Kind of Cursed Page 23

  “What did you girls think of your first Mexican Thanksgiving, ah?” she asks us.

  “O-Oh,” Mattie stammers, blushing anew. “Everything was really good.”

  “So good,” I add. “Thank you so much for having us.”

  Nezzie beams, clearly pleased. “You’re welcome anytime.”

  Mattie smiles. “You’re a really good cook. It’s been a while since we’ve had a home-cooked meal like that—” My sister clamps her mouth shut, realizing what she’s said. She looks to me. “I mean…”

  “It’s okay, Matt,” I say gently and turn to Nezzie. “She’s right. My cooking doesn’t even come close.”

  And because it feels wrong not to, I look back at Mattie and add, “To yours or to our mother’s.”

  As soon as I mention Mom, the rest of the table goes quiet. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. Luc’s family knows about mine. They’ve all been so nice. I hope it hasn’t been out of pity. But I suppose, under the circumstances, their knowing makes things easier. No one’s asked why we’re not spending the holiday with our family, and while I’m grateful for that, not talking about them doesn’t seem right either.

  As though she recognizes this, Nezzie’s face softens. “What did your mother make for Thanksgiving?”

  Mattie answers first. “Really good roast turkey with gravy and cornbread dressing and rice.” She looks down in her lap. I can see she’s smiling at the memory of it. Of course, when she looks up to me, her eyes are shining.

  Mine are too.

  “And this butternut squash and kale recipe I think she got from Martha Stewart ages ago,” I add, dreamily summoning the memory. “It had heavy cream and parmesan and roasted garlic in it.”

  “Ooh,” Felicité sighs. “I might have to make that next year.”

  My eyes go wide. “Oh, but your butternut squash dish was divine,” I say, hoping I haven’t offended her.

  She arches a brow in a way that reminds me of Luc. “Yeah, but yours sounds devilish, and I’m tempted.”

  We all laugh.

  “You know,” Natalia says, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward. “I bet you could find that recipe online—if it really was a Martha Stewart one.”

  “Found it,” Rosa announces, phone in hand.

  “You found it?” I ask, a little breathless. I hadn’t even tried looking for it. I just figured it was one of the many recipes Mom used to make that was gone for good.

  “Roasted garlic...butternut squash...kale…nutmeg... heavy cream…”

  “That sounds like it.”

  She passes me her phone. “Well, does it look like it?”

  I check out the picture of a casserole dish filled with golden slices of butternut topped with breadcrumbs.

  “That has to be it.”

  “May I see,” Felicité asks. I hand her the phone, and she reads the recipe. “That doesn’t look too hard. Maybe you and I could make this for Christmas.”

  “Wait, me?” I ask stunned.

  Luc’s cousin smiles. “Why not?”

  Because you just met me? Because I’m a terrible cook? Because no one said anything about Christmas?

  “Oh—Oh,” I stammer. “You’re all so kind…”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Nezzie says, smiling.

  I give Mattie a quick glance. She looks as surprised as I must, but she’s smiling too. Clearly, the idea of spending Christmas here sounds good to her.

  Christmas.

  Heaven help me. If the thought of how we’d get through Thanksgiving daunted me, Christmas is way, way beyond scary. If Mom were here, she’d start decorating tomorrow. By Saturday, we’d have a tree.

  Oh God. I need to get busy.

  If this is really an invitation, maybe I should just accept. We’ve made it through the day without disaster. And it’s been pretty fun. More fun than I thought the first Thanksgiving without Mom and Dad could have been. Of course, I’ll have to talk to the boys. And Luc.

  Christmas is a whole month from now. He might be totally sick of us by then.

  I blow out a breath. “Thank you.” I look around the table. All the women in Luc’s family are watching me, near identical soft smiles on their faces. “We’re so glad to be here today. I-I never would have expected—”

  Nezzie covers my hand with hers. “Luc is very fond of you. All of you,” she says. “What makes him happy makes me happy.”

  With those words, it hits me. Maybe Luc’s family isn’t being so nice because they feel sorry for us. Maybe it’s simply because we are Luc’s guests.

  My heart swells a little at that thought.

  Luc’s grandmother—I don’t even know her name; everyone just calls her Abuela—reaches across Luc’s empty chair and takes my other hand. Her joints are knobby with arthritis, but her grip is still strong.

  “Él es un buen chico. Luca tiene un buen corazón,” she says.

  A little panicked, I hold her gaze and then look around the table. “I’m sorry,” I say in a hushed voice. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  The other women start to answer, but Mattie pipes up. “She said, ‘Luc’s a good boy,’” she says, giggling. “And ‘he has a good heart.’”

  “Oh,” I gasp, nodding. “Yes… He is a very good man.” I’m not about to call him a boy. He’s a man. But she’s right. He’s a really good one. For a moment, I’d like to tell her everything he’s done for me—for us—but I don’t have the words, and one look at Luc’s cousins, and I think better of it. They really like teasing him.

