Page 47 of What Happens in Paradise

‘No!’ He laughed. ‘That is the song; it is called “I Need Your Love”, by a man called Beres Hammond. He is one of the artists Bob recommended.’

‘Oh, right!’ I said, feeling like an idiot. Of course he wasn’t asking for my love.

‘Dinner is almost ready. Please.’ He gestured to a stool beside him. ‘Take a seat. I poured you a glass of some rum punch I made too.’

I did as he asked.

After lifting up the colourful glass, I took a sip of the punch.

‘Oh my God, this is delicious!’ I licked my lips, then took another glug. ‘Not too sweet and it’s strong, but not as potent as the one at the restaurant.’

‘I am glad you like it.’ He smiled.

A sweet scent filled the air, but it was mixed with something spicy too.

‘What are you making?’ I said, attempting to take my mind off the fact that there were now just a few steps between us.

At least I should be grateful that things weren’t awkward. Alejandro was acting normally. I was glad the whole inconvenient boner subject hadn’t reared its head again. Pun not intended.

‘A mango sauce. I want to try this with the jerk chicken I have made. I still need to make dessert, but it should not take long. Would you like to help?’

‘Oh no.’ I shook my head. ‘You really don’t want me to go anywhere near anything you’d like to eat. Unless you want to be sick tomorrow! I told you before, I’m not a good cook.’

‘That I find hard to believe.’

‘It’strue!’

My ex-husband loved to remind me about my culinary shortcomings. ‘Do me a favour,’ he used to say. ‘For all our sakes, don’t cook. You’re adisasterin the kitchen. Just stick to what you’re good at: warming up the food my mum makes.’

That was another sticking point. He insisted that no one cooked like his mother, so every week, she’d deliver a batch of dishes she’d made.

It was kind of her and at least it meant I never had to cook, but at the same time, I thought it was a little OTT.

A man who was in his forties shouldn’t have his mum cook all his meals, surely? Her doing that made me feel a bit shit. As outdated as the concept of the wife cooking all the meals for her husband was, I felt like I should at least be able to do it if I wanted to. But knowing how much he hated everything I ever attempted to make made me feel like I wasless.

‘Come.’ He gestured for me to get up. ‘You are going to help me make the dessert.’

‘If dessert is pouring milk in a glass or scooping ice cream into a bowl, I can definitely dothat!’ I laughed.

‘You remember the orange cake that is on the menu at our hotel?’

‘Oh my God! I love that cake!’ My mouth watered just thinking about it. It was the softest cake I’d ever tasted.

‘I am going to make a version of that, but using pineapple, coconut and a little rum instead.’

‘Sounds delicious! Like a Malibu cake.’

‘Could be. All of the ingredients are measured, I would like you to put them in a bowl and mix them.’

I opened my mouth to protest and then saw Alejandro raise his eyebrow, signalling that resistance would be futile.

After I’d taken another sip of my punch, I washed my hands, grabbed an apron and went over to where the bowl and ingredients were laid out.

‘Does it matter what order I put them in?’

‘No. But perhaps start with the dry ingredients first.’

I emptied the flour, sugar and baking powder in the bowl, then looked at the wet ingredients.

---