“Is that so?” Marisol laughs, clearly entertained. “Last I checked, this one would rather skip dessert entirely than touch a pie.”
“What can I say? My mom’s pie changes lives,” I say, flashing a grin that doesn’t quite mask my panic.
Marisol snorts. “¿Cambiar vidas? Por favor.” Marisol snorts as she lifts her chin like she’s asking for a verdict right now. “Bueno, mija… tell me, whose pie is better?”
Alycia mutters, mortified, “Mamá, para.”
“That sound a lot like a trap, and I refuse to walk into it,” I whisper in Alycia’s ear before flashing Marisola smile. “Without even tasting it, I already know they’re both going to be number one in my heart.”
Marisol freezes for half a beat, then her entire face breaks into a delighted smile.
“Careful,mijo,” she says, wagging a finger at me even as her voice softens. “You keep talking like that, you’ll make my daughter blush.”
Alyciadoesblush, which only confirms it.
Marisol turns toward her, whispering under her breath, “Ay, este muchacho…” Her hand drifts to her chest as she looks right at me, eyes warm, almost misty with approval. “Con palabras así…”
I have no clue what she just said, but I don’t need a translation. The tone is pure affection. Then she reaches out and gives my cheek a quick, gentle pat—the universal mom stamp ofI like this one.
I shoot Alycia a smug little wink. “I think your mom likes me.”
Alycia nearly drops the corkscrew. “God, please stop encouraging her.”
Marisol only shrugs innocently as we move around the kitchen, and every time Alycia gets close, her mom tosses out a quiet, “Ajá…” under her breath like she’s clocking every inch between us.
“Why don’t you two sit. Dinner is coming in one moment,” Marisol finally says, shooing us out of the kitchen with her hands.
We cross into the dining room and head to the small table, and for a minute, it’s just us. Alycia moves to pull out her chair, but I beat her to it, fingersbrushing hers on the backrest. She glances up, her perfect brow arching like she wants to scold me but doesn’t have the words.
“Thought I’d earn a few boyfriend points,” I murmur, voice low enough for only her to hear.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Maybe. But charmingly so.”
She sits, shaking her head, but the smile that slips through isn’t nearly as annoyed as she wants it to be. I take the seat beside her, leaving us suspended in that strange quiet between pretending and something else entirely.
“How am I doing so far?” I ask, leaning in just a little. “Convincing enough?”
“You’re… doing fine.” Her gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
“Just fine?”
Her lips part like she’s about to answer, but no sound comes out. Without thinking, I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, but the second our skin touches, something sparks.
“Relax,” I murmur, thumb tracing the edge of her knuckles before I pull away. “You’re doing fine, too.”
Marisol reappears a second later with a serving dish, completely oblivious to the tiny inferno she just interrupted. She sets down a serving dish and wipes her hands on a dishtowel, the soft clatter of plates breaking whatever spell was hanging between us. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“It smells incredible,” I tell her, and it’s true.
Alycia passes out plates, and her fingers brush mine again. Deliberate or not, I can’t tell. It happens twice before she avoids eye contact altogether.
“So, Kyle,” Marisol says from her seat across from us. “How did you meet?”
“Mamá,¿tenemos que hacer esto?” Alycia groans.
“¿Qué?” Marisol asks, feigning innocence. “It’s a normal question to ask your boyfriend.”
