I pulled away from him and caught my breath. “I thought maybe your mom used to make it for you, and you’d enjoy it.”
His forehead slid against mine. “She cooked a lot, but making desserts like this, not so much. She wanted to learn American shit. She used to make a lot of puddings, brownies, and cakes from boxes. Instant was a whole new concept for her, and she was fascinated by it. I sure didn’t complain, but I don’t remember a flan or this caramel sauce.”
“Dulce de leche.”
An eyebrow lifted. “Say it again.”
“Dulce—”
His eyes went to my mouth. “Slower.”
“De leche.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Baby, you gotta try your flan.”
His pronunciation of the word made my insides ping. He brought a spoonful to my lips, and I took it in my mouth.
“Good, huh?”
I nodded, my gaze never leaving his. “Mmhmm.”
He fed me again. “Did you take Spanish in school?”
“No, I took French,” I replied.
He licked caramel from the corner of my mouth, and my eyes fluttered closed.
“Do you remember any Spanish?” I asked.
He fed me another spoonful, and the cool custard melted in my mouth, my throat burning with heat.
“I remember a few things.”
“Tell me,” I murmured, watching his lips take in a spoonful.
“My uncle had a few favorites he used to say to the women he brought home to fuck. One in particular used to make me laugh.”
“What was it?”
“Abre las piernas. Spread your legs.”
“He had to tell them that?”
Boner laughed. “That fucker was always telling people what to do. Never let up. You’d think that one was a little obvious, right?”
His brows drew together, and I rubbed my finger over the indents, smoothing them out.
“I remember nice ones though,” he said, his voice softer. “Really nice.”
“Tell me.”
He gently kissed the smile forming on my lips. “Mi corazón.”
“My heart.”
He nodded. “Mi cielo.”
“Don’t know.”
“My sky or heaven.”
He fed me another spoonful, and I stared into his eyes as I swallowed the luscious sweet custard perfectly scented with vanilla.
“Mi vida.”
“My life?”
“Yeah.”
He put down the spoon and kissed the edge of my lips, and my head tilted back, as if some magnetic force emanating from him had willed it.
“Mi amor,” he whispered, laying soft kisses against my throat.
I spun in throbbing pink corazóns, deep blue cielos, cool green vidas.
“Mi amor.” His breath was hot on my neck. He sucked on my earlobe as his fingers traced dizzying trails down the delicate skin of my throat.
“Bone.”
He kissed me again, his hand at my throat, soft, slow kisses that pulled on my tongue, on my lips, on my soul.
“You wrote me a poem,” I whispered.
“Yeah.”
“You left it for me, here on the table.”
A shadow passed over his eyes, and he kissed me again, his fingers cradling my face.
I breathed in the warm scent of his skin. “I love my poem.”
His chuckle hummed in my chest.
“And I love you.”
His forehead slid to mine, his eyes shut. “Firefly.”
I held him tighter.
He cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t want this dulce de leche to go to waste.”
I glanced at him, my fingers lingering on his chest. “It did take me forever to make.”
I nuzzled the swell of his pec, and he let out a shaky breath.
“Got an idea,” he whispered.
“I hope it’s a tasty idea to fully appreciate my effort and the flavor?”
“Grab the bowl.”
I grabbed the small bowl with the thick caramel. He took my hand, and we charged up the stairs to his bedroom.
There, we experienced the sweet glory of dulce de leche and practiced our Argentinian Spanish, all at the same time.
Lo más…que rico, baby.
Yes, it was the best.
So delicious.
So damn good.
BONER AND I WERE GETTING MARRIED.
He hadn’t exactly proposed or asked. Over a quick cup of coffee one afternoon at the Meager Grand Cafe, he had suddenly taken in a deep breath and pronounced: “I wanna marry you, Firefly.”
I’d squealed and hugged him, knocking over his double espresso and my mocha latte.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, holding me tight.
I only burst into tears.
Oh, it would have been nice to have the baby first, to lose the extra pounds, to wear the perfect dress, to ride his bike to the ceremony and back. But what mattered was that we were together and couldn’t live without each other. What mattered was that both of us were finally ready to make a new life, and that life was with each other.