner. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have any allergies?”
He shakes his head. “None, but I don’t like mushrooms. You?”
“Let’s see . . . Strawberries, assholes, and hypocrites.”
I see that he’s trying to fight his slight amusement. “Duly noted.” He clears his throat then as he shifts in his seat. “Thank you for spending some time with me, Alara. It’s just that no one’s home and I don’t really want to be alone, so . . .”
I don’t like that he feels the need to justify himself. My heart is fracturing at the thought of him desperate for some company. “I don’t mind, seriously. We’re friends, okay?”
I wonder if he’s feeling lonely – he must be. He’s away from his apartment, from his dreams. I’ll do everything I can to distract him.
Back at my cabin, Diego makes himself comfortable as though he lives here. His boots are left by the door, his coat hanging amongst mine. He ignores Tabby when she meows and asks for his attention, settles on the couch, and picks up the book he took from my shelf.
I love that he’s a reader. It’s sexy and alluring. When I caught him checking the titles lined up on my shelves, I’d asked if he read much. He replied with a shrug, saying, “Depends what you mean by much.”
Meanwhile, I go take a quick shower and change into some comfortable clothes.
When I emerge back into the living room with my attention zeroed in on the text my mom sent me about tomorrow’s turkey, I feel his eyes on me – sparks burning my flesh.
He takes me in, slowly, from the messy bun piled atop my head, to the thin tank top clinging to my chest, to the sweatpants I’ve had to roll at the waistband to fit me.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, surprised by the steadiness of my voice.
He clears his throat. “Sure.”
I decide to uncork a bottle of white, because why not? As he chooses one of Cigarettes After Sex’s vinyls to play, I pour us two glasses, and get started on making dinner.
“Can I help?” he asks roughly. I hear a stool sliding across the floor, and when I peer over my shoulder, he’s staring at me – or rather my ass – before taking a sip of his wine.
Knowing I’m attractive enough to catch Diego’s attention makes a chill rush down my spine.
But, again, I need to keep my fantasies tucked in a corner of my head.
“No, it’s all good. It’s a quick recipe.” I lay everything I need on the counter, hyper-aware of his scrutiny of my every move, then take a drink of the wine, savoring its fruity taste. Dad brought it over from Alsace last winter and stocked the wine cellar with too many bottles. “Do you cook?”
He shrugs. “I can boil some pasta and throw in some store-made marinara sauce.”
“Worthy of a Michelin chef,” I quip, filling a pot with water before putting it on the stove.
His dimples throw me off-balance when he grins. He’s stupidly handsome. “Did you learn how to cook in college?”
“Yes. Maybe it runs in your family, but Gaby can’t cook for shit either.
I can’t even tell you the amount of times she burned her eggs.
” Rooming with Gaby was both fun and exasperating, but I wouldn’t have traded my roommate for anyone else.
“I got sick and tired of eating ruined dishes, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. Gaby has never been so thankful for me.”
Diego chuckles into his wine glass. “We, sadly, took after our dad, and Mom doesn’t have the patience to teach us because we’re both so bad. But I’ve been trying to help her.”
“I can teach you what I know.” I observe the way he analyzes my hands as I grate the Pecorino Romano.
Then, his beautiful eyes flit up to mine. “Is that a date proposal?”
One of my brows arches, a teasing grin spreading across my mouth. I think he forgets that I can flirt back. “Do you want it to be a date?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. Amusement and something like admiration shines around the edges of his irises, but I focus on the way he furiously blushes and doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he asks, “Remind me again what you studied in college?”
I now have my back turned to him as I face the stove and my pans.
I feel his presence like a warm cocoon as he comes to stand beside me, one hip leaning against the counter.
He buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his soft attention on everything I do.
Like he can’t look away. Like he doesn’t want to.
“I majored in Communications with a minor in Public Relations.”
“Why those studies?”
I shrug, watching the butter melt in the pan after pouring the packet of pasta in the boiling water. “It’s easy. It’s something I enjoy. But I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know where I want to go.”
I just feel like I’m stalling, losing myself in circles while I watch everyone around me live life at full pace.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says softly. “Have you considered a master’s degree?”
“Yeah, but, again, I have no idea what I’m interested in. I’m not good at anything in particular either.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. You know that it’s okay to take time to figure yourself out, right? You don’t have to rush if you’re happy with the way your life is at the moment.”
I swallow the lump that’s built up in my throat, continuing to cook so that I don’t have to meet his devastating eyes.
Thinking of my future always makes me anxious, because I feel like I’m stuck in the moment.
I feel like I can’t decide what I want. “Everyone around me has already found a job or started their master’s.
” I shake my head. “Sorry. We don’t have to—”
“Alara,” he cuts in. “I love the sound of your voice. I love learning about you. You can tell me anything.”
If he notices the goosebumps rising on my arms, he doesn’t say anything. I smile, glad that some strands of hair have fallen out of my bun and are concealing my burning cheeks. “Thank you. It’s just that I feel like I’m doing something wrong. How come I don’t know what I want in life?”
“Because you want to find a job that’s fulfilling and makes you happy. You want to take your time. Don’t let someone else’s journey ruin this for you. Are you okay with what you’re doing now? Living here and helping your folks at Rock Snow?”
I nod.
Then, gently, the side of his forefinger tips my chin up and tilts it to the side, obliging me to look into his amber eyes. I feel my heartbeat picking up its pace. “Is your lifestyle satisfying enough for now?”
“Yes, it is,” I breathe out.
“Then don’t worry about the people around you.
While you’re figuring yourself out, they might be miserable with their career choice.
Or maybe they love it, and that’s good for them.
But that doesn’t mean you should feel guilty or upset because you’re taking a break.
There’s nothing wrong with focusing on yourself, even if it’s for an indeterminate time.
You’re a smart woman. You’ll work this out. ”
I nod at his words and turn back to my sauce, the feel of his featherlight touch lingering under my chin. “I needed to hear that.” This is the kind of support I’ve been yearning for, just understanding, uplifting, soothing words.
Diego doesn’t say anything for a beat, but I’ve found myself enjoying his silence. It’s peaceful and non-judgmental and comforting. “I wish I’d gone to college,” he states quietly, after emptying his glass. “To have a plan B, you know.”
I turn off the stove and take out two plates from the cabinet. “You’ve always seen yourself snowboarding until you have to retire?”
“Yeah. It’s really the only thing I’ve ever been passionate about.”
My lips tilt upward. “I can see that. Your eyes light up when you talk about it. But you’ll be able to compete again.
I know it’s not ideal to be here, stuck in a place where there’s nothing else to do except ski and snowboard in the winter, but maybe you also need to disconnect and take care of yourself in a different way.
” He cocks his head to the side, and I continue.
“You’ve always been high on adrenaline and fueling your life by riding, but maybe you just need to slow down and take a breather.
Taking a break won’t take away your talent and all the medals you already won. ”
I can see that he’s slightly surprised from the way he gazes at me and stays silent while contemplating my words. He sits on the barstool to my right, our arms pressed together as though there isn’t enough space in my kitchen.
Twirling the thick spaghetti around his fork, he thanks me for cooking, then takes a bite. An instant, guttural moan rumbles in his chest, causing me to press my thighs together. “My God,” he whisper-groans, taking another bite of the cacio e pepe. “You are a woman after my own heart, Alara.”
I find myself smiling for the hundredth time today. As I absently stare at my twirled pasta with the deafening sound of my thrumming heart overpowering the music, I can’t help but think that Diego and I are teetering on the precipice of something dangerous – something romantic.
I don’t want to admit it.
I don’t want to let it happen.
But, at the same time, I wonder what would happen if I let myself fall.