  Before I can say anything else, Alex pokes his head back into the dining room, eyes on Mattie. “We’re going outside to kick the soccer ball around. Wanna come?”

  Mattie pushes her chair back so fast I’m afraid it’ll clatter to the ground. She catches it in time and looks back at me and Nezzie, blushing. “Please excuse me.”

  And before I can reply, before she can even catch the concern on my face, she’s gone.

  She can’t get pregnant playing soccer in the back yard, I reason. Even though I know that’s true, I can’t help the clenching in my stomach at the thought of Mattie dating.

  Luc’s grandmother pats me on the hand again. “Alejandro es un buen chico tambien.”

  This time, I don’t need the translation. I put on a smile. “I’m sure he is,” I say. But I’ve met fourteen-year-old boys. They want the same things sixteen and twenty and twenty-four-year-old boys want.

  The real trouble is the girls want it too.

  The truth of this becomes painfully obvious when Luc walks back in, drying his hands on a dishtowel. I’ve never before thought dishtowels were sexy, but, holy cow, watching it twist and strain under his dark hands has me picturing him gripping the bed sheets.

  He smiles at me over the heads of his cousins still at the table. “Wanna go outside and watch the kids?”

  Is he reading my mind? I rise from the table. “Let me just get my jacket.”

  The air is crisp, but it’s not as bitterly cold as it has been the last few days. The custom-made touches I noticed inside the Valencia’s home spill outdoors too. A covered patio with stone tile flooring is semi-enclosed by an outdoor kitchen with a fireplace, sink, and grill with lots of granite counter space. The lawn is deep, and the big kids have plenty of room to kick the soccer ball, while the little ones play on a netted trampoline in the back corner.

  Luc leads me to a cushioned patio sofa, and I nearly collapse into it.

  “I’m so tired,” I say, yawning.

  Sitting beside me, Luc cocks his head to the side. “Should we go? You’re still recovering.”

  I shake my head, watching the kids. “They’re having fun.” It reminds me of the other night. Except this time Harry is paired with Emmett, and Mattie and Alex make up a team.

  No surprise there.

  I sigh. If I ever had the power to delay Mattie’s first crush, I don’t anymore. Let’s face it. I probably never did. And it could be worse. If Alex is anything like his brother, Mat
tie will be one pretty lucky fourteen-year-old.

  But then again, if he’s anything like Luc, how is she going to be able to control herself?

  “What’s the matter?” Luc asks.

  I jump, pulled from my worries, and find him watching. “Nothing… Everything’s fine.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That word is your tell. If you use it, something’s wrong.” He pins me with his stare. “What is it?”

  I tried to tell him the other night, but he looked at me like I was crazy. It is crazy. But frogs sometimes rain from the sky. That shit’s crazy too, but it’s still real. The Curse is real.

  I sigh again, this time out of frustration. “I don’t think I can explain it to you.”

  He’s sitting right beside me. Our hips are almost touching. He leans back and rests his arm along the back of the sofa. Not touching me, but I feel his closeness, and I like it. I’d love to just lean in.

  Touching him Tuesday night had felt all kinds of right. It had been a heady mix of need, fulfillment, and a long-lost comfort. I want more. Now that I’ve known it, I’m afraid I’ll want it all the time.

  He’s looking at me now, humor in his eyes. Just a hint of a smile on his lips. I kissed those lips only yesterday. It had been so natural. Just like breathing.

  “Try,” he says.

  For an instant, I think he’s talking about kissing. Telling me to try to kiss him. I wouldn’t even need to try. It would be so easy. What I’m trying to do is not kiss him. Not touch him. And still be near him.

  Everything is better when I’m near him.

  I open my mouth to attempt a response when the door behind us bursts open. “Isaac! Ian! Time to go!” Felicité shouts across the lawn. The three littles halt their bouncing for all of one second, glance at each other, and start up again. Felicité mutters something in Spanish under her breath. “C’mon, niños. I know you heard me. Sofie, you too. Nezzie has something for you.”

  The little girl stops jumping and clings to the net of the trampoline. “What she got, Tia?”

  Felicité shrugs, all innocence, and turns up her palms. “I don’t know. Why don’t you come see?”

  Little Isaac grips the trampoline net and puts his mouth inside one of its holes. “Why does Nezzie have something for her and not us?” he asks, scowling at the injustice.

  His mother’s forehead wrinkles as her brows raise, hamming up the mystery. “Maybe we should go ask her.”

  Bitten by the curiosity bug, the kids scramble out of the trampoline.

  “Tell Cousin Luc and his friend Millie bye-bye,” Felicité tells them as they shoot past us.

  “Bye!’

  “Bye!”

  “Goo-bye!” Three small voices shout before they disappear inside.

  Felicité blows out a gust of air. “The price for a quick exit will be the sugar rush from the cookies Nezzie gives them,” she says, brushing her dark bangs out of her eyes. “I just hope they crash with enough time for a nap before we go to my mother-in-law’s tonight.”

  “A nap sounds terrific,” I say, nearly moaning with envy.

