A brief flash of amusement flashes behind his eyes, buried quickly when he realizes I noticed it. “I didn’t compare you to her. I just said you used the same phrase. You two are polar opposites, though.”
Well, shit. Okay. Good relationship with her, which means he probably hates me.
“In a good way,” he adds, snapping me from my inner spiral. “And to answer your first question, it's chicken soup with rice. I make it when it rains if I have the ingredients. They’re hard to come by, but Judy sometimes gets them from her supplier, so I batch cook it. I always bring her some.”
“Where is this dish even from?” I ask, wanting to smack myself in the head.
“From Puerto Rico.” There’s pride in the way he says it, as if he carries it in his veins.
“Is your mom Puerto Rican?” I ask.
“Yes, or Boricua, if you ask her.”
“What does that mean?” I’m not going to lie to him and pretend I know more than what I do about Puerto Rico. It’s sad that that’s the case, but it’s true.
“It means she’s Puerto Rican. It derives from the Taino name the island had.”
Interesting. “Tainos are the natives from there, right?”
He nods. Okay, I’m not as uncultured as I thought then.
“Is your dad from there too?”
He shakes his head. “No, my dad is Dominican.”
“Neighbors!” I shout, and he smiles. “Does the Dominican Republic have a Taino name too?”
He studies me from across the table, as if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. The lamplight carves harsh shadows into the questioning lines around his eyes. “Yes. Quisqueya, so my dad would say he’s quisqueyano hasta la tambora.”
“Your Spanish is beautiful.” It is, and for the love of everything that’s holy, I hope this man has major flaws, because what I thought was his bad attitude is turning into an alluring edge, making him more appealing, and I like it waaaay too much. “What does hasta la tambora mean? I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions.”
“Thanks, and you’re not. Hasta la tambora is just a saying, but it would be difficult to explain. Just know that he’s proud to be Dominican.” He looks to the side, as if reminiscing. “They raised us speaking it at home, so it was my first language.”
“Us?” He has siblings? There’s more of this eye candy, strong man out there? The world is simply not a safe place if that’s the case.
“My brothers, Lucas and Oliver, and me.”
"Three Dominic Diazes walking around. What a sight to see.” I one hundred percent said that out loud, but I don’t care. Not when this food is this good, and I’m about to crash in bed with a full tummy. “I have two siblings too,” I add mid-bite.
“I know. Lilly, and I’m assuming a middle sister?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm, Willa, the peacekeeper.” He’s chatty tonight. I like it.
“Do you have a nickname for Lilly too?”
I smile devilishly. I do, but I don’t think it would be fair for me to share it, since he’s employed by Lilly, the overbearing one, and all. “I do, but if I tell you…”
“You’d have to kill me?”
I throw a fist in the air in celebration. “I love that you get my old movie references.”
“Riley, Iamold. I’m surprised you know those.”
“How old?” I wiggle my eyebrows, earning me a shake of his head; not an annoyed one, more like aI’m sick of your shit but I like itone.
“Thirty six,” he replies. That’s not that old, just like a whole ass decade more than me. A decade of lived experiences I can’t match.
But it doesn’t matter, because, “I have an old soul,” I add and wink at him. I take the last bite of food and take the plate to the sink. “I’ll wash it and return it soon.”
