We spend the rest of the afternoon laughing, splashing each other, racing one another, and pointing out brightly colored tropical fish with the snorkeling masks we rented along with the boat. I don’t remember a time ever having so much fun with a man.
****
Emanuel
“You cook like you dance,” I state, glancing over at the sad looking concoction Nadine is making.
She peers up at me, lips turned downward. It is the cutest fucking thing ever.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Señorita Nadine,” the head chef, and host of tonight’s cooking class, interrupts before I can answer.
I frown not appreciating his closeness.
“Like this,” he begins in accented English.
“I got it.” Holding up my arm, I brace him from moving in any closer. And just to make sure we’re clear, I glare at him. “I’ll help her,” I state firmly.
The chef holds up his arms, stepping away.
I turn back to Nadine who is none the wiser to what just happened as she stares down into her sad looking guacamole, biting her lower lip. I have to stifle a moan at the sight of her moistened bottom lip.
“I don’t know how I messed this up,” she mumbles.
I take a second to admire the above-the-knee black dress she wore to tonight’s cooking class. The dress shows off her smooth, toned legs, and shapely hips and backside. The top of the dress has a sexy little cutout that shows just enough of the tops of her breasts to have left me hungering to lick them ever since she opened the door and I saw her in it, over an hour ago. I’d booked a cooking class for us to attend. There were four other couples in the class with us. We are preparing an authentic Mexican dinner: pico de gallo, guacamole, and handmade tortilla chips for the starters. Pork filled chiles rellenos, and chicken enchiladas with a mole sauce as the main course, and flan for dessert. We started the flan first since it took the longest to prepare between baking and letting it cool down afterwards. I’d had to takeover finishing our flan and getting it in the oven.
“You’re overthinking it,” I state, moving in behind her, letting my front press up against her backside. I smile to myself when her breath hitches. “It’s not complicated. It’s just food,” I say in her ear.
I push one of the long braids over her shoulder, giving myself a better view of the dark brown, smooth skin of her long neck.
“What are you doing?” she questions, her voice low.
“Showing you how to cook.” I press into her closer, essentially trapping her body between the counter and myself.
“Feel this,” I say, placing the fresh avocado I just picked up in her hand. “How’s it feel?”
“Kind of soft but firm.”
I nod. “That means it’s ready. Take the knife.” I place the handle of the knife in her right hand and wrap my left hand around her left hand. “The best way to cut an avocado open is like this …” I begin demonstrating, using her hands still in mine, cutting along the outside of an avocado and then splitting it open. Wordlessly, I continue using her hands to tap the sharp edge of the blade into seed, turning it and ultimately removing the seed, leaving the avocado meat behind. Together we scoop the fruit out into the granite mortar and pestle.
“Wait,” I command when Nadine tries to get ahead of me to begin mashing the avocado. “Seasonings first.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise you’ll have to add them at the end and then have to continue mashing out all of the chunks. The best guacamole is the chunky kind.”
“Salt, right?” She reaches for the pink Himalayan salt that’s in front of us.
“Just a pinch.”
I release her hand to allow her to take just a pinch of salt and sprinkle it over the top of the guacamole.
“What else?”
“Do you like your food spicy or not so much?”
“Um, not too much spice.”
