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She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t told him directly. We moved our stuff out while he was at work today, and I left a note without my new address. I predict it’s going to go over like a lead balloon.”
Ah. Hence why her car was partly hidden.
“You worried?”
“Not any more than usual. Rios will be home later.”
Hector was a controlling son of a bitch. In all likelihood, he was only just getting home to find out that all his children had defected today. Lead balloon was probably an understatement for how he’d react. She might not have told him where she was moving to, but it probably wouldn’t take him too long to find out.
“How about I stick around in the meantime, just to make sure you’re okay? You ought to be perfectly safe in your new place—” Please, God, don’t make a liar out of me. “—but I don’t like the idea of you being here by yourself, just in case.” I braced myself for a turn in mood. For an accusation that I was overstepping. For annoyance that I was somehow raining on her parade.
Instead, a mix of relief and pleasure flickered over her face. “Well, at least let me return the favor and feed you some dinner as a thank you.”
“I will never say no to food. But I have one condition.”
One dark brow winged up. “Which is?”
“You let me help. I don’t sit around well.”
“That’s a deal. Wash up. I was just getting ready to start cooking.”
I moved to the sink. “What’s on the menu?”
“Pan seared whatever fish my brother caught this morning, with mango salsa and cilantro-lime rice.” She paused, one hand on the open fridge door. “Wait, are you one of the soap people?”
“Soap people?”
“The ones who don’t have the enzyme to taste cilantro properly. Bree’s like that. She says it tastes like somebody dumped a bottle of dish soap into the food.”
“So far as I know, I’m safe there.” I eyed the ingredients she’d piled on the counter. Mango, red onion, jalapeno, red bell pepper, a lime, and a bunch of green stuff I presumed was cilantro. “Oh, you’re hard-core making your own fresh salsa?”
“It’s so much better that way.”
“I approve. What can I do?”
“Salsa first, so we should get to chopping. You take the bell pepper and onion. I’ll do the mango and jalapeno.”
She turned the music back up before dragging out a couple of plastic cutting mats and knives, and we got to work. Because the house’s kitchen had been truly cut in half, there was minimal counter space. That meant we were shoulder to shoulder at the lone stretch of butcher-block-style formica that wasn’t taken up by the sink. I was extra aware of her beside me as the music rolled into Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight.”
“So you’re a fan of The Rat Pack?”
“This is my happy cooking music playlist. Since I’ve got nobody to please but myself here tonight, I’m indulging.”
My knife thunked down hard through the bell pepper as my brain took a very inappropriate detour about how I could please her. If I didn’t get my head on what I was actually supposed to be doing, I’d lose a finger.
“I grew up on this music. My mom loves them.”
“They’re classics for a reason. No matter how much Rios and Gabi roll their eyes at me.”
I carefully scraped out the seeds and ribs and began to dice. “Pretty sure it is a sibling’s sworn duty to give us shit.”
She neatly halved the mangos. “Do you and Drew rag on each other?”
“Absolutely. He’s given me plenty of crap for buying this house. He thinks it’ll be an albatross.”
“Rude.” Caroline lifted a hand to stroke the freshly painted cabinet. “She just needs some love.”
“That’s what I said. I’m not afraid of hard work. I think the payoff will be worth it in the end.”
