Page 9 of Never Again
“You get lots of light in here,” she remarked.
He nodded. “It’s one of the reasons I rented the place. It’s great for when I’m working.” Carlos strolled toward the bed and turned right, which took them to a space that was clearly his studio.
A gray couch faced the window in front of a low-sitting table that looked quite heavy. Behind the couch were an easel and a wide, two-door metal closet.
“Is this all your work?” She strolled over to the different sized canvases stacked against the wall.
“Some. I took those out to show you. The rest are in that closet or on display at local galleries.”
She faced him. “I’m so proud of you, that you’re doing what you love and making a living at it.”
He nodded, his eyes trained on her in an assessing way. “It is pretty amazing. I never expected to have this much success, but the Atlanta area is very welcoming and appreciates art and artists.” He angled his head toward the kitchen. “We’ll have plenty of time to go through my work, but I promised you dinner. Thelomo saltadois finished, but I thought we’d start with a simple fish ceviche. Care to help me in the kitchen?”
“I’d love to.” They’d cooked together in the past, and she liked the idea of doing it again.
While Carmen washed her hands, Carlos removed the ingredients—sea bass, limes, a paste made ofaji amarillo—a mild yellow pepper, garlic paste he’d probably made himself, red onions, and corn.
Though half Chilean, Carlos had a greater affinity for the Peruvian side of his ethnicity because he was born in Peru and had grown up under his mother’s influence after his father passed away. And with Peru being the gastronomic star of South America, it was no wonder he enjoyed cooking.
Carmen had tasted his mother’s ceviche before. Azucena always prepared a mixed seafood version, with not only fish but scallops, clams, and octopus. She served it in the traditional Peruvian manner, accompanied by sweet potato, onions, boiled corn, and fried corn kernels. Very filling, it could be eaten as a meal, but tonight they’d have a simpler version as an appetizer.
“Where’d you get the fish?” Carmen asked, as they worked side by side. She halved the limes and thinly sliced the onions while Carlos cut the meaty fish into bite-sized chunks.
“There’s a market nearby where I get most of my groceries, and they have great fish and meat and vegetables.”
They placed all the ingredients in a bowl and mixed them together, and then Carlos squeezed lime juice over all of it and stirred the contents again. While the fish “cooked,” he poured a glass of white wine.
“Thanks for your help,” he said, handing her the glass.
“This is a nice reward for my work.” Carmen observed him over the rim of the glass as he replaced the stoppered bottle in the refrigerator.
She longed to run her fingers through the loosely curled hair sitting on his shoulders. He wore a thin shirt, his back muscles evident beneath the gray cotton, while the short sleeves allowed her to admire his ropy, veined arms.
“I’ve put you to work, so now I’m going to have you sit down. I promise you won’t have to work anymore tonight,” he said with a smile.
“I don’t mind,” Carmen replied.
“I insist.” He placed warm hands on her bare shoulders and steered her toward the table beside the window. Carmen sat down, resisting the urge to shiver at his touch.
Because of the loft’s open floor plan, she could keep her eyes on Carlos. He pulled wide-mouthed glasses from one of the open shelves, and as she watched him work, she couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d brought here and done the same for—cooking and making them feel special.
She chided herself for those types of thoughts. Of course he’d been with other women during their time apart. Once the pain of losing him had worn off, she hadn’t been celibate, either.
Carmen sipped the dry wine as Carlos gathered plates and silverware. “Do you mostly have showings around town?” she asked.
“Mostly, though I travel occasionally, too. I get invited to galleries or other events fairly often nowadays.” He brought over the dishes and set the table, placing a white plate and silverware in front of her.
“Do you like what you’re doing?” She studied his expression.
He paused. “Working full-time as an artist is better than I thought it would be. Literally a dream come true.” A wry smile, then he went back to work.
Carmen was happy for Carlos, but a little piece of her heart tightened with pain. She’d only ever wanted the best for him, but her father had made their relationship a minefield that had been hard to navigate. Carlos hadn’t deserved his contempt. He had deserved to be admired and lauded for his skills. She was glad that he’d at least achieved a fragment of the success he’d wanted.
He dimmed the lights, which made their voices lower as they chatted a bit more, killing time until the ceviche was ready. Once it was, he spooned a serving for each of them into the glasses, sprinkled on chopped cilantro, and set a glass before her.
Then he brought over a Dutch oven with thelomo saltado, the delicious aroma filling the air around them though the dish was covered. They ate the ceviche first, and she rolled her eyes at how delicious the dish, made with simple ingredients, tasted.
“Good?” Carlos asked, a smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth.
