Page 8 of Stuck with the Grumpy Silver Fox

My eyes widen as Joaquin stares down at me with a tense glare. Why did Adam choose to use the wordabandoned?

“He volunteered his information first.”

And, here I go clearing the air like a reporter.

“Adam, let’s keep family issues quiet. I’m going to start dinner. Nadia, do you care for anything right now?”

I shake my head as he steps away. Soon enough, I can’t ignore the smells hailing from the kitchen, making my appetite soar. Garlic, butter, lemon, black pepper. It’s as if I’m in a literal chef’s home. Maybe it’s because I’m clearly hungry.

Once Adam is lost in a car game on his “mostly charged device,” as he says, I peek my head into Joaquin’s kitchen.

He has two mini solar lamps in here, along with three thick candles. The limited lighting naturally births an intimate ambiance that awakens my sensuality and gives me sweet comfort.

Joaquin’s back is to me as he uses some rare solar cooker that’s appropriate for indoor use. Sort of fancy, but it’s clear Joaquin is a guy who knows how to operate in such given circumstances. I enjoy getting a long view of Joaquin’s physique from this angle. His body is a hot blend of a trapezoid and that upside-down triangle shape. It solidifies my belief that he takes excellent care of himself and must have great genes. His sandy brown hair is sprinkled with several grays, and it’s still damp from grabbing my bag.

“Would you like a glass of wine, or do you still have hopes of getting out of here tonight?”

Oh, no! I notice the reflection in the backsplash of his kitchen wall tiles. I’ve been watching him for the past fifteen seconds, to say the least. And he knows this. There goes being subtle.

Joaquin turns from the solar stove propped up on his kitchen stove. His gray eyes are smokey, and he bites down on his bottom lip as if to expel tension. He seems like he’s in dire need of a massage. I wonder if they have any good masseuses in Evergreen. I can certainly use one. I’m sure Grandma knows of one around here.

“So…no?”

I realize he’s still waiting for my response. At this point, I have an instinct that he’s harmless enough to stay one night in his home.

“Uh…sure. Yes, please.”

He pulls a wine glass from an oak cabinet and places it on the wooden table in front of me. His hands are firm, his nails are clean, and a whiff of manly musk rises as he grabs two options from a wine rack.

I peel my eyes from the natural lump below his sweatpants’ drawstrings. Being celibate for over a year now is finally expressing a bit of tension. Of course, I’ve encountered many fine and sexy men in the city of Angels, but this guy right here is turning me on by doing basic kitchen and hospitality duties.

“I have these two red options here.” He clears his throat; he has a deep throaty voice.

I glance at an opened Cabernet and an unopened Malbec. I’ll always choose the unopened one. He uses one of those tricky wing wine openers like a pro. And pours me one full wine glass.

“Well, thank you!” I gasp.

“It’s one of those days.”

“You’re definitely right about that. By the way, it smells phenomenal here.”

The right corner of his mouth lifts, inevitably making his right eye squint as if he’s about to tease me. Instead, it’s a slight smile, as if he’s promised to only modestly flirt with me.

“Thank you. So, you’re a reporter?”

“Ah, yes.”

“On Television?”

I watch the steam of the pasta cover his face with mist. This is probably what his face looks like when he steps out of a hot shower.

I sip my wine, lingering my eye on his before I snap myself out of his intense hazy gaze.

“Um, no. Well, yes, but that’s not what I’m doing now. I did local news in LA for a couple of years, right after college, but I’m currently reporting for the LA Times. Hard news…and working on a biographical memoir. Not my own.”

“Interesting. You look…and sound like you’re meant for TV.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

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