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“Take Francesca with you.”
“No thanks,” says Francesca. “Last time I went there I stepped in feces. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t from a dog.”
Sebastian nods. “The sidewalks do smell like urine.”
“Olive, would you like to go?” Mom looks at Olive with pleading eyes. “Ignacio can drive us.”
“ME?”
Dad throws me a hard glare. “Nacho, Abuela wants new shoes. Don’t make your mother take her alone.”
Francesca shakes her head slowly at Olive, with her eyes big and wide. “Don’t do it,” she whispers.
Olive glances between Francesca and Edmund, knowing they’ve spent time in New York. “Is it as bad as the Bronx?”
Edmund just laughs. “It’s nothing like the Bronx.”
“We tow cars from there all the time,” says Dante. “I’ve never stepped in feces.”
“So I’m the only one,” Francesca deadpans. “Lucky me.”
Dad claps his hands together. “It’s settled. Nacho, you’ll take your mom and Abuela downtown, and then you can buy your girlfriend something nice.”
“You do realize I have restaurants to run, right?”
“Do you ever take a day off?”
“Yes. I take Sundays off,” I say.
“Going in for five hours doesn’t count as a day off. Find a day this week when the restaurant might not fall apart without you there, and take your women shopping. Olive, what would you like to shop for?”
“Um, I don’t know. What kinds of things do they sell?” she says innocently.
“If you like low-waisted jeans and satin quinceañera gowns, you’ll be in heaven,” I say.
Olive twists her lips, thinking about it for a second, then hitches one shoulder. “Sounds fun. I’ll just watch where I step—just in case.”
“I remember that day,” says Sebastian. “Francesca almost threw up and mom had to buy her a new pair of shoes.”
Francesca tosses her hands up. “Okay, enough of that. We’re eating. Someone please change the subject.”
“You brought it up,” says Sebastian.
“So, Olive,” says Edmund. “You never told us how you and Ignacio met?”
Francesca claps her hands together. “Yes, please. I live for a good meet cute story.”
What is it with meet cutes all of a sudden? I thought Olive made that up.
Olive’s delicate little mouth curls crookedly, and she glances at me briefly with that impish grin.
“Well, then. Have I got a story for you.”
