“What’s wrong?” he asked, probably feeling her stiffen in his arms.
She cleared her throat. “Nothing, just thinking.” When he put her down, she glanced around the kitchen. “Where are we eating?”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Right here.”
A wave of affection washed through her. Don’t do this to yourself. She threaded her fingers together. “It’s probably cold by now.”
“I’ll microwave it.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed the porcelain dish and stuck it in the stainless steel microwave, then turned to her as the appliance worked. “I’m sorry. I had a long day. I didn’t mean to be rude to you.”
She shrugged. At least he apologized on his own—and he seemed genuine. “It’s okay. Wanna talk about it?”
He waved her off. “It’s best I forget it for now. Instead, I want to hear about these yummy treats.”
“You said you’d eaten Mexican before.”
“You’re the only Mexican I’ve eaten.”
She chuckled. “Be serious.”
His smile held the intimacy of a secret. “I’ve had Mexican food before…but something tells me there’s a history behind yours.”
The microwave beeped, and he removed the plate of enchiladas and set it on the table.
“My mom used to make these every Saturday. They were my sister’s favorite.”
“I didn’t know you have a sister.”
She smelled the aroma of chicken and pork as he continued to warm up the other dishes. The sweet image of Melina came to mind, with her long black hair and big brown eyes. “I did. Melina died when she was in labor. The baby didn’t make it, either.”
He stopped what he was doing, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “She was beautiful. Only seventeen.”
“Seventeen?” he repeated. “That’s brutally young.”
“Yeah. She got pregnant by the wrong guy but wanted to be a single mom.” Amaya swallowed the lump throbbing in her throat. Her sister had fallen head over heels for a classmate and obviously hadn’t made the best decisions. Poor Melina. I miss her. Would Amaya’s life have been different if her sister had survived? Would she have given in to temptations in life and lost her virginity sooner? Would she have shared the caretaking duties of Diego with Melina?
“How old were you?”
A lump lodged in her throat. “Thirteen.”
He pulled out a chair and began pouring wine into a glass—filling it a bit more than what was appropriate. With a nod, he gave her the glass.
She lifted it to her lips and drank a generous amount. Soon, the red contents flooded down her throat and took some of the dryness away. “She was eight months pregnant.”
Interest sparked in his eyes. “Is that why you never wanted to have sex? To keep it from happening to you?”
“Yes. Well, some of it, I didn’t have much time for relationships anyway. My sister helped a lot at home, and with her passing—”
“The responsibility fell on you.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, but this time, she didn’t wipe them away. She let them fall down her cheeks, freely. A pang of guilt for those times when she’d complained about doing too much at home stabbed at her, and sadness welled up inside. She’d give anything to have her sister and parents back. “Yeah.”
He leaned over the table and caressed her cheek. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, feeling the throb of her eyelids. The moment held a note of serene melancholy, one she didn’t want to shy away from. When she’d cooked for him, she imagined telling him funny stories, not something so…deeply personal.
