Homicide and Halo-Halo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery #2)(79)
That, coupled with the old feelings of resentment that always bubbled at the surface whenever I thought of him, and my anxiety about preparing for the holiday party made my voice come out sharper than I’d meant. “What are you doing here?”
The grin didn’t leave his face. He was way too smiley for seven in the morning—I didn’t trust anyone who smiled that much before the sun had fully risen.
“Good morning to you too, Cuz. And to you, Adeena.” He nodded at her before turning his attention to Elena. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet. I’m Ronnie Flores, Lila’s cousin.”
Elena shook his hand. “I thought you were Auntie Rosie’s son? Your last names are different.”
His smile flickered for a moment before going back to its usual brilliance. “Yeah, it’s my dad’s last name. My mom went back to her maiden name after he left. Can’t blame her.”
“Ronnie, what do you want? If you haven’t noticed, we were in the middle of a meeting.”
He had the grace to glance guiltily at the table strewn with our meeting notes. “Sorry about that. I just came over because Lola Flor said it’s breakfast time. She wants you all to come over. Plus I have something for you all.”
“What is it?” Not that I wanted anything from him. But the idea of him giving us something when all he’d ever done is take roused my curiosity.
“Guess you’ll have to join us for breakfast to find out.” He winked at the girls, who gave him grudging smiles.
I couldn’t ignore a breakfast summons from our grandmother, but something held me in place. Since he’d arrived, I’d done my best to avoid him. I’d had more than my share of trouble this year and being around Ronnie would increase the chances of more drama a billion times over.
He noticed my hesitation. “Mommy would love it if you could all eat with us.”
I sighed. This man was playing dirty and he knew it. You couldn’t say no to anything that would make Tita Rosie happy. Not unless you were a monster, anyway. It was just breakfast, I told myself. Nothing bad ever happened over breakfast, right?
Chapter Two
Taste this.”
Lola Flor shoved a tray of freshly baked bibingka toward me, the charred banana leaves wrapped around the grilled rice cakes releasing an indescribably intoxicating aroma. There were four different topping choices: the usual butter, sugar, and cheese, plus butter, sugar, and coconut, in addition to the more unusual varieties of salted duck eggs and the works (which was basically all of the above). Tita Rosie cut the bibingka into slivers so we could sample them all while Lola Flor poured us mugs of tsokolate to accompany.
We crowded around the table and took our time tasting each one. Bibingka had a soft and spongy texture, like a chiffon cake, but with a flavor all its own. Modern bibingka was simply baked in an oven, but it’s traditionally grilled using charcoal. Lola Flor had a grill behind the restaurant that she used for occasions like this, and her bibingka was miles ahead of any other version I’d tried. My sweet tooth preferred the simplicity of the sugar-topped ones, but the complexity of the salted duck eggs against the other ingredients made me keep reaching for another piece.
“If you’re trying to decide which ones to serve this weekend, I’d say combine the sugar, cheese, and coconut toppings for a sweet version and have the salted duck eggs with cheese to tempt our more adventurous eaters,” I said.
Lola Flor gave a curt nod, as if I’d passed a test. “What do the rest of you think?”
“The sweet version definitely gets my vote,” Adeena said, picking up another piece and dunking it in her hot chocolate. “What do you think, babe?”
Elena had also grabbed another piece, but she chose the salted duck egg. “I think Lila’s right about combining the sweet versions, but you should also add coconut to the duck egg and cheese. That hint of sweetness with the salty ingredients is really something.”
Lola Flor actually cracked a smile at that. Huh. Couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled so approvingly at me. I glanced at Ronnie out of the corner of my eye and saw him studying Lola Flor’s expression with a frown. At least she grudgingly approved of me. She never bothered hiding her dislike of Ronnie.
“Lola, I think—” Ronnie didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because our grandmother turned away while he was talking and walked back to the kitchen.
For just a moment, he let the facade slip and his face crumpled at Lola Flor’s rejection. I instinctively moved toward him to . . . what? Comfort him? Why would I bother?
But he must’ve sensed that small movement, so before I could decide what I wanted to do, he wiped the expression off his face and went back to his practiced nonchalance. “Hey Mommy, what else are you preparing for the weekend?”
She touched his cheek and went into the kitchen without saying anything. The four of us left in the room stood around awkwardly until Ronnie broke the silence.
“They really upgraded the place. It looks way better than I remember. My mom said you had a big hand in it.”
I’d been home for almost a year now, and in that time the restaurant had transformed completely. The walls gleamed with a lovely warm terra-cotta shade instead of the dingy white they’d been my whole life. The art prints, fans, and the large wooden-spoon-and-fork set hanging on the walls as well as the woven table runners added a distinct Filipino flair, while the carefully cultivated monstera plants scattered around the room added a lushness and freshness we never would’ve achieved without Elena’s skillful hands. We’d been able to replace the mismatched and scratched up chairs and tables a few months ago and were starting to acquire new tableware as well. Elena’s mom was a skilled ceramist, just one of her many talents, and we’d hired her to create special dishware for the restaurant. The only things that hadn’t changed were the large painting of the Last Supper hanging above the table in the party area and the karaoke machine tucked in the corner.