“Good, because I’m starving,” he said, stealing the rest of my tortilla and popping it into his mouth.
“Hey!” I laughed and swatted his arm.
“This is really good.” His words were muffled, full of the warm snack, a staple in our home.
“Milly and I used to spend days in this kitchen when I was a little girl.”
My thoughts briefly drifted to those warm afternoons, after church, rolling dough and stealing licks of dessert. They were some of the happiest times of my life.
Kai eyed me with amusement. “I thought Gio said you couldn’t cook.”
“I’m slightly insulted you believe him over me.”
He put his hands up defensively. “Hey, I haven’t seen otherwise, so I can only go by the information given.”
I tossed a piece of dough at his forehead. “Good to know I have your trust.”
“Come on,” he snickered, leaning in for a kiss. “I’m just messing with you. Tell me, what’s your favorite dish.”
He snorted a laugh when I pretended to think it over while tapping my chin.
“Milly never misses, but if I had to choose a favorite, my top three would bepollo con mole, tamales, and the best dessert to eat on a rainy day—Arroz con leche.”
“Have I had those?”
I chuckled and fed him another piece of tortilla. “You’ve been here a while, Cain, and you have no idea what you’ve shoveled into your mouth.”
A sly smirk lit up his face, and he grabbed my chin and hauled me forward. “Is that a trick question? Because I know exactly what I’ve been putting in my mouth.”
“Yeah, and are they among your top three?” I asked with a coy smile.
Kai ran his hand up my thigh. “I would never be able to narrow it down to just three.” I knew we were no longer talking about food, and I was suddenly wet again.
“What about these.” He tore a small piece of the tortilla in my hand. “You make these too?”
I nodded with excitement. “I was seven when Milly taught me. Burned the hell out of my arm but sucked it up and madea batch for my mother’s birthday dinner.” I stretched out my forearm and showed him the faint scar near my elbow, and he brushed his finger over the disturbed skin.
“Teach me?” he muttered, lips against my scar.
My face ached from smiling so much. This man knew exactly what to say, how to gaze at me with those eyes that told a thousand stories. My insides melted into puddles at his request.
“You start with flour.”
“This one over here?” he asked, reaching into a white bowl.
“Of course.”
I’d barely opened my mouth when Kai pinched flour between his fingers and flicked it at my face.”
“Kai! You bastard,” I gasped.
“Baby, I had to.”
My husband was too busy laughing his stupid head off to notice when I grabbed a fistful of the flour and let him have it.
His mouth hung open, face white as he stared at me in shock. But his expression quickly changed from surprise to mischief.
“Kai, don’t you dare,” I warned, sliding off my stool.
