No, boba. Nothing about underwear or kissing or sleeping in your bed. Or about how I can’t stop thinking about you either. But she might have guessed that one already.
Mami still grips Millie’s elbows, keeping her close. “All good, Dr. Delacroix. Very impressive for someone so young,” she adds conspiratorially. I hold my breath. I told Mami about the family’s situation, but I made her promise on her rosary she wouldn’t bring it up.
“I’m Inez Valencia, Luca’s mother, but please call me Nezzie. Everyone does.” Mami turns to Millie’s siblings and puts a knuckle to her chin. “Now, let me see if I remember. We haven’t met, but I know Harry from the team.” Without warning, she pulls him into a hug, releases him and captures Mattie. “And you’re Mattie…”
When it’s his turn, Emmett is ready for her, arms open wide. Mami laughs. “And that makes you Emmett.” When she folds him into her arms, I catch the look on his face. Eyes closed, a dreamy smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
And my worries vanish. The Valencia’s might be loud and pushy and coming out of the woodwork. But we also might just be what these four need today.
I close in. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mami,” I say, leaning in to press a kiss to her plump cheek and hoping she knows I’m grateful. “It smells great in here. These are from Millie.”
I hand her the flowers and she exclaims over them for a good thirty seconds. “Esme,” she calls to one of my cousins. “Please put these on the dining table.”
When the flowers are out of the way, Harry edges closer to the island and points to Lucinda’s tray. “What are those?” His worshipful tone charms my aunt, and she beams at him.
“These are my pumpkin empanadas,” she says, folding over one of the stuffed dough circles and sealing the edges together with the back of a fork. “Or they will be after they’re baked. I’m Aunt Lucy, and these are my girls.”
Aunt Lucinda proceeds to introduce all my cousins, from oldest to youngest: Felicité, Natalia, Rosa, and Esme. Isaac and Ian run through the kitchen to the back door, Natalia’s four-year-old daughter Sofie trailing behind them.
“We’re going on the trampoline,” Isaac shouts as he bangs into the screen door by means of opening it. The younger ones careen after him.
Mami turns to Emmett. “Would you like to go too?”
It’s written all over his face that he does. He’s older than the little ones. I wasn’t sure if playing with them would clash with his motto of not being a baby, but he seems more than eager. He nods and looks to Millie for permission.
“Go on. Just be careful,” she says. Before she can say anything else, he’s out the door, tearing after the others.
Alex sweeps in from the living room. “Hey,” he says in greeting. “Are the appetizers out yet?”
Both Harry and Mattie eye him as though he’s the Holy Grail. Harry because he’s asking about food. Mattie because he’s Alex.
Mami moves around the island. “Come here, you three.” They obey as one body, and she points out bowls and platters. “Take the guac, salsa, chips, and veggies out to the coffee table. Don’t spoil your appetites, okay?”
Alex takes over, handing the bowl of guacamole to Mattie, the plate of veggies to Harry, and taking the salsa and chips. “C’mon,” he says, and the three of them are gone.
Millie blinks after them, worry in the corners of her eyes. She steps closer to me and drops her voice for my ears only. “Do you think—”
“They’re fine.”
Her eyes narrow now in annoyance. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” she hisses.
I arch a brow. Her eyes follow the movement, and for a half an instant, she just stares. I realize it’s the brow the goalie from St. Thomas More split with his class ring. That was sophomore year—after I got past him in the state quarterfinals and helped the Lions advance to the semis.
Millie is checking out my scar. How about that.
“Yes, I do.” I keep my voice low. “Mattie’s fine. Alex isn’t going to seduce her.”
Horror rounds her eyes. She sneaks a peek at Mami before glaring back at me. “Shh! I don’t want to offend your mom. She’s nice.”
My grin is wry. “We’re all nice, Doña Angustias.”
She scowls. “Calling me names I can’t understand is not nice, coquin.”
I chuckle under my breath. “What? Is that French?”
She nods with mock menace. “Uh huh. Doesn’t feel too great, does it?”
