Read Online Yearning for Love by Alexis Lauren - Free Book Online Page B

upraised. Once he’s gone, I return to grating cheese and chopping large amounts of onion and canned whole tomatoes.
    Needing to calm myself down, I pull my jacket and gloves on after working on dinner prep.
    “Mom, I’ll be back within an hour. I need a walk,” I tell her, gesturing upstairs at Nate’s room.
    “Okay, just be back before five, please,” Mom says.
    “I will.” I take off in the direction of one of my favorite trails. Walking uphill slowly, I conserve my strength, breathing easily and thinking, Nate’s here, and it’s obvious he wants to get me back into my desk next week. After his detached behavior the other day, I am definitely going to resign my job. I can find something comparable at a non-profit, and I can help the executive director keep things running smoothly. Looking around me to keep oriented, I measure the distance I’ve already walked. I still need to become calmer. I set off again, deciding to walk farther. I go over Nate’s refusal to accept my letter of resignation. What is his problem? He doesn’t love me – he refuses to commit to anyone, let alone a 20-year-old executive assistant. Therefore, it’s up to me to protect my heart, I tell myself. I know I need to come up with possible solutions. I got some good training while I worked for Drummond Oil. They’re well known in El Paso – heck, in all of Texas , so I know that having it on my resume will interest future employers.
      Finally, I look around. Wow! I’ve come quite a distance. Turning around, I trek carefully down the hill, wanting to get back home before it starts getting dark. As well as I know this trail, I do not want to be stuck out here after dark because I don’t want to meet some of the wildlife face-to-face. Inside the house, I clean my boots, and take my jacket and gloves off. I join Mom in the kitchen, helping her with the dinnertime preparations. Removing the baked enchiladas from the oven, I take them to the sideboard, and place them inside the recessed opening. Mom follows with the beans and Spanish rice.
    “Would you make two bean-and-cheese burritos for Ashleigh and Zack? They won’t be eating the enchiladas, because they aren’t used to the hot taste like we are,” Mom explains.
    I heat two tortillas and spread refried beans and a light layer of cheese, then roll them carefully, slipping them onto a heated plate.
    At dinnertime, I sit next to a really cute little girl and explain the food to her.
    “Ashleigh, these are pinto beans and this is Spanish rice. These are red enchiladas. I made a special enchilada for you with no chili.” Actually, it’s two corn tortillas fried in olive oil, then topped with cheese and a tiny amount of onion.
    “Is it good?” she asks me, with doubt in her eyes.
    I’m glad she’s talking to me, because that means I don’t have to look at Nate.
    “Yup. My mom and I made it all by ourselves in the kitchen. Here, try one bean . . .” I spear a bean, and place it between her lips. She chews thoughtfully. Next, I give her a small spoonful of the rice.
    Finally, she nods and says thoughtfully, “And this is Mesico food?”
    “Well, we say it’s ‘Mexican’ food. You like?”
    “I like. How’s my ‘chilala taste?”
    I give her a small bite of her tostada, and she smiles, relieved. She sits up in her booster seat, ready to chow down. I cut her mock enchilada into small pieces for her, and give her a fork. She digs in enthusiastically.
    Once I’ve introduced Ashleigh to the wonders of Mexican food, I talk with her parents and older brother about what they did in Ruidoso that day.  They had visited some tubing runs for a few hours, then came back into Ruidoso, where they did some shopping. Ashleigh was tired after lunch, so they brought her back, and we kept an eye on her while she rested.
    Finally, dinner is over, and I sequester myself in the kitchen, scraping dishes and loading them in the large dishwasher. After that’s done, I run up to my room,