Burning Wild

Chapter Eight

When I woke up from my nap, the sun was shining low in the western sky. For the first few minutes, I stared at my surroundings, disoriented. It took me a moment to remember that I was in Jake's spare bedroom. When the realization dawned on me, I quickly jumped out of bed.

I walked into the guest bathroom and looked at myself in the vanity mirror, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I took in the tussled mess that was my hair, and the eyeliner smudged across both of my cheeks.

I washed my face and attempted to comb through the knotted mane on my head, before finally giving up and throwing my hair into a messy bun, hoping to hide the rat's nest as much as possible. After changing into a pair of white capris and a blue tunic top, I went to find Jake.

When I opened the bedroom door, I was met with the delicious aroma of food. I sniffed the air appreciatively, the fragrant spices and chilies wafting up to meet my nose. The smell reminded me of my childhood, of the cool, autumn days when my mother would make traditional Mexican dishes, while I was doing my homework at the kitchen table.

I made my way downstairs and found Jake in the kitchen, the source of the delectable smells. He wore a pink apron with frills that made me snicker; it looked ridiculous against his strong build. His cheeks were rosy from standing over boiling pots, adding to his attractiveness. The way that his muscles rippled as he cut the jalapenos into small ringlets caused my skin to tingle.

Jake had the radio blaring in the background, so loud that he didn't hear me arrive. I leaned against the doorway and stifled a laugh as he swayed side to side, salsa dancing to the music. He wasn't the best dancer, but I enjoyed watching his hips move that way.

I was standing in this position, with my head tilted to the side like a curious dog, when Jake turned and spotted me gawking at him. He nearly dropped the bowl of Pico de Gallo he'd just finished making, and both of our cheeks turned scarlet. I fought the urge to run away as he dialed down the music so he could hear.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Just got here," I lied, kicking myself for letting him find me in such an awkward state. "I had to come investigate the wonderful smells that were invading my room. Looks delicious," I said in my attempt to change the subject.

"Well, you have perfect timing because I'm just finishing up dinner." He set two plates on the table. "It's my mother's recipe. She makes the best mole in all of San Diego," he said with a smile.

I grinned too- I hadn't had homemade mole in years. Jake poured us both a glass of Oliver Cherry Moscato- my favorite wine. The fruity flavor filled my mouth and sent warmth coursing through my chest.

"So... San Diego. Is that where you're from?" I asked, helping myself to the food. I was famished, having lived on frozen meals and pizza for too long.

Jake nodded. "My parents immigrated there when I was three. I lived in San Diego my entire life, up until about five years ago. That's when I moved to Chico."

I took a bite of the mole and nearly moaned with enjoyment. The sweet sauce was scrumptious, and I found it difficult not to inhale my entire plate in one mouthful.

"Do you ever miss it?" I asked through a mouthful of food.

Jake shrugged. "Sometimes. My parents still live there, and I miss them at times. They're getting older now, which worries me. My sister Mariana is a saint the way she takes care of Mami and Papi. I'm not much help to them living so far away. I try to go back to San Diego occasionally, but not nearly as often as I should," he said. I sensed a note of melancholy in his words.