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Camila tensed at the semi-subtle jab, but took it in stride. “Yep. Sorry I’ve had to miss the last few family dinners.”
“You’re here now, eh?” Her mother’s eyes traveled over Roman, sparkling with curiosity. “And you brought a guest.”
Camila moved behind the kitchen island to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Mami, this is Kai Roman. Roman, this is my mother, Valeria Garza.”
“Mrs. Garza.” He offered his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She made a face, waving off his hand in favor of stepping into his personal space to kiss him on the cheek. “‘Mrs. Garza’ makes me feel old. I’m Valeria. Ormami, if you like.”
The word hit too close to home, although something about it warmed the edges of Roman’s heart in a way that took him entirely by surprise. “Valeria, then. Can I help with anything?”
Her gray-black brows lifted. “You any good in the kitchen?”
“He brought a peach cobbler,” Gianna chimed in, lifting the baking dish he’d passed off to her in the hallway.
Valeria looked at him, her eyes assessing and sharp. “Have you ever made tamales before?”
Roman shook his head, meeting her scrutiny head-on. “No, ma’am.”
“Hmm.” She turned to make her way back behind the kitchen island, and Camila opened her mouth, likely to intervene on his behalf.
But then Valeria said, “Are you coming or not? I don’t teach this to just anybody, you know.”
Marianna let out a low whistle that matched the shock expanding in Roman’s gut, and Camila dropped her voice to keep her words from reaching anyone’s ears but his.
“Youtotallydon’t have to do this,” she said. “She’s probably going to ask you, like, ten thousand really personal questions while criticizing your every move.”
Roman shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ll manage. But if you need something—”
“I’ve got her back,” Delia said, putting her arm around Camila and reminding Roman exactly why he’d always liked her. “Come on. I’ll distract your sisters with wedding talk. Believe me, they have some serious opinions about lilies versus dahlias in table arrangements. Don’t even get me started on their feelings about hors d’oeuvres selections.”
“Okay,” Camila said after one last hesitation. “But I mean it. If she gets out of hand—”
“I’ll be alright,” Roman promised, kissing her cheek despite the fact that Matteo was sitting less than ten feet away. Rolling up the sleeves on his dark blue button-down shirt, he made his way to the kitchen sink, washing his hands before joining Valeria at the island. “Okay, Valeria. Put me to work.”
“Making tamales is a long process,” she said, gesturing to an assembly-line setup of bowls containing several types of filling and masa, a stack of corn husks, and two large baking sheets piled high with little rectangular bundles.
“You’re coming in at the end, but you can still learn.” She took a corn husk from the stack and placed it flat on the island, dipping her fingers in a little bowl of what looked like water before she scooped out some masa and placed it on the center of the husk. “We soak the husks in water before we start, otherwise they crack. This way, they roll up nice and easy, see?Perfecto. Masa goes first”—she spread it over the husk, her fingers like lightning—“wide enough to encase the filling. That will come next.”
Roman nodded, placing a husk in front of him and clumsily trying to mimic her movements. Damn, this was harder than she made it look, and she didn’t measure anything. “Like that?”
“Not even a little bit,” Valeria said, although not unkindly. Taking the tamale-in-progress from him, she readjusted the masa on the husk, removing some and patting the rest flat with her fingers. “See the difference?”
He tried again, getting at least a little closer this time. “Okay, so what’s next?”
“Next, you can tell me how you met my daughter.”
Shock stilled his hands, his heartbeat going from zero towell, shitin about four-point-four seconds. “I, um. It’s actually a long story.”
“Good for telling while you make tamales, then,” she said, scooping up a small amount of filling and placing it in the middle of her tamale-in-progress, waiting for him to do the same before then showing him how to bundle the whole thing up and tie it together. Roman knew she was waiting for him to dive into the story, and part of him hesitated at talking about Camila without her there. But the story of how they met wasn’t really private or personal, so he gave in with a shrug.
“Camila and I met originally through Delia,” he said, slowly assembling the tamale in front of him, trying to copy Valeria’s much tidier movements. “But then we were actually both in Remington Financial when it was robbed last month.”
Valeria stilled, clearly surprised, but only for a second. “So, you were both lucky to get out alive.”
“Yes,” Roman said, because as much as he couldn’t really talk about the details, luck did play a part. “But Camila was also very brave.”
Valeria’s head snapped up. “She was brave?”