I laugh outright. Because she’s funny as hell. And because she’s wrong. It feels amazing. Laughing with her. Being with her. It’s the best. But I put my hands up in surrender.
“Okay. Okay. Doña Angustias is like a worry wart.” I nod toward the living room. “The kids are there with my dad, my uncle, and my grandmother. We can go in with them, but I don’t think they’re short on chaperones.”
Millie exhales through her nose. It sounds like she’s still worried, but she can’t really argue against three chaperones.
“Millie, would you like a margarita?” Felicité asks, holding up a pitcher.
With a look of what must be real regret, Millie shakes her head. “I’m on antibiotics,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I wish I could.”
The women in my family all burst into choruses of sympathy, offering her everything from guava juice to soda to iced tea. All the fuss makes her turn a pretty shade of pink.
I lean over and whisper in her ear, “If you just let them put something in a cup, they’ll leave you alone.”
“Tea would be great.”
But I make matters worse when I pour it for her, and all—all—of my cousins tease and cat call me in two languages.
Luca tiene una novia.
Look at what good manners.
¿Por qué no me sirves un poco de té, primo?
Ooh, I think he likes her.
I expect Millie to look mortified, but she eats it up. Probably because it’s at my expense. I tell them to shut up in Spanish, and the room erupts in feminine laughter. Millie’s included. By the time I hand her the tea, she looks relaxed, like she’s having a good time.
It’s a good look for her.
“Can I help with anything?” Millie asks, peering around the kitchen, searching for a job to do.
I want to grab her by the hand and tug her into the den where it’s quieter. Maybe we can shoot a game of pool.
But my cousin Rosa beats me to the punch.
“Want to pressure cook the tamales?” she asks Millie.
“Uh…”
At Millie’s nervous expression, Rosa smiles. “It’s not hard. I promise. They’re already wrapped. You just have to layer them right. I’ll show you.”
“Sure.”
And with that, Rosa pulls her to the other side of the kitchen. Mami sweeps her hands at me toward the living room.
“Go find your Papi. Talk to him about work. He misses it.”
I grab one last look at Millie, who’s carefully picking up a husk-wrapped tamale, and head back to the living room. But Papi and my uncle are no longer there. Mattie, Harry, and Alex are sitting on the couch—Alex in the middle of the twins—laughing and eating guacamole. The Thanksgiving Day Parade coverage still blares from the TV, but Abuela is dozing in her glider.
Papi and Uncle Raul are playing a game of cutthroat in the den. I grab a beer from the mini-fridge and crack it open.
“How’s work, sobrino?” Raul asks.
I greet him with a handshake and nod. “Busy.”
“Busy is good,” he says.
Papi takes a shot, knocking in the eleven. “Looks like you’ve been busier than usual,” he says, inclining his head toward the kitchen and Millie. The flatness in his tone catches my attention.
I take a sip of my beer, debating my response. “Not so much.” I’d like to be a hell of a lot busier where Millie is concerned, but that’s a thought I’ll keep to myself.
“No?” Papi ask, stepping away from the pool table—limping as he do
es and using his pool stick as a cane—to let Raul take his turn. “You seemed too busy when you came in to even greet your abuelita and introduce your friend.”
I keep my tone light. “I didn’t want to interrupt the performance.”
Papi raises a bushy, gray brow. “You sure you weren’t embarrassed, mijo?”
I snort. “You and Raul didn’t sound that bad,” I joke. My uncle chuckles, and I grin to hide the twist in my gut. Yeah, I was a little embarrassed that at the exact moment I walked in with Millie and her brood, Papi and Raul were already singing to Abuela. That’s usually a tradition that comes with dessert. After a few toasts at the dinner table. Maybe more than a few toasts. “A little early though, no?”
My father shrugs. “I saw you pull up, and I thought I’d give your guests a traditional Mexican song in welcome.”
I tuck my chin. “So that was for them? Not Abuela?” The twist in my gut cinches a little tighter. Had he started singing then to make Millie and her family feel welcome? Or to make them feel different?
Another shrug. “Your abuela enjoyed it, I think.”
