Well Matched (Well Met #3)(26)

“Margarita?”

“Oooh.” I finished with the jalape?o, then washed my hands thoroughly before reaching for the glass. “Thank you.”

“There’s chips and salsa over there too if you’re hungry.” She surveyed the rest of the ingredients I’d brought with me: red onion, limes, a few tomatoes, and a small bunch of fresh cilantro. “You know, Grandma made some pico de gallo for hers, and she made way too much. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you used it in yours.”

“No, that’s okay . . .” It seemed like a strange offer, especially for a recipe contest, but her ulterior motive became clear as she dragged me across the kitchen, margaritas in hand, to meet Mitch’s grandmother: a small, round, elderly woman who looked both fragile and solid at the same time. I wanted to sit her down and bring her some tea, but I also worried that she might kick my ass if I made it wrong.

“Of course, of course!” she said in response to Lulu’s request, pushing a small yellow bowl into my hands. There was more than enough pico in there for my needs. But I still hesitated.

“If you’re sure you don’t need it?”

She shook her head emphatically. “Not at all. Mine’s already made and in the refrigerator, see?” She opened the door, indicating a larger bowl in the same yellow as the one I held. “Not that it matters. It’s nothing fancy. Something I threw together. I’m sure yours, or maybe Louisa’s, will be much better.”

Louisa . . . ? Oh, Lulu. Right. “I wouldn’t say that necessarily.” I gave my margarita a longing glance, but figured it probably wasn’t polite to swig alcohol in front of Grandma.

“Do you have a secret ingredient? Everyone else seems to. Some cumin, maybe? Cayenne? I’m sure you know all about Louisa and her mayonnaise.” She gave a shudder, but her eyes twinkled at me. They honest to God twinkled. Oh, I liked her a lot.

So I smiled back. A real smile, not a polite one, as I leaned into her, about to impart a secret. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

She chuckled and gave me a light pat on the shoulder. “You’re going to do fine, April.”

I glowed from the compliment as I finished making my guacamole—sans cumin, no thank you—and set my bowl on the counter next to the others, with a saucer in front of each one. Family members started filtering in, snagging chips from big bowls set out nearby, demolishing the dishes of guacamole in record time. We were each armed with a penny, which we used to vote for the guacamole recipe we liked best.

I jumped only a little when Mitch slid his arms around me from behind, cradling me to him. I glanced up at him and he smiled down at me, the picture-perfect boyfriend. As he bent to brush a kiss across my cheek he whispered, “Which one is Grandma’s?”

I turned in his arms with a gasp. “You’re not voting for mine?” I kept my voice a low murmur. “I worked hard on that shit.”

“Listen.” His voice was a low rumble in my ear, and to everyone else it looked like a loving embrace, instead of an impending betrayal. “You’re great and all, but this is my grandma we’re talking about. She’s going to win. That’s how it goes.”

I pressed my lips together, but couldn’t hide my smile. “The yellow,” I murmured. Sure enough, when I glanced over to the kitchen island, the saucer in front of her yellow bowl had quite a lot of pennies in it. So much for a fair and impartial contest.

“Got it.” He nodded, and I tried to not pay attention to the smooth circles his hands made on my back. He was undoubtedly playing up this whole couple thing in front of his family, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

The entire dinner was Tex-Mex themed—which had to be in honor of the guac-off, since we were hundreds of miles from both Tex and Mex—with a massive tray of enchiladas in the middle of a large oak table. As dinner wound to a close I nibbled on a tortilla chip and sipped at my second margarita, imagining the many Thanksgiving dinners that had taken place around this table. This was a large, loving family, something I didn’t have much experience with, and I could see why they all meant so much to Mitch.

But it was still a lot to take in, and as evening became night, I grew restless. It had been a long day. Beside me I could tell Mitch felt the same. After a few minutes he nudged me. “You ready to head back?”

I nodded, a little too emphatically. I liked these people, but it was exhausting being around them all. And tomorrow was going to be another long day.

It wasn’t until we were back in his truck and almost out of the neighborhood that something occurred to me, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring it up. Mitch had said that not everyone was staying with the grandparents, and the rest were at the hotel with us. But we were the only ones leaving the house that night. I turned in my seat, looking through the back window at the darkened street behind us.

“Everything okay?” Mitch glanced over at me.

“Yeah.” I dropped down to face forward again, thinking hard. Maybe the others were just staying a little longer. Maybe us leaving hadn’t broken up the night for everyone else. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were the only ones in the family staying at the hotel. I wasn’t sure what that meant. And until I did, I wasn’t going to bring it up with Mitch.

But I forgot all about that potentially awkward conversation when we got back to the hotel and a more awkward, more pressing situation presented itself.