The Hard Count(41)

“Nana told me not to let you get too wet outside. You’re going to get me in so much trouble,” he laughs, bending forward and touching her nose with his. She scrunches her face and moves her nose back and forth against his.

“You’re the one that made me get this wet!” she says, her voice loud and confident. I smile because she’s so much like her uncle.

“Well played, Miss Medina,” Nico says, squeezing her cheeks in his hands and kissing the top of her head. His eyes move to me while he does, and he winks just before he turns to move toward the counter.

“We have corn tortillas, some of Nana’s carnitas left and…nope. We’re out of cheese. You okay with cheeseless soft tacos?” Nico asks, his eyes shifting between me and his niece. I look to her for a response, and she grins with an open mouth and an overexaggerated nod.

Nico leans into the counter and begins opening up a small plastic bag of tortillas.

“I figured you would be okay with that. You don’t like cheese. But I was more asking for our guest,” he says, shifting his focus to me.

“Oh, no…it’s…it’s okay, really. I’m not that hungry,” I say, not wanting to intrude on something that was probably supposed to be just for the two of them.

“Stop it. I hear your stomach growling. And my mom’s carnitas is the shit,” he says, spinning on his feet and opening a cupboard behind him, pulling out three plates and quickly fashioning a soft taco on each.

He slides a plate in front of me, then turns back to the counter to grab his and Alyssa’s, urging me to sit in the chair at the table. I smile and slink into the seat, tugging my plate closer while I whisper, “Thanks.”

He and Alyssa both pull their food into the palms of their hands, taking large bites and smiling at each other with full mouths. I pick a small piece of the meat from mine and taste it, and the flavor is so powerfully delicious that my mouth waters at the first touch. I follow their lead, folding the tortilla tightly and biting into the end.

“It’s really good,” I say.

Nico nods. The three of us eat in silence, but he watches me through every bite, his mouth hovering in this sort of almost smile that keeps me off guard and makes me aware of every grind of my teeth, swallow of food, and shift of my fingers in holding my food. I try not to meet his gaze, but it’s almost magnetic in the way it calls to me, and every time my eyes meet his, I grow warmer.

“What?” I ask finally, putting the last piece of tortilla down on my plate just long enough to pick up the small paper napkin he sat down with it to wipe aimlessly on my chin in fear that I’m wearing food.

Nico lunges forward, grabbing my discarded bite and popping it in his mouth, and all I can do is look at him, stunned.

“That’s what,” he says, chewing through a closed-mouth grin as he stands, picking up all of our plates and walking away from me backward.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that,” I protest, standing and following him toward the sink while his niece pushes in her chair and runs to the front room, flipping on a television.

“Only a little bit of TV, then you need to do something else, okay?” Nico says loudly, leaning forward so she can see him around the corner. She nods, then settles into the softness of the sofa.

“You limit her TV?”

Nico’s brow pinches, and I realize my question might have sounded judgmental.

“Sorry, I just meant…it’s nice. Or, it’s not something I’m used to…I don’t know. I’m just going to shut up now,” I stammer, my hands busying themselves with the grooves of the tiled countertop, my fingers tracing the squares one at a time.

“All this time, and that’s what shuts you up? Gah! I could have won so many debates in class just by flummoxing you with the novel approach of limiting the amount of TV kids watch,” Nico teases. I look up at him with pursed lips, my eyes narrowed and my mouth twisted.

“Kidding,” he chuckles.

“Sorta,” he adds after a few seconds.

I pick up a dish towel near me and throw it at his head. He catches it swiftly and throws it back, and we both freeze with our eyes on one another. I want to look away, but I force myself not to. The pep talk happening inside my head is comical, but it works, and I end up seeing his gaze through. He doesn’t break either, but his cheek dimples, and his lashes sweep in slow blinks—his expression that of a guy who’s become strangely comfortable looking at me.

“I try not to let her be a couch potato is all. We have a lot of kids in the neighborhood, and when it’s light out, I like to try to encourage them to go out and play. The boys all want to play video games, but that’s okay because Alyssa doesn’t want to play with them anyways. She’s into dolls and hopscotch and…you know…girl stuff, I guess,” he says, leaning forward and pulling the towel across the counter, rubbing it in large circles and eventually draping it over the edge of the sink.

“My dad didn’t really like us watching TV either,” I say. My words must intrigue him, because he pulls himself up to sit on the counter across from me, and his head shifts to the side.

“Did he give you guys limits?” Nico asks.

“Not…really. But if he got irritated with us, or just, like…thought we had watched enough for the day, he would walk by and unplug it,” I say. Nico laughs instantly at the image I conjure, and as I think back on the scenes from our childhood, I begin to laugh, too. “Yeah, I guess subtle was never really part of Chad Prescott’s tool kit.”