CHAPTER ELEVEN ALARA
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALARA
“You have some serious explaining to do,” is the first thing Diego tells me when I join him, Gaby, and Jordan in front of the city hall.
For a brief moment, I’m distracted by the icicles and fairy lights hanging overhead, the loud laughter booming from the ice rink where the skaters get lost in circles, and the amount of people roaming around the town as they visit each stand at the Christmas market.
But then, as though I can’t control this powerful pull toward Diego, I lock my gaze with his, and smile sheepishly.
The surprise is still lingering on his face, and seeing him so thrown off-balance is quite amusing.
“Keeping the secret was so hard,” Gaby huffs.
“Were you in on it too?” Diego asks Jordan.
My brother grins, but doesn’t say anything. I don’t think Diego is annoyed with any of us, but rather amazed. The look he gave me while awarding me the medal made undeniable butterflies flutter in my stomach and, as much as I tried to tame them, I felt defenseless.
“Did you have fun judging us?” I ask Diego. Although he didn’t voice the sentiment, I know he’s grateful my dad and the committee asked him to be part of the jury.
His face lights up – an image I try to commit to memory. “I really did.”
“But on a scale from zero to ten,” Jordan begins, “how badly did you want to be amongst the contestants?”
“Ninety-nine. But, let’s be honest, I would’ve won.”
“Aw, you’re so humble,” I comment sardonically.
That earns me a dimpled grin that awakens the wild butterflies in my stomach.
Gaby rolls her eyes. “I swear, your oversized head is going to explode soon.”
“I don’t know what’s better,” Diego drones, “having a big ego or a pea brain like yours?”
Jordan snorts. He actually snorts.
“Jordan,” Gaby says excitedly, completely ignoring her brother. “Can we grab some churros?”
“Fuck, yes. I thought you’d never ask.”
When did these two start hanging out this much?
I don’t have the time to ask if Diego and I can join, as they’re already gone and weaving through the crowd. As always, Diego’s gaze warms my cheek, and when I turn to look at him, he quickly glances away.
“Shall we?” I’m already sauntering off toward the market when he finally decides to fall into step beside me.
I’ve traded my snowboarding gear for normal clothes, and I regret not taking my scarf and gloves, but with the amount of people around, I might be able to seek some warmth by staying close to the crowd. “Do you want to eat something?”
“I kinda want a crêpe,” he replies absently, looking around.
Perfect. With all the smells assaulting my nose, my stomach is grumbling in protest. “Chez Marie has the best ones. Come on.”
Trying to push past small groups huddled under heaters or waiting in line for food, I lose Diego.
When warm fingers wrap around my hand and tug me forward, I don’t even have to look up to know it’s him.
It’s strange – this familiarity, this comfort he provides me.
This is the first time we’re truly touching, aside from fleeting, teasing caresses of each other’s arm or back, yet my body already recognizes him.
I suddenly remember when he ate at my place a week ago, when he lifted my chin so that I’d look him in the eyes. It was such a brief, meaningless bit of contact, but my body hums to life again just at the thought of it.
“Alara,” he grumbles, bringing me back to reality. “You need gloves. I can feel your fingers ready to fall off.”
I glance down at the way his hand envelops mine, a blush rising in my cheeks. I want to risk something tonight, so when I entwine my fingers with his and he doesn’t pull away, I inwardly grin. My younger self would freak out.
We get in line in front of the little chalet that serves crêpes, a dozen people in front of us. Diego lets go of my hand, tugs me in by the belt loop of my jeans until I’m almost flush to his chest, and grabs the hem of my coat.
“You’re going to freeze,” he mumbles.
I’m anything but cold right now.
Slowly, he starts buttoning my jacket with a sheer concentration that I find utterly adorable. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers, a subtle blush rising on his tanned cheekbones. I suddenly want to brush it away, but I force myself to tuck my hands in my pockets.
“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” I say softly.
Brown eyes flick up to mine. “How do you know?”
When he’s done fastening my coat, he untucks my hair from the collar and pulls my hands out so as to wrap his gloved ones around mine.
We’re standing so close to one another that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
So close I can see the flecks of gold in his dark irises.
So close that I could count the light freckles dusted over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones.
“The snowboarding competition always takes place around your birthday. When you still lived here, Gaby would sleep at my place because you’d have your friends over at your house to celebrate and you were being too noisy.”
