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Gulp.
His fingers halt and loosen their hold on me, and I stop squirming. He’s taking in my features with soft eyes, and a look that tells me he’s surprised at himself for suggesting… well, I’m not sure what he’s suggesting, but by the way he wets his lips, I have an idea.
“What did you have in mind?” I whisper, our faces so close I can smell his salty skin. If he wants a kiss, I volunteer as tribute.
He clears his throat and blinks, then slaps my hip.
“You can help me unload the car.”
I hop off his lap and follow him to where he parked. The farm is so far away from civilization, we seemed to be driving forever and I really had to pee. So when we arrived, I ran to find a bathroom. After that, with an introduction to Ignacio’s grandfather and his insistence we drop everything and have lunch, Ignacio and I forgot about the luggage.
He doesn’t really need help, per se. We each packed one small bag, but I also don’t expect him to be my hunky bellboy, either.
“After we settle in, I want to show you the rest of the farm,” Ignacio says, leading me into the house. “Or you can take a nap if you want.”
“Hold up, now.” Stopping in my tracks, I slice my hand to his chest. “I know this trope. Fake relationship. One bed. The guy gets frisky.” I wag my brows. “Imma gonna have to draw the line right there.”
He laughs. “Olive, don’t worry. It’s not like that.”
“Oh really? That’s what the dude says in every movie and then—whoops—his clothes are on the floor.”
Ignacio’s holding his stomach, shaking with laughter.
“I think maybe you watch too many movies. Nothing’s going to happen. My grandma’s more Catholic than the Pope. My room is so far away from yours, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a moat installed.”
“Are you certain about that?”
“Yes, I’m certain.” He boops my nose. “She’s already given me instructions.”
We continue on, and he shows me to my room.
“Everything to your satisfaction, miss?”
“I’m disappointed there’s no moat,” I say. “But it’s nice.”
“I’m going to unload my stuff and take a shower,” he says. “Wanna meet up in about a half-hour?”
“Sounds good.”
He heads off down the hall. I watch him until he turns a corner. Yeesh. Our rooms really are far apart.
I’m not one to unpack when I’m only staying for a couple of days—I never understood the reasoning behind it. But there’s a beautiful rustic wood dresser with dove carvings and painted flowers. It’s too pretty not to use. So I unload my few things, reserving one drawer for pajamas and undies, and so on. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and incidentally, Ignacio’s grandfather’s ninetieth birthday. When I met him earlier today—after my bathroom run—he took me by the arm and told me all about how he was born on the fourth of July and that the fireworks are just for him. He went on to tell me some of his adventures, traveling the world until he met his wife. And then he insisted we take selfies together. I suppose it’s safe to say he took a liking to me.
Anyway, I packed one of my new dresses for the party, and some other comfortable items—even a swimsuit, just in case. Once I’m unpacked, I feel like changing out of my leggings and t-shirt having gotten them all wet. I’m pretty sure there are bits of soggy tortilla in my bra.
I choose a pair of shorts and a tank top—this Arizona heat is too much for leggings, even for me. There’s a full-length mirror in the corner—the freestanding kind, made of rustic wood with the same bespoke character as the dresser. I inspect my reflection, tilting my head side to side and twisting right to left. Golly, I’m white. I suppose that’s what comes from wearing long pants all the time.
Making quick work of some tanning lotion, I head outside to catch a few rays while I wait for Ignacio. I spotted a beautiful cement fountain earlier. It reminded me of something you’d see in a European town square, but without water in it.
I take along my copy of Love in the Times of Cholera, which Ignacio fought me on when I asked him to scribble his number inside. He really does underestimate the probability of someone catching on to us. After some coaxing, however, he wrote his name and number and even added little kisses and hugs below his signature. I shall cherish it forever and ever, even when he’s no longer a part of my life.
With a wistful sigh, I climb onto the rim of the fountain and stretch out my legs, angling them to get the most sun. I really do want to read this book, but I’m not feeling it, so I use it as the world’s most uncomfortable pillow and lie back. The sun blasts down on me mercilessly, baking my legs like a rotisserie chicken. I’ll just be here, sizzling in eleven herbs and spices, if anyone needs me. Spices only make me think of Ignacio, whose kisses are finger-licking good. Everything makes me think of Ignacio, which is why I’m sure it’s a daydream when I hear a gaggle of turkeys getting louder and louder. I sit up, and sure enough, there are about a dozen large turkeys headed my way. I sit perfectly still, thinking they’ll mind their business if they don’t see me.
But not only do they see me, they seem to zero in on me, charging toward me with murder in their eyes.
They’re enormous, fluffing up their black and brown feathers in attack mode—making weird noises with those vicious red, wrinkly necks.
I stand up on top of the fountain but they’re running faster now, like they have a personal vendetta against me.
