Robert glanced at Tommy, then returned his gaze to Angel. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you teach me how to cook any one of the dishes on the table tonight if you let me teach you how to play football.”
Angel paused with his fork midway to his mouth, and Tommy almost choked on his water.
“What?” Robert asked, when he saw their reactions. “We can have a quick game after dinner.”
Angel was a total sports vegetable and couldn’t even sit through a game on TV without losing interest, but the idea of the contact sport appealed to Tommy. “C’mon, A. We’ll just throw the ball around.” They obviously couldn’t have a real game . . . unless . . . an idea sprung into his head. “Jessi can play too. It’ll be me and you against Jessi and Robert.”
Jessi and Angel looked at one another, neither keen on the idea.
A little game of contact football in the bedroom with Angel and Jessi flashed through Tommy’s head, and he needed to focus on the vision behind his eyes for a few beats. When he returned his attention back to the conversation, they’d already moved on to the next subject.
Robert was shaking his head. “Coach will have my butt if I don’t get back tonight.”
“You’re not staying?” Disappointment engulfed Tommy at the notion that Robert would be leaving in a few hours, and a pang of regret filled him because they never got to spend enough time together. Sometimes, Tommy hated that he traveled so much. Part of him wanted to take a break and live like a normal person. He wondered what it would be like to not pack up half the house and take the kids on the road for weeks at a time. Didn’t they deserve the normalcy of not being uprooted so often?
They finished dinner and moved on to dessert, which, to Tommy’s delight, wasn’t flan for once. They had his favorite—arroz con leche. The Cuban version of rice pudding was served warmed, infused with cinnamon, lemon zest, and star anise, according to Angel’s delectable description which made it taste twice as good. It was served in a small mason jar with a cinnamon stick poking out of it like a straw. Angel also made two more of Tommy’s favorites—shortbread cookies, which Robert went nuts for, and pastelitos de guayaba—flaky puff pastry filled with guava and cream cheese.
Tommy ate way more than he should have, and his waist began to reap the consequences. “It feels like Thanksgiving. I think I need to put on sweatpants,” he said, unbuckling his belt and opening the top button of his jeans. “What did I do to deserve so many of my favorite desserts?”
“These tarts are amazing,” Robert agreed, stuffing another pastry into his mouth, and then lifted his jar of arroz con leche. “This rice thing makes me feel like I’m wrapped in a warm blanket and sitting in front of the fire.” He greedily ate a few more spoonfuls, moaning to express how much he enjoyed it.
Angel glowed at the praise and thanked Robert profusely for the compliments. While he offered more shortbread cookies to the kids, Robert leaned closer to Tommy and whispered, “He usually just serves that damn flan. It’s so sweet that I can’t take more than a few bites. This spread is amazing.”
Tommy tried his hardest to hold back his laughter, tucking his chin into his chest and then pretending to wipe his mouth with a napkin. It gave Robert the giggles, which he couldn’t control, and the two brothers laughed quietly.
“What are you two snickering about over there?” Angel asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Nothing,” Tommy managed to say with a straight face, but Robert let out another laugh before quickly covering his mouth.
Angel placed a balled fist on his hip and let out a breath. “Robert Blade, did I just hear you make a remark about my flan?”
“Never!” Robert replied, a little too defensively. “I brag about it all the time to the team.”
Angel squinted one of his dark eyes and tilted his head. “Are you toying with me? I know you Blade men and your warped sense of humor.”
“No. I’m serious. Two of my teammates have grandparents from Puerto Rico. They started talking about flan and I told them no one makes it better than my brother-in-law.”
Angel gave Robert an amused smile. “You expect me to believe that professional football players talk about flan in the locker room?”
Robert tried to say something, but Angel cut him off. “Save it. I’ll pretend I believe you and just accept the compliment.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “If we’re done, I’ll clean this up, and then we can enjoy those Cubanos on the deck.”
Normally, when they had company for dinner, staff was called in to clean up. Serving the meal was always Angel’s privilege. But since there was only one extra plate tonight, Angel, Jessi, and the kids took care of it while Tommy and his brother enjoyed some one-on-one time.
The night was cool for late August, with a breeze blowing off the ocean. It was a little damp though—the only drawback of living beachfront—so Tommy started a fire.
“Wow.” Robert stepped back from the firepit when it ignited with a whoosh. “Watch your hair.”
Tommy instinctively gathered his hair into a ponytail and held it close to his body. “I didn’t expect it to go up like that. The breeze really fans the flames.” He pulled a cushioned wicker chair about a foot further away from the fire, sat down, and motioned for Robert to do the same.
“This is really nice,” Robert said, gazing at the lighted guitar-shaped pool and lush landscaping in the private yard. “You’re living large, brother.”
Tommy guffawed. “You’re a professional football player for the New Jersey Bucks. You can afford two houses this size.”
“Maybe. But it’s just me. I’d be lost in a place this big.”
“When are you going to change that? Don’t you want to get married and have kids?” Tommy had wanted to settle down with Jessi practically the moment he met her, unlike Robert who went through girl after girl.
Instead of answering Tommy’s question with a “Hell no” as Robert usually did, he stared into the fire. Eventually, he said, “Yeah. I do. But I haven’t met the right girl yet. It’s hard to form a relationship with someone when I’m on the road so much.” Melancholy and remorse replaced the usual upbeat tone of Robert’s voice. “I’ve had a few relationships that I thought could turn into something more, but when football season came around and I took off, they weren’t there when it was over.”
