His comment causes the corner of my mouth to tug upward, releasing a fraction of my worry. “They all love you. I doubt they’d turn on you for me.”
He gives me a look, making me feel like I should know better. “Don’t underestimate the heart.”
Santiago claps, rubbing his hands together. “What’s for dinner?”
Ángel drops his hands from my shoulders and strides for the kitchen. “Slow-cooked pork chile verde.”
Levi rubs his stomach. “Say less.”
The guys saunter after Ángel, so I do the same.
The kitchen is large enough to fit all five of us comfortably without making me feel claustrophobic. The knotty pine cabinets and worn butcher-block countertops look polished and smooth. Copper pots hang over a large island while a cast-iron skillet rests permanently on the stovetop. Every available surface holds evidence that someone actually lives here.
A heavy oak table dominates the dining room just beyond the kitchen. Each chair is slightly different from the next, as if they have been collected over the years rather than purchased as a set.
Nothing in this home matches perfectly to something else.
Nothing looks so expensive that I feel like I’ll dirty it by touching it.
Somehow, that makes Ángel’s home feel even more beautiful.
Each room is used.
Lived in.
Loved.
Ángel stirs something in a pot at the stove, the smell making my mouth water.
“What can I help with?” I question, holding out my hands to show I’m ready to be put to work.
“Nothing,” he waves me off . “You go on and have a seat.” Ángel points the wooden spoon in his hand at Levi, Santiago, and Walker. “You three are a different story.”
Santiago’s face falls as he jokes, “I get the feeling that I’m no longer the favorite.”
“You never were,” Ángel roasts, then directs each of the guys, leading them to their working stations. “Levi, you’re on the rice. Walk, set the table. And Santi,” Ángel marches back to the stove, slapping Santiago’s hand, “stop eating the pork and start warming the tortillas.”
Santiago playfully pouts as he drags his feet. “This feels unfair.”
Ángel gives Santiago what can only be described as a fatherly look. “Blake gets to put her feet up because she has to deal with you three every day.”
They all hop to it before Ángel can scold them again.
Timidly, I tiptoe into the dining room as if I’m not supposed to be here even though Ángel specifically told me to relax.
Ángel’s hospitality was unexpected. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I know it wasn’t a welcome with open arms.
I choose the chair that looks the most comfortable and sit down, folding my hands in my lap.
The guys do as they're told. Set the table, warm the tortillas, and prepare the rice. When they’re all done, they bring out the food and sit with me. Ángel sits at the head of the table with Santiago on his right and Walker next to him. Levi takes the seat between Ángel and me.
Ángel instructs us to “dig in” and Santiago takes that quite literally. The man always eats with gusto, but this is something else. He clearly loves a home-cooked meal.
Levi fills my plate before dishing his own food. Walker waits to get his food last.
Taking care of everyone else first as always.
The meal passes in relative silence aside from Ángel demanding life updates from Levi and Walker.
