 I don't know if I'll ever be able to get my head out of the clouds or if my feet will ever touch the ground again, but I could care less. I am hopelessly falling hard and fast for Danny Santos. I am scared and exhilarated all at the same time. Exhilarated because my fantasies are finally becoming my reality; scared because I'm terrified of getting burned again. After Jesse left, I swore that I'd never let myself get swept away by my emotions again... that I'd be sensible and rational, tackling my next relationship with my head screwed on straight. Who did I think I was kidding? I always lead with my heart, and here I am, three and a half months later, preparing to dive headfirst into a relationship with a man who completes me. I have found my other half.
As I walk to the bathroom to get ready for the new day, brilliant beams of sunlight streak through my windows, dancing across the floor and bed, and the birds outside begin to sing a sweet melody. They must know that today is the first day of the rest of my life, I think as I turn on the light and stare at my reflection. Smiling broadly, I remove the delicate yellow rose bud from behind my ear and place it gently on the counter. After it dries, I will press it and save it for a remembrance of this day when everything between Danny and I changed, I think, pulling off my clothes and stepping under the punishingly hot shower.
Twenty minutes later, I am out the door and walking to the kitchen, my dinner tray in my hands. There is a bounce in my step and I back up to the swinging door, jutting out my ass to push my way through. Olga turns her attention away from the bubbling pot of oatmeal and watches as I glide to the sink and begin to hum as I scrub my plate. "Morning sweetheart," she says as I load the plate into the dishwasher. I smile over my shoulder at her as she continues, "I see that you finally did eat something last night. I'm glad."
As if Danny and I are two teenagers on the brink of some forbidden romance, I feel compelled to keep our delicious secret between just the two of us, so I bite my lip and offer, "Uh huh. It was delicious."
Catching me off guard, she asks, "Your good mood this morning doesn't have anything to do with Daniel's, does it?"
Swallowing hard, I turn to her and ask, "You saw Danny this morning?"
"Si," she says, smiling as she returns her attention to the pot, and I watch as her hand moves in long, sweeping circles as she stirs. "You just missed him. He came to tell me that he'd be taking the day off and asked that I hold his calls because he'd be sleeping in this morning." When I offer no response, she asks curiously, "So, I trust that he apologized for his behavior last night?"
Turning from the pot once again, she stares at me for an eternity before spooning the oatmeal into a bowl and adding brown sugar and raisins. I tap my fingers on the sink nervously and stare at a spot on the ceiling as I feel her eyes dart back and forth from her work to me, trying to gauge my reaction. "Uh huh," I finally offer, then trying to change the subject, I point to the tray of oatmeal and muffins and say, "If that's ready, I could take it to abuela."
She nods her head, and as I dry my hands on a dish towel, she persists, "If he ever steps out of line with you again... you let Ms. Maria and me know about it. We'll set him straight." Saying nothing, I can't even bring myself to look at her as I lace my fingers through the handles of the tray. Grabbing my wrist as I start to leave, she finishes, "I'll even take him over my knee if I have to."
There is mirth behind her eyes, and I have to suppress my own laughter as I say, "I don't think that will be necessary. He made up for his behavior a thousand times over last night." Raising her eyebrows, she begs me with her eyes to be less cryptic and more forthcoming with the details. It's good to see that I'm not the only nosy one in the house, but I never kiss and tell, so I bid a farewell and walk to abuela's room.
Knocking on her door, I walk in and place the tray on the table in front of where she is sitting, waiting for her to mark the place in her novel before I lean over to give her a quick kiss on the lips and say, "Morning abuela."
Stroking my cheek, she says, "Morning dear. Are you feeling better this morning?"
Grabbing her hand, I lay a kiss in the palm and answer with an enormous smile on my face, "Yes ma'am. Much better... thanks to you."
Shoveling a heaping spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth, she feigns surprise, asking, "Whatever do you mean, child?"
I pinch off a piece of blueberry muffin and pop it into my mouth, asking, "What exactly did you say to Danny last night, abuela?" Pausing, I look up at her just before she has a chance to wipe a rather devilish grin from her face.
Blankly, she answers, "Oh... nothing that I think bears repeating." When she sees me pouting over the conservative answer, she adds, "Suffice it to say... I helped Daniel see the error of his ways."
Smiling, I leave her side, taking a seat across from her, and say, "Indeed. You even gave him a few little pointers about ways to get back into my good graces." Looking at me with an innocent expression, she says nothing, so I explain, "Like yellow roses and dancing."
She very nearly chokes on the sip of juice she just took, and I have to look away to keep from bursting into a fit of giggles. "Yes... well, did it work?" she asks, coughing.