His words are innocent, and his lips are turned up at the corners, but in a hard smile. A sarcastic smile. The way he used to smile at workers who had lied about being sick to miss work.
My eyebrows close ranks. “Papi, you should know, nothing’s going on between me and Millie Delacroix, but I like her. A lot,” I say, my gaze moving between his and Raul’s. My uncle has the good grace to look uncomfortable. “I consider her a friend.”
Papi’s mouth bunches and turns down like a catfish’s. He adjusts his grip on the pool stick. “Which is it, Luca?”
I blink. “Which is what?”
“Do you like her? A lot? Or are you friends?”
I cough and shake my head. Okay. He’s got me there.
“Honestly, I like her, but friendship is all she’s ready for right now.”
“Mmm hmm,” he says, nodding like this is what he expected.
I glower. “You have a point, Papi?”
His sarcastic smile slips. “She’s white.”
I nod. “Yeah, I noticed.” Now, I’m the one wearing a sarcastic smile. I’d figured he’d have an opinion about this. I hadn’t expected him to come out and say something. Millie wouldn’t be the first white girl I’ve dated—if we were actually dating, which we’re not—but she’s the first one I’ve brought to a holiday dinner. Dating or no.
In fact, the only other girl I’ve ever brought to a holiday gathering was Ronni. And I brought her to all of them. For four years in a row.
Papi’s eyes become slits. “And she’s a client.”
This one hits me below the belt.
If he doesn’t like me being with Millie because she’s white, that’s his problem. He’ll have to deal with it. If he thinks I’m crossing a line because she’s a client, well, he’s not the only one.
“Like I said, she’s just a friend.” Who I’ve kissed. Twice. And slept next to. And seen in her underwear.
And I’d give my eyeteeth to do all of the above on a regular basis.
His sarcastic smile is definitely gone now. “You said she doesn’t want you. You should leave her be—”
My skin erupts in heat, and almost without knowing it, I switch to Spanish. “I said she’s not ready for more than that right now. She’s been through a lot.”
His brows lower and his hands open in concession. “Mami told me. I was sorry to hear about her parents.” Papi crosses himself, and I know his words are genuine. I cross myself too, with a prayer for the repose of Eloise and Hudson Delacroix’s souls and the peace and sustenance of their children. “Just remember, that business still has my name on it. Be careful what kind of reputation you build with it. People aren’t hiring you for that.”
I flinch at this. “It’s not like that, Papi,” I say, scowling. “And as for our reputation, nothing’s changed. Nothing’s going on and no one would know if it were.”
His brow shoots up in doubt. “Your men don’t know? They don’t see you ‘being friends’ with this woman?” Papi uses air quotes when he says this, and while his tone pisses me off, I can’t lie. My stomach bottoms out a little because as discreet as I’ve tried to be, Donner and Sam have to have noticed something. And if they have, it’s possible some of the other guys know it too.
But really, what would they have noticed? Me staring after Millie? Me sticking around after they leave? Me making sure none of them sets foot in the laundry room to access the breaker box in case some of her thongs are lying around?
The best they’d be able to tell would be that I have a thing for her. Neither one of them know I spent the night Tuesday. Just Millie and the kids know that.
Shit.
The kids. Mattie and Harry are hanging out with Alex right now.
Papi’s eyes narrow on me in scrutiny. “You know how long it took me to get back into this country and start that business?”
This, too, hits below the belt. “You know I do, Papi.” And if he hadn’t gotten sick, he’d still be running the show. Not me. And he never lets me forget it.
“So have a care with what I’m leaving to you and your brother.”
His words burn like cinders in the pit of my stomach. I’ve had enough of this conversation. But I refuse to give him the last word.
“I’m taking care of it, Papi. But the business isn’t the only thing I want to take care of.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
MILLIE
I’m. Completely. Stuffed.
Luc wasn’t lying when he said his mom could cook. So can his aunt. And his cousins. Rosa’s beef tamales. Felicité’s chili-lime butternut squash. Esme’s cornbread. And, holy moly, his mom’s turkey in mole sauce.
