Page 16 of Stuck with the Grumpy Silver Fox

That makes me feel a pinch better. I shouldn’t be surprised my emotions are on a wild roller coaster after reading the quotes from celebrities about Grandma. But maybe it’s less my emotions and more my thinking. The way I went from believing Joaquin is a hospitable man to imagining him being an international serial killer is certainly erratic. I guess I’m pissed that my Nonna is perceived as “a lot” or “bossy.” And since that information wasn’t what I expected, is anything or anyone what I expected?

I take a couple of deep breaths as Joaquin rises to put Adam to bed.

Maybe I should scurry off to my room rather than make the bath I’ve planned for Joaquin. I don’t want to seem rude, but he needs to know he’s not obligated to entertain me while here, so maybe heading to the bedroom for the night is the best idea. Ease my crazy thoughts, too. Hmm.

“Good night, Nadia.” Adam’s voice sails across the room like a sweet lullaby.

There’s no way Joaquin is a murderer while raising such a stand-up, sensitive boy. That takes too much crazy, and I’m certain Joaquin would’ve given me a whiff of that energy by now. Tense he is, but not crazy.

“Goodnight, Adam.” I blow him a kiss.

I must give Joaquin a lemon bath. Done. Once the stair creaks dim, I shoot for the fridge to fish out several lemons and baking soda from the back. After I slice the lemons, I’m lucky enough to reach the bathroom before I hear Joaquin creaking back down the stairs. I turn the battery-operated Christmas lights on and the solar lamp near the sink.

Checking myself in the mirror, I let my hair down to watch my loose curls lose their bounce before my eyes. And it looks like dark circles are forming under my eyes. This is so out of character, chilling in the Midwest without an ounce of makeup on my face in the middle of a two-day thunderstorm in the home of a very hot man.

What are you even doing, Nadia?

I ignore the pull to be vain and turn to scrub out the tub. It barely needs any scrubbing as it appears clean enough for running water.

I run the bath, adding the three ingredients as I wonder if Joaquin is out there, assuming I’m taking a dump or preparing my own bath. Either way, I don’t want him to disappear, so I swing open the door and head down the hall, hoping to find him.

I do. He’s on the sofa couch he was stretched out on last night. He’s holding a book and has a solar mini lamp over his shoulder.

He peels his intense eyes from his reading page and holds my gaze as if to see who will be the first to break it. It’s unusual. I don’t see this as odd, as the tension between us magnifies like a spell has been cast upon us. I refuse to let go of his eye contact because I honestly enjoy it. It makes me feel desirable and gives me a little hope as I try disconnecting from the memoir-writing process.

“You’re one beautiful woman.”

What?

His words cling to my ears like honey; sticky, sweet, and unforgettable. Its residue, thick with a rich feeling, lingers in my eardrums.

Shivers dance upon my skin as I muster up the words, “Thank you.”

He stares back, and before I can say I think he’s just short of a literal god, my mind redirects, making my mouth say, “Um… I’m running you a bath.”

He furrows his brow and scatters his eyes as if my reason for doing this can be seen on my face.

“You were out there chopping trees for me. And, since I know my arms hurt from the little that I did, I can only imagine how much yours may need relief. So, I used some Epsom salts, baking soda, and lemons. Not too many. You still have plenty. I’m making you a lemon salt bath; it’s the least I can do.”

“You’re mad.”

I’m sure he’s talking about Alice in Wonderland mad. He’s calling me crazy.

“You don’t know how to sit still, do you?” He continues as if he’s talking to a child.

“I can totally take your bath if you don’t want it, but I’d like it if you accept something from me. You deserve to be as much as you think I do, if not more! You’re a single parent. One helluva good one. And I think you deserve a little TLC.”

His brows relax as I can tell he’s taking the time to really listen to my words. Does he not see how he always tries to be a caretaker, protector, and provider? Is he not exhausted from all that? He’s got some years on me, so I’m sure he tires himself out. He licks his lips as I know he’s pondering what to say. He’s searching for the right words...theperfect words.

“Thank you. Sounds amazing...interesting.”

“Joaquin, can you do me a favor?”

He sets his book on his lap and says, “Shoot.”

“Let your guard down a little. Please. I feel a little tense around you, almost as if I have to come up with all the right words or have all the right things to say so that I don’t —-“

“I makeyoufeel that way?” He’s gasping, literally.

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