"Like a charm," I answer, sitting back and zipping my lip. Looking down at my hands which rest on the table, I pretend to check my manicure even though I can feel her eyes boring holes into the top of my head. Like Olga, she is expecting details, and when I sit back and open my mouth to speak, her eyes stretch wide in anticipation. "Finish your breakfast, abuela," I say, laughing as she sticks her tongue out at me in response.
As much as I love my work, I can't wait for this morning's session to be over so that I can spend some more time with Danny. To my delight, the time goes by relatively quickly, and I congratulate myself for only glancing down at my watch seventeen times in the past three hours. When we get back to the room, Olga is waiting with our lunch, a knowing smile on her face.
I can tell that Olga is about to bust a gut to say something and before I can even get abuela fully pushed up to the table, she blurts out, "That grandson of yours must have had one very long night. I just finished the upstairs vacuuming and when I walked past his door, I could hear him sawing logs." Two sets of eyes fly to meet mine, but I say nothing as I flash an innocent smile.
Even though I feel like flying up the stairs two at the time, I don't want to seem too eager to leave, so I say in my most indifferent voice, "If you don't mind... I won't be having lunch with you today, abuela." She nods in response as she shoots Olga a sideways glance.
"Somehow, I thought you might say that," Olga says, slowly removing each item from abuela's tray and placing it in front of her, never glancing once in my direction. "So, if you don't mind... do you think you could take that to Daniel?" she asks, pointing to a second tray of food. "I put your lunch on there as well," she finishes as my eyes try desperately to make contact with hers. Pretending to stifle a cough, abuela's hand flies up to her mouth, but I know that laughter is what she is really holding back.
Nodding my head, I answer sheepishly, "Sure." So much for discretion, I think, offering a weak good-bye as I grab the tray and head for the staircase. Glancing down at the tray in my hands as I gingerly climb each step, I smile inwardly when my eyes drift from the small vase full of fresh flowers to the two sterling silver candlesticks holding red candles. Those two should open up a dating service, I think, as I walk down the hallway to Danny's door.
I feel fifteen again as my pulse quickens and my palms begin to sweat. I can hear his slow, deep breathing on the opposite side of the door, so I know that he's still sleeping. Slowly turning the knob, I open the door carefully and step into the cool, dark room, watching the hall light bathe Danny's sleeping body. He's lying in the middle of his bed on his stomach, one hand by his side and the other flung across the pillow. The black sheet is draped over his waist, revealing the sculpted muscles of his naked back. Quietly closing the door, I set the tray down on an open roll-top desk and walk towards the bed.
Sitting on the bed next to him, I revel in the heat radiating off of his body as I listen to him breathing. He shifts slightly in his sleep, inching closer against me and turning his face against the pillow so that he's facing me. His eyes move behind the lids, causing his long, soft eyelashes to flutter slightly, and the slightest of smiles tugs at the corners of his lips. He's dreaming, I tell myself. I wonder if he's dreaming of me?
Reaching out, I lightly stroke the cheek that I slapped last night in front of the wine cellar, letting my fingertip linger across the luscious lips that are begging to be kissed. Leaning down, I press my lips to the corner of his mouth, nuzzling my nose against his cheek. He inhales deeply as his eyes flutter open and he turns his face to mine and whispers against my lips, "What a delicious way to wake up."
Slightly embarrassed by having been caught, I joke, "Beats the hell out of an alarm clock, huh?"
"Definitely," he insists, rolling over onto his back. Grabbing me by the hips, he pulls me on top of him, and I rest my forearms on either side of his head, looking down into his eyes as I kick the sneakers from my feet and send them flying over the edge of the bed. "Morning baby," he says, pulling my head down to his. His lips are warm and pliable underneath mine and I feel delirious when his tongue slips inside my mouth to reacquaint itself with mine. But the gentleness of the kiss soon evaporates into heat and fire as I force his tongue out of the way and thrust my own into his mouth, probing and exploring every recess. My erect nipples strain against the oppressive fabric of my bra, pressing into his chest, and I grab fistfuls of his hair and shift my hips against his, ripping a tortured moan from his throat.
With one hand around my shoulders and the other around my waist, he rolls me beneath him and shifts his weight on top of me. The pressure of his body pressing into mine is exquisite and the heat between us threatens to consume me. His lips leave mine so that his tongue can blaze a trail down the column of my throat, and he buries his face into the crook of my neck, lightly sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh there. My hands glide down his back and slip underneath the sheet and over his briefs, squeezing his tight cheeks.
