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“Oh, January thirteenth.”
“I’m so proud of you,” her grandma beams.
“We all are,” her dad nods with a huge smile.
I squeeze her hand, knowing I’ll have time to myself with her while she’s over there. No interruptions. Well, except her job, but I’ll work around it.
“And you’ll be there to show her around,” her grandmother smiles widely at me.
“I will,” I nod.
“And continue the wooing. In my country, the man would have to woo the entire family.” She sighs wistfully. “Your abuelo would come spend hours in my house, talking to my parents,” she looks at Lex. Love reflects in her eyes.
“Anyway,” she claps her hands. “Times are different now, but I still believe in tradition, mijo,” she glares at me.
“Ooookay, Abuela. I’m cutting you off.” Lex tries to quiet her with burning cheeks while Tristan laughs.
“Let’s eat.” Bianca stands from the table in the kitchen, giving her daughter an out. “Everyone to the dining room. Hudson, will you take the bottle there?” She hands me the bottle of wine I brought.
“Of course. What else can I help with?”
“We’ve got it covered,” Lex smiles.
“I insist.” I stare into her eyes, not backing down.
“Me too,” Tristan claps my shoulder.
“I do need a strong man to carry the pork to the table, but don’t tell my husband,” Bianca says conspiratorially.
Mr. Leon huffs and shakes his head. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He kisses the side of Bianca’s head.
“Strong man at your service,” Tristan flexes his biceps.
I shake my head and roll my eyes, but Lex giggles. Lifting my brows, she bites down on her smile and shrugs.
“I like your muscles better,” she winks and sways her hips as she moves around me to the stove. I stare at her as the pressure in my chest expands.
“Why don’t you help an old lady to the table?” Mrs. Morales holds her arm out.
“Sure,” I nod and give her my arm. With the bottle of wine, I guide her into the dining room.
“My granddaughter looks happy. Thanks to you, mijo.” She pats my forearm with the arm looped around mine.
“I’m happy with her.”
“Good, good. All I want is to see her happy.” I don’t miss the warning undertone in her comment.
“It’s all I want, too. I can assure you that.”
She nods, seeming pleased with my response. We enter the dining room, and I pull out her chair so she can sit.
“Thank you.” She smiles brightly and adjusts her glasses.
Right behind us come Tristan with the pork shoulder, Lex with a covered ceramic dish, and her mom with another one.
“Take a seat, take a seat,” her mom demands as she places the dish on the center of the table.
Lifting the top, steam swirls around us. Black beans and rice accompany the meat. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a Cuban meal like this, always having had it with Lex’s parents.