I thought nothing could be better than Aunt Lucinda’s pumpkin pie empanadas, but then Luc and his brother Alex made me try them with a scoop of butter pecan ice cream.
The food has been great, but the hospitality has made this so easy. I love Luc’s family’s home. And it’s obvious that this is the home of a builder. The kitchen is to die for, and even though the dining room beyond it isn’t huge, the vaulted ceiling and arched windows give it an airy feel—despite the presence of two full tables.
Across the room at the kids’ table, Harry looks like he’s had a religious experience. He lists back in his chair, eyes glazed, looking full for the first time in months. Mattie is doe-eyed too, but that’s because she’s hanging on Luc’s little brother’s every word.
Emmett, on the other hand, is laughing. Luc’s cousin Natalia is teaching all the kids how to balance spoons on the ends of their noses. So far, she can get two of them going, but someone starts giggling as soon as a third one joins, and then spoons clang to the floor.
Everyone is smiling.
At least they are now. When we all sat down to dinner, Luc’s shoulders rippled with tension, and the look in his eyes was as dark as a thunderhead.
It didn’t last long. His father sat at the head of the table, welcomed me and the kids, thanked his wife, sister-in-law, and nieces for the feast, and then closed his eyes for grace.
In that moment, Luc’s hand clasped mine in my lap and squeezed it while his father thanked the Almighty for our blessings. Luc’s fierce grip made my heart flutter like a baby bird, all downy and off balance. Learning to fly.
I’d squeezed back.
He’d held onto it until it was time to eat, and then he tried to serve my plate as well as his, but his cousins gave him hell for it, making me laugh. He lost his dark look after that.
I lean toward him. “Thank you for this.”
His eyes meet mine, those curling lashes stealing my breath for a moment. “You’re so welcome, Millie.”
If things were different—if they could be different—it would be the most natural thing in the world to lean closer and steal his kiss.
Flushed, I tear my gaze away and see that the kids are pushing back from their table, shedding their post-feast stupor like only k
ids can. Alex makes a furtive glance toward his parents and then beckons the twins to follow.
“Alejandro, where do you think you’re going?” Nezzie asks, giving him the stink eye.
At his name Luc’s brother freezes, wide eyed. He reaches down and picks up his plate and silverware. “I was just going to start clearing up,” he says innocently.
Nezzie smiles. “That’s what I thought, mijo.”
At this, Luc gets to his feet, as do Natalia and Felcité’s husbands, Paco and Juan Carlos. Or Juan Carlos and Paco. I can’t remember now who is married to whom. I rise too, and it’s like I’ve overturned the table.
Lucinda flaps a hand at me. “Sit back down, querida. When the women cook, the men clean. Family rules.”
“Oh.” I drop back in my chair. “That’s nice.”
“C’mon, Harry and Emmett,” Luc says. “We’ll show you how it’s done.”
Harry bristles. “Mattie didn’t cook. Why can’t she help?”
“Because,” Alex says, stacking Mattie’s plate and silverware onto his and winking down at her, “this time she gets a free pass.”
Oh Jesus.
Mattie turns pink, but her eyes follow Alex as though he just lifted her plate using Harry Potter’s Wingardium Leviosa charm. Still, if he wants to be The Boy Who Lived, he’d better not touch my sister.
“You finished?” Luc asks, reaching down for my dishes.
I sit back, startled. “Oh, yes. Thank you.” And, okay, yeah, maybe I watch him walk away like he’s magical too. Have the men in Luc’s family stumbled onto some kind of aphrodisiac secret? Does clearing the dishes make a man suddenly more attractive?
And an already attractive man suddenly irresistible?
Judging by the contented and appreciative smiles of the other women at the table, who sit back as their husbands clean up, I’d have to say yes.
Luc’s mother turns to Mattie, who’s now sitting at the kids' table by herself. “Niña, why don’t you come join us at the big table?”
Mattie rises, gives a longing look toward the kitchen, but comes and sits across from me, next to Nezzie.
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