Our bodies are desperate for one another, crying out to be joined, but sensing that we are quickly headed to the point of no return, he lays his face against mine and waits for our breathing to return to normal before he rolls to his side and pulls me to face him. I lick my aching lips and brush the hair off of my sweaty face and neck, waiting for him to speak. Tracing a finger over the feverish skin just below my collarbone, he says, "I burned you with my stubble. I'm sorry."
Sliding my hand up his arm, I interlace my fingers with his and bring them to my mouth, kissing them as I whisper, "I'm not complaining." He studies my face intently as his fingers make delicate sweeps through my curls. "Is this what you had in mind when you told me that you needed my help this afternoon?" I ask coyly.
"Partly," he answers seductively against my lips. "But I certainly never expected you to report for duty so promptly."
Giggling, I sit up slightly and give a half-assed salute. Wrapping my arm around his back, I pull him close against me and whisper, "I brought us some lunch." Turning from him slightly, I point to the tray of food on his desk.
Throwing back the covers, he sits up and says, "Great. I'm starved."
A little disappointed, I pout, "Where are you going, Danny?"
Rubbing his jaw, he answers, "I'm just going to grab a quick shower and shave before we eat." I can't rip my eyes off of his body as he walks around the foot of the bed to the bathroom. I've seen him a lot more naked, but there is just something about the way those tight, white briefs stretch and curve over his ass when he walks that gets my motor running all over again. Slowing his pace, he asks, "Enjoying the view, Michelle?"
Cuddling the pillow against me, I prop my chin on the edge and moan, "Mmm. Hurry back."
Laughing, he walks into the bathroom and closes the door, and soon I hear the shower running. I briefly contemplate going in there and removing all of the clean towels so that I can get a repeat performance of the nude parade I got last week. But I stifle the urge and decide to set up our lunch instead.
Looking up, I notice that there isn't a cloud in the sky as I step through his balcony doors and begin setting our places at the small wrought iron table to my left. I set the candles down on either side of the vase, laughing when I see that Olga even included a book of matches on the tray. Leaning over the balcony railing, I stare off at the garden in the distance. Instinctively, I turn my face up to the sun, remembering how Danny and I watched it rise into the sky this morning. My mind begins to wander and it is not until I feel Danny's strong arms encircle my waist, that I am brought out of my reverie.
"Better?" he asks, rubbing his cheek against mine. Nodding, I turn in his arms to face him and placing my hands on either side of his face, I draw his lips to mine, feathering them with light kisses.
Smiling, he grabs my hand and leads me to the table, pulling out my chair before he takes his own seat next to me. We lift the lids from our plates simultaneously, and I lean over and inhale the delicious smelling steam billowing up from a dish I don't recognize. "Mmm... paella," Danny explains. "It's a Spanish delicacy." Lifting his wine glass to his nose, he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, smiling as he says, "I thought so. We always have paella with sangria." Motioning for me to raise my glass, he says, "Try it."
Skeptically, I raise the glass to my lips and take a small sip of the purplish liquid. "It's delicious," I say, savoring the sweetness in my mouth before swallowing. "What's sangria?"
Taking a huge sip from his own glass, he explains, "It's a mixture of wine and fruit juices. Another traditional Spanish recipe." Placing my napkin in my lap, I taste the spicy rice dish in front of me. Sampling his own, he asks, "You like it?" I nod my head, and he says, "Olga certainly did go to a lot of trouble today. Lunch is usually something light."
Smiling, I realize that this special meal was no accident. Turning to him, I point to the candles and flowers and explain, "She really knows how to set the mood, don't you think?"
Dropping his fork against his plate, he raises a hand to his chest and feigns hurt, saying, "You mean... you didn't plan this?" He smiles warmly and rests his hand on my knee, rubbing it lightly before turning his attention back to his lunch. Falling into a comfortable silence, we finish quickly.
Sitting back, I bat my eyes innocently and ask, "So... what are you going to do with me while you've got me here?" Leaning over, I whisper temptingly in his ear, "I'm yours until three o'clock?"
"Then who gets you?" he asks playfully.
"Abuela," I answer, swallowing the last drop of my sangria.
Sitting back in his chair, a mask of seriousness falls over his face as he says faintly, "I want you to help me box up Pilar's things."
When he left my room this morning and told me that he needed my help with something, I never in my wildest dreams thought that this is what he had in mind. "Danny... are you sure?" I ask, concerned.
Looking down, he nods his head and says, "It's time. You were right... Pilar wouldn't want me to continue mourning for the rest of my life. I need to put her memory at rest. And I want you to help me do that. Will you?"
I stroke his face and lift his chin so that he can draw strength from my eyes. "Of course," I answer. Grabbing his hands, I pull him to his feet and finish, "Let's go."
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