He gives his head a slow shake, a small smile threatening to split his face.
He’s handsome when he smiles, but he doesn’t do it often.
I can see that things are still weighing down on him, that he’s worried about a lot of aspects of his life, but I’m not giving up on him.
I’ll help him find the love he once had for life.
“Sagittarius, huh?”
He scowls as we move forward. “Don’t tell me you’re into that astrology shit.”
“What? It’s fun. I like knowing people’s signs and looking at how their personalities match with their charts and all.”
“Well,” he prompts softly. “What does being a Sagittarius say about me?”
I tilt my head sideways, analyzing the faint line between his brows, the perfect smatter of dark hair on his jawline, the slope of his nose, the reflection of whiskey in his eyes. “I’m still trying to figure you out, Diego.”
His cheek twitches. We move forward again, but he doesn’t let go of my hands. “We’ll have to change that.”
The admission makes my heart skip a beat.
He wants to open up to me? He wants me to see him?
Diego is an enigma, a fascination I can’t stop thinking about.
Layer by layer, he allows me to take hold of his mask and peel it off.
Bit by bit, he gives me pieces of himself, but it’s evident that he wants to keep some things secret.
I wonder why. Is it because he’s leaving and he doesn’t want to give me too much?
It’s probably better this way, anyway. Getting attached would be a recipe for heartbreak – for me, at least.
It’s our turn to order, and Diego asks for a crêpe with chocolate spread. “Do you want one?”
“No, thank you. I’ll get some hot chocolate.”
“Sounds good.” He keeps his attention on the lady making the crêpe. “Can you make sure you haven’t touched or manipulated the strawberries with your gloves, please?”
I look up at him, bewildered. He’s intending on giving me a bite of his food and making sure there’s no trace of strawberries because I’m allergic to them.
“You remembered?”
“I pay attention, and I listen to you, Alara.”
It’s such a small gesture, such a simple confession, yet it sets my bloodstream on fire.
Am I so deprived of attention and craving for affection that I’d let his words affect me?
Am I a fool for thinking he could be romantically interested in me?
No, he’s only being nice because we’re constantly around each other.
Once he’s in possession of his crêpe, we step to the side and huddle under a heating lamp. I’m pressed to his arm, looking around and smiling at the sight of the sheer joy everyone emanates. The ambiance at Christmas time is one I always cherish.
“Ladies first.”
He brings the steaming hot crêpe to my mouth, and I take a bite, the sweet flavors bursting on my palate like a shot of happiness.
Diego chuckles as a string of warm chocolate dribbles down my chin.
He tears a glove off with his teeth, tucks it in his pocket, wipes my chin clean, and then sucks the pad of his thumb.
“You’re a messy eater,” he mutters, before taking a bite so big half of the crêpe is already gone.
“Accept me the way I am, or leave,” I tease.
He chuckles then pins me with a serious look. “Can we talk about the elephant in the room here? And don’t get all smart on me and say we’re not inside four walls.”
“Oh, come on. You could’ve let me have that.”
Dumping the empty carton, he ushers me toward the hot chocolate stand with a hand on the small of my back. This man finished off his crêpe in two freaking bites.
“I was so rusty,” I say.
“Rusty?” he echoes, puzzled. “I wouldn’t call what you just did rusty. You’re out of your mind, woman. That was seriously amazing, and you know it.”
The tips of my shoes are suddenly interesting. Hiding my smile, I accept his compliment. “Okay, ask away,” I relent as we get in line. There’s only three people in front of us.
He blinks, a bit lost in his thoughts. “I didn’t know you were so good at snowboarding.”
“You were impressed, weren’t you?”
“That’s an understatement,” he scoffs. His expression is a portrait of awe as he stares down at me. “You’re full of surprises, Alara.”
“And you haven’t even seen half of it.”
“Yeah? Tell me more.”
“Ah, you’re putting me on the spot.” I lift my shoulders in a shrug, my pockets warming my hands, but I wish he was still holding me. “I’m kind of a boring woman.”
“And a liar.”
I arch a brow. “How nice of you.”
We move forward, and it’s almost our turn to order. “You know,” he starts, leaning in so that his words caress the shell of my ear. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re the most interesting woman I’ve spoken to in years.”
“Are you saying this to be on my good side? Because you know your future somehow lies in the palm of my hand and—”