Page 104 of Men or Paws

The woman pointed to Beth’s head. “By the way, you have something in your hair. Looks like some pine needles. I can get them out for you.” She moved closer.

“Oh . . . Okay, thank you,” Beth said, glancing at me a couple of times, looking more confused than ever.

“There,” the woman said, dropping the pine needles to the ground. “Sticky little suckers.”

“Thanks so much,” Beth said.

“You’re welcome,” the woman said, walking away with her son.

I crossed my arms. “Sure, you trust her, but not me. I see how it is.”

Beth narrowed her eyes at me. “I trust you. I just don’t trust myself.”

I studied Beth, nodding, appreciating the fact that she finally acknowledged the elephant in the room. “So, the truth is, I drive you crazy.”

She laughed. “In more ways than one.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I said. “And what are we going to do about this problem of ours?”

“Well,” Beth said. “It seems pretty apparent that we might need to wait until my three weeks of employment with you have come to an end before we have this conversation,” she said.

Oh, hell no.

I would seriously die if I had to wait another day to kiss Beth.

Fourteen more days, as she was suggesting, would feel like a life sentence.

“Captain Clapton!” a couple of voices called out. “Rocco!”

Unfortunately, voicing my strong disapproval of her ridiculous idea would have to wait since we were interrupted by a handful of requests for pictures and autographs.

Beth turned to me after the last autograph as we inched up to almost the front of the line. “That was nice of you. Do you ever get tired of the pictures and autographs?”

She was obviously avoiding our previous discussion, but I would bring it up again when we had some privacy.

I shrugged. “It’s not like I do it every day. Plus, I need to remember where I came from. I wouldn’t have a career without my fans.”

Beth nodded. “That’s a good perspective.” She glanced up at the sign when we finally got to the front. “Emilio’s Paella.” She turned to me. “I’m more than ready to be surprised.”

I grinned. “It’s to die for, you’ll see. He uses real saffron from Spain.”

Emilio spotted me, set down the cooking utensil, and walked around his two giant paella pans toward me. He wore a black vest over his white shirt, his sleeves rolled up, the top few buttons undone, a silver bull hanging from his necklace, and a red bandana around his head.

He looked like an exotic male gypsy.

“Amigo!” Emilio said, his smile beaming. “¿Como estás?”

“Muy bien,” I said, giving him a hug. “Just don’t ask me anything else in Spanish. I’ve depleted all the words from my Spanish vocabulary bank for today.”

Emilio laughed. “How is your Spanish going to get any better if you don’t come to see me more often? I thought maybe you didn’t like my paella anymore.”

I chuckled. “You know that would never happen. I told you I would hire you as my private chef in a heartbeat. Name your price.”

Emilio shook his head. “You know how tempting that is, my friend, but I love being around people.” He gestured all around us and waved to the people in the line behind us. “They give me energy. Seeing their hungry faces anticipating my food gives me life.”

“Well, I can’t fault you for that. By the way, this is my friend, Beth.”

Emilio stepped toward her and gave her a hug. “Any friend of Rocco’s is a friend of mine. Nice to meet you.”