Page 46 of The Catch

"This is the bombilla," she says. "It has tens of little holes at the end. It sieves the yerba, so you only drink the liquid."

"Smart," I say.

"Love how you're talking to people at home," Mark interjects. "Keep it up."

We ignore him. The water starts bubbling up.

"Turn the heater off, please, Saint. We don't want the water to boil. Right now when the bubbles start to appear is the best temperature. Eighty celsius or around one-seventy Fahrenheit."

She adds water to the gourd very slowly, letting the liquid settle on the yerba.

"This is a shared drink," she says. "People sit around a table or around a fire and share a mate. Talk. Bond. If you prepare it right, you keep adding water and can make it last for hours."

"Most things you do right, you can make last."

My heart beats fast, and my voice is husky, but I don't have the time to figure out why.

She smiles. "That's exactly it."

Maybe it's how intimate this moment feels, even when a team of people watch us, and cameras point at us. Or maybe it's because if I knew how to do it right, there are things I would like to make last.

Ames sips from the straw. "Perfect. You want to try?"

I take the gourd and drink some. The flavor is strong and bitter and it wakes me up. "Wow."

"We usually share the straw, but people at home don't have to, of course. You can add sugar as well, maybe lemon rinds. Some people add peppermint. Did you like it?"

"It's strong."

"It has caffeine."

I sip some more. "It's really good."

She takes the mate from me and sips. "Let's keep going. What are you making for dessert?"

I grab flour and other ingredients. "A white chocolate cheesecake with cranberry sauce and shortbread crust."

"Sounds amazing. I'll check the lechón."

We get busy again. She checks the meat and braises it, and I get my hands dirty making the dough. We each describe what we're doing, to each other and to the cameras. Ames puts the dish back in the oven and starts on a side dish.

"Why did you become a chef?" I press the dough onto a dish.

I know the answer, but I want everyone to see her shine. The producers think I'm the draw for the show. I'm a well-known athlete. The guy that's on TV and ads and media on the regular. Fans will be curious to watch me cook… but I know better.

She's the star. Everyone else just needs to catch up.

"I chose to be a chef because food is community," she says. "For millenia, celebration was a reason to eat, and abundance was a reason to celebrate. When people come together, sharing a table means you're family. Feeding someone is an ancient way— maybe a sacred way— to tell someone you care about them."

"I love that." I gaze at Ames.

I'm pretty sure I'm broadcasting my feelings, but I don't hide it. I can pass it off as friendly admiration, because she glows.

Ames gazes back at me and a grin breaks on her face.

"Thank you." She steps right next to me. "It's the truth. Food is more than energy and nutrition. It's survival, yes, always. And it's a love letter to our bodies and to each other. It's a way to be close."

And she's close. Awe shines in her eyes— because of her love for food or because of me, I don't know. My heart misses a beat, still, because there's a chance this is a feeling for me. Oh, how I would beg for that feeling to be for me.