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She feeds Troy?
“Would you like to eat with me?” Pippa reached into a cupboard on her tiptoes to grab a bowl. A sliver of skin showed where her shirt lifted and his cock jerked. Maybe it was time he went out and got laid if an inch of her back was giving him a hard-on.
“Mason?”
“Hmm?”
“Would you like to join me? As long as you don’t snap at me again.” Her eyebrow rose.
“Right. I’m sorry about that, by the way. But I’ll probably grab something from the diner before I head into work.”
She grabbed another bowl. “I’ve made more than enough. Lady’s decent company but it would be nice to have another human join me.”
Was that loneliness he detected in her voice?
“If you’re sure it isn’t any trouble.” His stomach grumbled as she set the bowls and spoons on the small square table by the window. Apparently, he was hungrier than he’d thought.
She picked a dog dish full of food off the counter and set it on the ground. Lady walked over and started feasting.
“No trouble at all.” She took the first seat and motioned across from her.
Mason sat. The savory smells wrapped around him. How long had it been since he’d had a home-cooked meal that he didn’t prepare besides on holidays at friends’ houses?
“I should have asked if you wanted a drink?” Pippa offered.
“Water would be good. I can get it.” He stood.
“The cups are in the cupboard by the fridge.”
He opened the first one and saw several prescription pill bottles lined in a row.
“Other one,” Pippa directed.
Mason grabbed two glasses. He filled them with tap water and returned to the table, setting Pippa’s in front of her.
“Thank you.”
He settled back in his seat, digging in and taking the first bite. He groaned as his taste buds exploded. The rich spices in the hearty rice-and-bean mix were warming and comforting.
Pippa grinned. “Good?”
“So good.” He took another bite.
“Have you ever had Puerto Rican food before?”
He shook his head. “No. I was in South America once for an op and had some similar dishes, but this is delicious.”
“My mother was from Puerto Rico. She’d make this for my sister, Papi, and me every week. Sometimes she’d fry up some yucca with it.” Her eyes glittered with the memory but it was tinged in sadness.
“When did your parents move here?” he asked.
“My grandparents immigrated here during the Great Migration from Puerto Rico in the late fifties because of the economy when my mom was only a toddler. My mother learned English in school but spoke to my sister and me only in Spanish. My grandparents died before I was born, but my mother was a proud Boricua.” Pippa spoke fondly of her heritage.
“That’s neat. I wish we learned more about other parts of our history in school. Aspen asked me about it, and I explained that Puerto Rico is a territory of the United States, but not a state.”
Pippa nodded. “Second-class citizens. We can’t vote in presidential elections unless we move from the island to the States and reside there. And we don’t have any representation in the U.S. congress.”
“I hadn’t realized that was the case,” Mason mused.
