“Well, I don’t know about special…”
“Well, I do, and this is absolutely amazing.”
I stayed in the doorway. Neither of them had noticed me yet, and I wasn’t about to interrupt whatever this was—Lupe glowing, Chase leaning forward like there was nowhere he’d rather be than in this small kitchen being educated on mole technique. I watched my cousin’s whole body loosen, degree by degree, the tight set of her shoulders dropping. Her healing had never been very effective on herself, so seeing her relax filled my heart with joy.
And Chase—he wasn’t putting on a show.
He didn’t want credit for it. He’d walked into my kitchen, eaten my cousin’s food, understood everything that mattered about her in three minutes flat, and he didn’t want anything for it aside from Lupe’s smile.
Footsteps in the hall.
Antonio barged into the kitchen. He was a big man, broad, and had been handsome before he’d stopped working and now stayed inside all day with my cousin’s cooking. His eyes went to Lupe, then to Chase, and stayed there, narrowing.
“Who’s this?” he asked.
“Chase,” Chase said easily before anyone else could answer. He didn’t stand. Didn’t offer his hand. Just turned on the stool andappraised Antonio with his cockiness turned all the way back up. “You’re Antonio.”
Antonio’s jaw shifted.
“How do you know my name?”
“Lupe mentioned you.” Chase turned back to his plate. “She’s an incredible cook. You’re a lucky guy.”
Antonio crossed to the refrigerator. Pulled out a beer without offering one to anyone. Leaned against the counter and glanced at Chase with poorly veiled annoyance.
“You’re here for the RipTide thing.”
“Something like that.”
“Big deal, that.” He gestured vaguely with the beer. “You’ve traveled all over the world. I’m sure you’ve had better food.”
Lupe’s hands went still on the spoon.
I saw it.
Chase saw it.
“My girl is talented,” Antonio continued, nodding at Lupe, and there it was—the tone, to show he really wasn’t a bad guy, of course not. “But she’s just a home cook. She’s never even really traveled.”
“I’ve eaten at the best Michelin-star restaurants.” Chase took another bite, and to someone who didn’t know him, it might have looked casual. “I’ve had mole from the best places in LA, Tucson, even Mexico City. I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the best I’ve had in years.”
Lupe made a small sound.
“The ancho, the spice mix, the care taken with the meat—that’s a serious skill.” He set his fork down and looked at Antonio pleasantly. “She makes this for you.”
“Yeah.” Antonio shifted his weight.
“Every day?”
“I mean?—”
“Hm.” Chase nodded slowly, glancing back at the pot. Beneath his smiling veneer, I saw the predator stirring, much like how a riptide could hide beneath a calm ocean. I half expected his dorsalfin to pop out. “And you’ve never once taken her on a trip to experience all this ‘great’ food.”
The kitchen fell completely silent.
Antonio looked at Lupe.
Lupe was staring at her mole.
