“You don’t want my mom to help you cook,” Jas muttered, and glared at his mother when she reached up and tugged on his ear. Hard.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Tara ordered. “I was thinking more along the lines of running any errands, acting the sous-chef. My mean son is right, I’m not the best of cooks.”
“Sure. I’d like that. Let me make you a list.”
Tara smiled sweetly at him. “In the meantime, Jas, why don’t you go get cleaned up? You have dirt all over your back. Those mishaps when you’re making hay can leave you filthy.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
IFJAS HADbeen to a more awkward dinner, he couldn’t recall it. Starting with the fact that Jas was almost positive his mom had tricked her father into coming here, because Andrés had shown up in overalls with a tool box, and had seemed pretty surprised to find a full meal laid out in the kitchen. Jas was pretty sure his grandpa would have stomped out if it hadn’t been for Katrina’s presence.
The little house didn’t have a dedicated dining room, but Jas had added an extra leaf to the kitchen table so the five of them could sit there. He and his mom and his sullen, silent grandpa had instinctively taken the same seats they’d sat in when he was a kid. Bikram was on one side of Jas, Katrina on the other. Doodle sat at Jas’s feet, head on his leg, mouth open.
He fed the dog a tiny piece of bread, and she gulped it down. Some might say he was bribing his way into her affections, but this was an insurance policy. He’d never cared if any animal liked him before, but they’d never been Katrina’s before either.
Tara cleared her throat. “Katrina, this pizza is divine.”
Katrina smiled. Her skin glowed. She looked the same whenever she cooked for anyone, like she was getting nourishment from nourishing others. “Thank you.”
“What’s the crust made of?” Bikram took a bite of his slice, the crunch loud and satisfying.
“It’s sourdough.”
“Katrina has a starter handed down from her mother,” Tara enthused. “Isn’t that lovely? She said it’s traveled all around the world with her.”
“I’m happy to give you some,” Katrina offered.
“Daisy might like that.” Tara wrinkled her nose. “You know now I’m no chef.”
“You don’t have to be a chef. Baking with sourdough requires some science and some patience, is all. It seems complicated, but using it is more heart and care than talent.”
Tara took a sip of her wine. “Oh, there’s definitely talent in this meal. Right, Dad?”
Jas’s grandfather broke his silence with a grunt and helped himself to another slice of pizza. He’d devoured his salad and soup and his first helping, leaving only crumbs on his plate. He hadn’t looked in Katrina’s direction too much, which told Jas his grandfather might be embarrassed she had witnessed his outburst last night. “The food’s not bad, Katrina.”
Jas’s repressed resentment toward his grandfather needed only a spark to ignite. “She cooked for hours. You can give her a better compliment than that.”
Andrés plopped his slice onto his plate and pointed at his grandson. “Listen up, you little—”
“Nope, we are not doing this.” Tara interrupted her father without raising her voice, and he immediately subsided. “If we cannot speak to each other in civil tones, we will not speak to each other at all.”
Jas sniffed, and he busied himself with his food. His grandfather did the same. A tense silence consumed the room.
His mother finally sighed. “Oh shit. I should have known better than to give you lot the option of not talking at all.”
Andrés finished off his second slice of pizza and reached for a third. Jas bit his tongue to keep from commenting on his grandpa bypassing all the other healthier sides on the table in favor of the pizza. “I don’t have a problem with anyone talking. I do have a problem with us airing our dirty laundry in front of a guest who isn’t family,” his grandpa muttered.
“Katrina is my family,” Jas snapped, and it was only as he said the words that he realized how true they were.
And, when Bikram choked and hid his laugh with a napkin, how telling.
Jas ducked his head and avoided looking at Katrina. They hadn’t defined their relationship privately. It was beyond presumptuous to claim her as his family when—
“I’ve already seen your laundry.” Katrina’s tone was easy. “Last night, when you threatened to disown your grandson.”
Andrés looked down at his plate, but didn’t answer that pointed reminder.
“Would you like my completely unsolicited opinion?” Katrina asked.
