She groans, rubbing a hand over her forehead. Giovanna has always been a no-nonsense, cut-to-the-chase type of person, just like Camila. Neither of them hides the way they’re feeling, and neither keeps secrets. I wish I could say they’ve rubbed off on me, but I’m just as meek and insecure with my friendships as I’ve always been.
Gio has just opened her mouth—no doubt to urge me to justtalk to Cami about it—when two of Cami’s sisters grab us by our shoulders and pull us into a group hug, squealing.
“Reunion!” Patricia shouts before sprinting away to find Camila.
“Garlic forever!” Jane chimes in, thrusting a handle of Patrón in the air.
She pours some of the liquor into the plastic shot glass hanging from her necklace. “For you, our fearless leader.”
“Can I start with a beer?” I ask, backing away.
“No.”
“There arechildrenpresent,” I protest.
“It’s notcocaine,J!” Jane argues. She detaches the shot glass from the necklace and hands it to me, her face pleading.
I give in, grabbing the glass and pouring tequila over my tongue in one smooth motion. My eyes squeeze shut as I swallow.
When they open, Will Grant is standing before me, offering a lime wedge. No clue where he got it, or how he did it so quickly. I accept it wordlessly, biting into the acidic pulp as my reflexes calm down.
“Hellooooothere,” Jane says, grinning ear to ear. She fiddles with her bangs.
“Hi,” Will replies, his voice deep and warm.
I examine him with fresh eyes. In the early evening light, his hair reminds me of sun-bleached wood. When he smiles down at Jane—who is almost a foot shorter than him—he’s giving her the same smile he gave Eugenia. Almost like Will is imbibing Jane’s intention and serving it right back to her, exactly the way she wants it.
“This is Will Grant,” I say as I wipe my thumb over my mouth to catch a bit of lime juice. “Will, this is Giovanna, my friend from college, and Jane, Camila’s little sister. Will is the one who got us that last-minute reservation at Andalo.”
Jane gasps. “That wasyou?”
She’s enraptured by him, but when I look at Gio, she shoots me a curious look.
“How do you two know each other?” Gio asks.
“Work,” I supply.
Her eyes narrow into slits.
“Would you like a shot, Will Grant?” Jane pinches the plasticglass out of my hands and squints up at him against the blasting Texas sun.
“I’d like a beer, actually, but thank you for the offer.”
Jane pouts and loops her arm through Giovanna’s. “Let’s go bother Cami,” she suggests.
Gio shoots me one final look before they waltz off.
The backyard is flooded with bodies now. Already, one of the chefs is pulling wilted spinach off a cast iron griddle, plating it on a serving dish, dressing the greens up with fried garlic chips shaped like half-moons and a dollop of crème fraîche.
Will looks around. “Nothing like this would ever happen in New York. I mean that in the best way I could possibly mean it. And if someone even attempted it, it would be far more pretentious. In the worst way I could mean it.”
“Clearly you haven’t met David’s pretentious salsa friends.”
When I turn to Will, he’s looking back at me with mischief, flecks of silver in his irises in this lighting. The color is kaleidoscopic. Idly, I wonder what I’d name the color, where it would fit in the shade options of the clothing we sell. Lapis blue. Aegean blue. Arctic blue.
“So you and Brooks are hanging out?” I ask softly.
“Let me introduce you,” he replies, just as soft.
