My grandma’s gaze flicks between the cookies and me before she steps forward, pulling me into a hug. Because that’s the thing about her—hot and cold, always giving me hell when I least expect it but loving me harder than anyone else ever has. Probably more than my own mom at times.
“Thank you, mija.” Then, like it’s nothing, she says, “Would you like to stay for lunch? Eduardo and I are having Picadillo. Gabriel’s staying.”
I blink. “Um… you’ve invited yourplumberto eat Picadillo with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
And I don’t know why I’m acting surprised. Of course she did. I shift on my feet, throwing a glance at Gabriel, who watches the entire exchange with amusement.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll stick around…” Mostly out of morbid curiosity, but also because if I say no, it’d just seem rude and I’m curious to know what she really thinks about the guy who rides motorcycles and has tattoos all over his arms and chest.
My grandma nods, satisfied, as Gabriel moves to stand. “The fix will require one part I need to pick up from the store,” he says. “I’ll grab it after lunch if that’s alright with you? Should only take about ten minutes to install.”
“Oh, Gabriel, you’re a life saver.” She fans herself dramatically. I swear, this woman is too much. Isn’t her new boyfriend,who she kicked me out of the house for, literally in the other room hearing all this?
“How much do I owe you?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “It’s free.”
“I couldn’t do that,” she shakes her head and moves to her purse to pull out her wallet.
Except I know she could. My grandma is the queen of free. I remember going with her to the markets in Atlanta during the summers and she’d heckle and negotiate over the price of everything even though it wasn’t that type of place. It made me proud to be her granddaughter even though it was embarrassing at times. She always ended up getting some amazing discounts with free stuff.
Gabriel’s gaze connects with mine though he’s responding to her. “It’s on the house.”
Then, like it’s nothing, he takes his drink, stands, and swipes the plate of cookies off the counter on his way into the dining room like this isn’t the first time he’s been here. But not before he leans in—close enough that I catch the deep, wood and leather scent of him—and takes a discreet sniff of me.
My heart stutters. His hazel brown eyes lock onto mine, filling me with heat. His lips are just an inch away from my face when he says, “You smell like these cookies. I hope my home still smells like them and you too,” he murmurs, before moving past me, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake.
I stand there for a second, pulse still trying to regulate itself, before my gaze snaps to my grandma—who is watching me way too closely. Thin, dark brows nearly lost to her hairline. Brown eyes wide with surprise.
“You two…?” she starts.
“Yes. Gabriel and I have met before, grandma.”
She nods, smug as hell, and surprisingly says nothing more. Which tells me she knows more than I do. And at this point?She probably does.
“Hm…” she hums and then smiles at me. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter 27: Gabriel
“Cuba Libre, really?” Aly whispers, side-eyeing my glass from where she’s seated next to me at her grandmother’s dining room table.?
“I don’t know what’s in it, but it’s fucking delicious,” I respond, grinning as I swirl the dark drink before taking another sip. “Pretty sure she squeezed a whole lime in here.”
“Ah, mija, look how well he eats,” Aly’s grandma coos, practically glowing with approval as she watches me finish my plate.
I have to say, this might be the easiest time I’ve ever had winning over a woman’s grandmother. Did I know it was Aly’s grandma when I stepped out of Amber’s house next door after checking out her bathroom? No. But the last name checked out, and when she casually mentioned a granddaughter who had just moved back to town, I put the pieces together fast.
Even if she weren’t Aly’s grandma, I still would’ve sat down, shared her rum drink, and eaten her food because I never turn down a home-cooked meal. Not ever. Especially lately.
Between late nights at work and Eden drowning in her final semester of college, our fridge has been mostly takeoutcontainers and frozen pizzas. And yeah, I could cook for myself—I like cooking—but it’s easier to grab something quick or, better yet, crash at Cain and Rhiannon’s, pretend I’m there only for Piper, and leave with a full stomach.
“The food’s delicious, Ms. Martinez. Thank you,” I say.
She shoots me a wink from across the table.
This is real food. The kind that tastes like love. Like family. Like someone took the time to care when they made it. And Aly’s grandma? Yeah, she seems to love me already. Though I can tell she doesn’t give Aly this same brand of effortless warmth at times, but I guess that’s just parenting.
