We made sure the other guests had everything they needed, then grabbed some of the food and packed it into a picnic basket. From Eve's kitchen, we gathered a few more ingredients, including a bottle of wine and two glasses. Soup and sandwiches wasn't the most romantic meal, but I cared more about making sure she was well-nourished. I had a feeling if I didn't do that, she might forget to eat.
I grabbed a pair of sandals too. The trail to the hot spring was dirt, but as Eve had warned me, footwear was a necessity out in the woods. I carried the picnic basket and a blanket slung over my shoulder while she led the way, refusing to walk beside me and opposed to me holding her hand. When I tried that, she yanked hers away.
She had to be in front, naturally.
After a short walk, we arrived at the hot spring. Two wooden benches hunkered alongside the pool, and a wooden box with a latching lid held towels for any guests who might have forgotten to bring one. The box also offered bottled water. Eve thought of everything for her guests but neglected to take care of herself.
That changed today.
Steam wafted up from the blue pool, curling up into the air and dissipating. We laid out our blanket and relaxed there among the trees, listening to the birds singing while we ate and talked.
"I hope the Kittens haven't overwhelmed you," she said after consuming a large mouthful of her sandwich. "They can be a handful."
"Don't worry about me. They're sweet girls." I brushed a crumb away from the corner of her mouth with my thumb. "Besides, I grew up with two sisters. The Kittens are more exuberant than Maria and Aline, but I can handle it."
"How often do you see your family?"
"Several times a year. Sometimes I go home to visit them, and sometimes they come to America to stay with me."
"I know you live in LA, but how long have you been in the US?"
"Quite a while."
She consumed the last bite of her sandwich and wiped her fingers and mouth with a napkin. "I know it's none of my business, but I'm curious. You only have a slight accent, and you talk like an American."
Her curiosity about my life should have made me uncomfortable. After all, I wanted nothing more than a fling with her. But I discovered I liked knowing she wanted to know about me. It made me curious to learn about her.
"My mother is American," I explained. "Of Cuban descent, but both she and her parents were born and raised in Florida. She met my father when he was in Florida on spring break—he went to Harvard, like me—and they became infatuated with each other. My mother didn't go to college, but she's a very smart woman. Anyway, they kept in touch through letters and over the phone. She visited him in Massachusetts for three weeks in the summer. Six months after they met, my father proposed. She married him, and after he graduated, she moved to Brazil with him."
"It must've been hard to move to another country. Did she speak Portuguese?"
"Not at first. My father taught her." I took a sip of my wine. "She was always fluent in Spanish, but eventually, she became adept at Portuguese too. Still, she insisted I learn about America and Cuba so I would understand my heritage."
"You mentioned your father was an ambassador."
I nodded. "For three years. I told you I went to Harvard after that, but I spent summers at home. After graduation, I moved back to Brazil to join the Olympic football team. I'd played football before my family moved to Washington, and I played soccer in high school here and while at Harvard. My father wanted me to get a degree in business, so I'd be more levelheaded about financial matters, but all I cared about was football. We compromised. I got the degree, then went back to football. He was right, though. Having business training has helped me make better decisions."
"Didn't you say you moved to LA five years ago?"
"Yes, you have an excellent memory." Or was she memorizing everything I said for another reason? Did I want her to? "After the Olympics, I played for a professional club, and later for the Brazilian national football team until I retired seven years ago. My first modeling jobs were in New York, so I lived there for two years. Then, I signed a contract with an agency in Los Angeles. I've stayed there ever since."
"Wow, you're quite the international man." She took a swig of her wine. "My life can't compete."
"I've told you my story. Now tell me yours."
She swigged more wine, a bit of it dribbling down her chin. "I'm boring."
With my thumb, I wiped away the dribbling red wine. "I doubt that. You've told me very little about yourself, and already I'm enthralled."
"You're full of shit, that's what you are."
"At least tell me about your family. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
She took another swig of wine. "Fine, if you insist. Yes, I have both. My brother lives in Portland, Maine, with his wife and their two children. He teaches high school, and she works at a community college. My sister is an accountant, and she's engaged to a great guy. She lives in Portland too. That's where we all grew up."
"How did you end up here?"
"I moved to New York, thinking I could become a professional photographer. The city didn't work out as well for me as it did for you." She gazed across the hot spring, though she seemed not to be looking at anything in particular. "I was broke. My parents had retired to Florida by then, and they wanted me to move there too. My brother and sister both wanted me to go back to Maine. I didn't want to do either, so I racked my brain for a way to make ends meet while still having time for photography."