Island Affair (Keys to Love #1)(84)
“Lydia, at least let us fill our plates before the Inquisition begins,” Luis’s father said, his sober expression softening as he gazed down the length of the table at his wife of nearly forty years.
Luis had not been kidding earlier when he apologized ahead of time for his mami’s interrogation. Even Se?or Navarro called the barrage of questions by name.
Lydia Navarro humphed at her husband’s request but silently set the cream stoneware serving bowl filled with white rice in front of her older grandson, José.
“Sorry about that,” Anamaría whispered, angling toward Sara, who sat in between Luis and his sister.
Sara hoped her tentative half smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. She slid the salad bowl toward Anamaría, chanting Truth. Divert in her head.
Her gaze collided with Enrique’s on the other side of Anamaría. His lips quirked in a sly smirk. Apparently, he was enjoying having someone else in the hot seat for a change. Based on what Luis had shared, his younger brother had typically been the cause of dinner table uproars growing up.
As adults, Enrique was still wreaking havoc, at least where Luis was concerned.
Sara quirked a brow at Luis’s younger brother, happy to have already one-upped him when she first arrived.
Enrique had greeted her in the living room with a smug, “Still searching for the perfect souvenir? Or have you realized you can’t leave without one of my wood paintings?”
Se?ora Navarro had smacked him on the back of the head and delivered a warning to be polite.
The smart aleck switched to Spanish, bemoaning the need to be on his best behavior in his own home just because they had a semi-celebrity visiting.
When Sara chimed in with her thanks for the compliment, in flawless Spanish, Luis’s mother had practically beamed, patting Sara’s cheeks with glee when she learned Sara was fluent in their native language.
Enrique had the grace to mutter a chagrined, “You’re welcome,” and ignore Luis’s grumbled, “Smartass.” Anamaría had high-fived Sara on her way into the kitchen to help with final dinner preparations.
“Would you like some picadillo?” Luis asked, drawing Sara’s attention. He held up another round ceramic bakeware dish, this one filled with a delicious smelling ground beef concoction with green olives, raisins, and bell peppers. Lowering his voice, he added, “No pressure to eat anything you’re not up for.”
Under the tan linen tablecloth, she put a hand on his thigh, expressing her thanks for his understanding. Certain he was remembering the embarrassing fiasco over dinner with her family at El Meson de Pepe Friday night.
“I’d love to try it, please.”
“Picadillo is Lydia’s specialty,” Se?or Navarro told her. “You won’t find better anywhere in the Keys.”
“Not even at Miranda’s, and that’s saying something,” Carlos added.
Nods from the others around the table and a “the bestest” from little Ramón, whose Captain America shirt already sported a drizzle of honey mustard salad dressing, had Luis’s mom preening at the same time she waved off the compliment.
“Miranda’s?” Sara asked everyone in general.
“Ay, mijo, you haven’t taken her to eat at Miranda’s yet?” Se?ora Navarro chided Luis. She shook her head at him with parental dismay, before addressing Sara. “Our close family friends, Victor y Elena Miranda, own a Cuban restaurant in Midtown. Anamaría used to work there in high school. At one point, we thought she might be running the place alongside their oldest, Alejandro. Pero—”
“But nothing,” Anamaría jumped in. “That’s old news, Mami. Anyway, Sara, my brother should take you before you leave. The food’s delicious, and the owners are good people. If you enjoy your meal, I know they’d really appreciate you mentioning Miranda’s when you blog about your vacation.”
“I had planned for us to stop by for lunch yesterday,” Luis said. “But we got a little sidetracked at the beach and wound up not making it.”
Sidetracked. Sara wiped her mouth with her napkin, covering her smile. That was one way of putting how they had spent their afternoon alone at the rental home.
Resting his left arm on the back of Sara’s chair, Luis reached across her to hand his sister the picadillo dish. “Excuse me,” he murmured, the words a whisper near her ear. His chest pressed against Sara’s shoulder. His left hand splayed on her upper back, heavy and warm.
For a time-warp moment she was in their room, wrapped in his embrace, indulging in the pleasure-filled activities that had “sidetracked” them from lunch at the Navarros’ friends’ restaurant. She ducked her head to glance at Luis under her lashes. The satisfied curve of his lips told her he knew exactly what his touch had her remembering.
Across the table from them Carlos cleared his throat. Sara straightened in her seat and found Luis’s older brother and his wife studying her and Luis.
Her cheeks flushed and she reached for her water glass.
Luis rubbed a slow circle on her back, his touch lingering before he turned to start eating.
Carlos nudged Gina with his elbow, but then one of their boys asked for help serving himself and their attention turned to their son.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of family updates from the week past and the ones ahead, a plea from the two boys for their Tío Luis or abuelo to take them fishing on one of their boats soon, and a battery of questions about Sara’s family, career, and personal life.