Page 11 of A Dye Hard Holiday
“Oh my God,” he said as he inhaled the aroma of the spicy shredded chicken and beef that we had already prepared. He came up behind me, wrapped his strong arms around me, and kissed a path from my collarbone to my ear. “You smell more delicious than the food.”
Al called excitedly from the enclosed porch, and Martina went to see what he wanted. Gabe took that opportunity to pull up my sleeves and inspect my wrists. The marks had faded already since that morning.
“I got a little carried away,” Gabe huskily said. “I love being physical with you, but I never intended to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me, baby. I got a secret thrill every time I saw them today.” I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, but they were coated in flour and cornmeal. My body often wore the marks of Gabe’s passion; I loved each and every one of them. So, I told him so.
“I just wish I hadn’t marked you somewhere that everyone could see it.” Ah, we arrived at the real reason for his displeasure. He wanted to keep the magic we shared private between us. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
“When might that be?” I eagerly asked.
“I—”
“I’m back,” Martina said. “Your father wanted me to see the snow flurries.” Then she picked up right where she left off in her instructions. “I roll the tortillas out between layers of wax paper to make it easier and cleaner.” I watched as she plopped the mixture on a piece of wax paper, covered it with another piece, and began rolling it in a circular pattern to get a perfectly round tortilla. “You don’t want to work the dough too much because it will make it rubbery and chewy.”
Gabe released me and stepped back so I could give it a go. It was as easy as it looked. “I’ll never buy premade tortillas again,” I announced. “What’s next?”
“Now we fry them,” Martina explained. “Cooking time depends on if you want soft tortillas for burritos, tacos, enchiladas, or chimichangas, or hard, crisp shells for tacos. Tonight, we’ll make a variety so you get a feel for it.”
“I can’t wait,” Gabe said, rubbing his hands together. “Are you planning on making the cinnamon crisps too?”
Martina pointed to the sugar and cinnamon mixture sitting in a bowl near the stove. “I can’t believe you’d ask such a silly thing.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Gabe kissed his mother’s cheek then went in search of our children.
“Big Daddy! Big Daddy!” Sassy and Savage squawked.
Martina and I worked effortlessly together as we prepared dinner. She was a patient teacher, and I was an eager student. By the time we finished, I was confident that I could whip up the feast on my own after she returned to Florida. I sat anxiously as I waited for Gabe to sample his favorite foods. My man loved food as much as I loved to feed him. It was almost a form of foreplay between us with his appreciative groans or grunts that would inevitably spill over into our bedroom later.
Midway through our meal, my mother put her fork down and looked at Martina, who gave her a quick nod. I knew we were about to learn what the two of them got up to that afternoon.
“Martina and I did some shopping today,” my mother proudly announced.
“We think we found the perfect gift for the whole family,” Martina added.
Al and my dad smiled at their wives, and I realized that they too were in on the surprise. I looked over at Gabe, and he shrugged indicating he was as clueless as I was.
“We decided to sell our homes in Florida and move here so we can be near our grandbabies,” my mom announced.
“And our sons,” my father added.
“Yeah, them too,” Martina retorted.
Wow!Gabe and I just stared at one another for a few heartbeats. Gabe recovered from the shock first. “You’re movingherefull time? Do you mean you’re moving inhere?” He waved his hand around in the air to gesture our house. “Here, here?”
“We’re not moving into your house, son,” Al said. “We’d never impose on you like that. Your mother and Bertie simply mean that we’re moving to Blissville.”
“When did you decide this?” I was shocked, but certainly not unhappy about the development.
“During the two-day drive to get here,” my father said. “Sure, we could fly, but lugging three months of clothes and cosmetics,” he pinned my mom with a dark look, “is too much for a plane. Then there’s the need to have transportation during our two-month stay, so driving was the only solution. We’re getting too old for that crap.”
“We talked about finding short-term rentals here, but that gets costly,” Martina said. “Besides, two or three months a year isn’t enough to see my grandbabies. You guys visit Florida when you can, which isn’t often with such busy careers.”
“This just felt like the right move for us,” my father stated. “We want to be close by without being in the way.”
“You’re never in the way, Bill,” Gabe assured him. “This sounds freaking awesome.”
“I’m glad you approve because we toured some of the available homes at the new retirement community today and found two that we love a lot,” my mom said.