I spend more time in the shower than necessary, trying to convince myself that nothing will happen between me and Olívia, simply because there’s not a damn chance things between us will end well. Yet, with each moment together, she becomes more and more irresistible.
I really didn’t ask her to stay here with ulterior motives. I know how exhausting it can be to keep up with Nina’s pace all day, and Olívia’s been with my daughter since early morning. So there’s a big part of me that is considering her wellbeing. But I’m honest enough to admit that I don’t want her to leave just yet.
I need mylittle firecrackernearby a bit longer.
The day was dreadful, and in the end, Mom seemed exhausted. I don’t know how much longer she’ll hold on. My mother is tireless in her care for my father, and every time I witness the love between them, I have hope of finding something similar one day.
After checking on my daughter one more time, as well as the functioning of the baby monitor, I carry it with me andhead downstairs to the first floor. Olívia didn’t take a shower or change clothes, but she took off her shoes and seems even smaller than she normally is. She’s facing away, messing with something on the stove, and I can’t help but walk over there.
“What’s on the menu for today?” I don’t usually have a light-hearted demeanor, but I really need to learn how to relax. I don’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps and have a stroke at fifty.
Still not looking at me, she picks up the pot containing some kind of thick brown cream and puts it on a plate. “Celebrationbrigadeiro.”
“Brigadeiro?” I repeat, testing the strange-sounding word.
“Yes. It’s the name of a Brazilian sweet. There’s no translation into English. Mom and I tried to find one, but it was futile. Despite being difficult to say, it sounds cute.” She still hasn’t turned to look at me. “On every special occasion in my life, Mom made celebrationbrigadeiro, and since you gave me the job, I haven’t celebrated yet, so I’m inviting you to share my favorite sweet with me, Guillermo.”
After pouring the contents of the pot onto the plate, she turns to me. But her smile dies as she suddenly seems focused on my chest. My body temperature rises in seconds.
She leaves the pot on the counter but still holds the spoon covered in the sweet mixture.
“Can I try?” I ask, taking a few steps closer.
Her chest rises and falls quickly, and I’m pleased to know that I’m not the only one nervous about the proximity. “It’s still hot.”
“I don’t have a problem with heat, Olívia.”
She brings the spoon close to her lips and blows. When she thinks it’s cool enough, to my surprise, instead of offeringme the sweet on the spoon, she runs a finger through it and stops in front of my mouth.
I know my next move will forever change things between us, but I’m desperate to taste her.
Holding her wrist, without breaking our gaze, I suck her finger. Not just the tip where the sweet is, but the whole thing.
She shivers and closes her eyes. Still holding her hand, I kiss her palm and then place it on my neck.
I pull her into my body and whisper in her ear, my mouth pressed against the lobe, “I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t resist.”
“Do what?”
“Kiss those delicious lips.” I pull back a little, and for a moment, I get lost in the deep blue of her eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”
“I’m ordinary.”
“You’re beautiful. My little firecracker.”
“Firecracker?”
“That was the impression I had of you that first day at the café.”
She smiles. “I want what you said . . . I do.”
“Say it.”
“Kiss me. I’ve been dreaming of you for several nights.”
And thus, she manages to shatter any coherent thought that might remain. Holding her face, I brush our lips together and pull her close by the nape of her neck. “You smell good, sweetheart. I could get addicted to your scent. To you entirely.”
“Guillermo . . .”
