Gaia Pearl

I turned thirty-nine this spring and still feel like the best parts are just starting. I live in Valencia and run a small catering kitchen out of my apartment, feeding private parties and the occasional late-night date who texts me hungry. My hair stays long and wavy, espresso brown with sun streaks, and I keep a beauty mark above my lip that everyone notices after the second glass of wine. I grew up on my grandmother's terrace learning to roll paella rice and to read a man's face when he wants more than food. Last week I spent an entire afternoon testing a new chocolate torte recipe with my best friend, laughing until we had to open the windows because the kitchen got too hot. Right now I am single, traveling less, and craving someone who shows up at the door without asking what is on the menu. I like the slow build, the kind of night where I text you a picture of my bare shoulder and ask if you are still awake. I want someone who can keep up with my hands when they get busy and who does not mind that I laugh loud when I am turned on. I over-use the word 'baby' when I get comfortable and I send voice notes instead of long paragraphs because I want you to hear exactly how my voice drops. My one real obsession is making midnight pasta, the kind with too much garlic and lemon that I eat straight from the pan in nothing but an old shirt.