  Felicité gives me a tired smile. “Doesn’t it, though?” Then she stoops down and hugs Luc before turning and hugging me. “Good seeing you, Luc. Wonderful to meet you, Millie. And it’s on. You. Me. We are totally making that butternut squash dish for Christmas.”

  The reminder startles me, and I blurt a nervous laugh while Luc eyes me in question.

  When his cousin disappears inside, he tips his chin at me. “What was that about?”

  I shrug. “Just recipe talk.” I shake my head, dismissing the idea. “We can pretend that didn’t happen.”

  His brows lower. “You mean you being here for Christmas? Yeah, no. We’re not pretending that didn’t happen,” a grin spreads over his face, “because I’d love for you to come for Christmas.”

  Heat blooms beneath my cheeks. But a honeyed warmth also bubbles up in my chest. I want to tell him I’d love it too. That I’ll look forward to it. But I have to be careful. Even though I want to be near him, I can’t let myself get too close.

  I nod. “I’d like that, but…” I watch him wait on my words. “We’ll see.”

  He mirrors my nod. “We’ll see,” he echoes with acceptance.

  “Good,” I say, and then cover my mouth as I yawn.

  “You really do need a nap.”

  I shake my head. “I’m okay.” The kids are playing hard core now. Laughing. Shouting. Tearing across the yard. “I’m good for now.”

  Luc stands up and holds out a hand. “Come with me.”

  I don’t move. “Where are we going?”

  He closes and opens his fingers, beckoning. “Trust me. You’ll like this. C’mon.”

  I do trust him. Better still, he’s giving me a reason to touch him, and I’ve been jonesing for that since he grabbed my hand during the blessing. I place my hand in his, and his surrounding warmth is my immediate reward.

  Then we’re moving across the yard toward the trampoline. Not at all what I expected.

  “I don’t think I’m up for bouncing on that.”

  He grips my hand tighter. “No bouncing. I promise.”

  Luc mounts the steps, but sits on the top one and toes off his shoes. He nods at me, still holding my hand, though I haven’t left terra firma. “Now you.”

  Eyeing him with suspicion, I sink down on the middle step and pull off my boots. When he slips in through the slitted opening, I follow, still skeptical. Crawling on all fours, Luc makes his way to the middle, and I have to say, I may regret climbing up here with him, but I don’t regret the view.

  When he reaches the center of the mat, he sits, leaning back on his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him. This is another view I don’t regret. But I’m confused.

  “What are we doing up here?”

  He wears the slightest smile, but he looks rather pleased with himself. “You’re gonna take a nap.”

  I blink. “Excuse me?”

  He pats the springy black surface beside him. “Come here and lie down.”

  “Uh, no.”

  His brows pull together, but his smile only grows. “Why not?”

  I open my mouth. Close it. “B-because.” It’s the best answer I can come up with at the moment. And then a better one arrives. “It’ll look ridiculous.”

  He glances at the soccer game. “You think they’ll care? Even if they do notice?”

  I look back. No. They’re all having too much fun. When was the last time I heard Emmett giggling like that? And Mattie? My God, she’s beaming. Harry’s out of breath, shouting directions at his brother. I watch them for a while, a bittersweet sting spreading through my chest.

  When I don’t answer, Luc shrugs. “I’ll go first.” And then he flops onto his back, the movement shaking the trampoline’s surface and jostling me just a little.

  Seeing him lying here in his wine-red dress shirt and jeans, his stocking feet making him look both sexy and unguarded, I feel a pull right in my middle. I answer it and crawl to him. But I don’t lie down. That’s just asking for trouble.

  He smiles up at me and then looks past me at the sky. I glance up. The Valencia’s yard is edged with tall pine trees, but from this spot on the trampoline, the sky is an unbroken blue. That thick blue light of fall that can turn to gray with just a shift in the wind. It’s cooler out here than under the shelter of the patio, but I’m still not cold.

  Which is good. Because if I were, the temptation to snuggle up to Luc might be more than I could handle.

  But I try not to dwell on that. I just keep looking at the sky, letting my mind clear. A pair of geese pump their way across the endless blue with silent effort. Just those two. A mated-pair. They make me think of my parents. My lungs empty.

  “You okay?” Luc asks.

  I look down and find him watching me. “Yes,” I say truthfully. Sometimes I can think of them, and it’s peaceful. I’m not sad. Not angry. Not restless. Right now is one of those times. They d
on’t last long, but I’m grateful for them. “Just relaxing.”

  “You could relax more—even sleep—if you’d lie down,” he says and then closes his eyes. It’s like a gift because now I can stare.

  God, you are so beautiful.

  “I’m good,” I say, softly, because right now, I am.

  How long could we be friends? I mean, are we really friends? Friends might take care of each other when one is sick, but they don’t kiss. Not on the lips, anyway.

  Luc’s lips are too gorgeous. Sensual. Just shy of full. The deep blush of passion fruit. Soft, yet unmistakably male. Friends don’t stare at each other’s lips. How long will I get to do this?

  Will he still want to spend time with me at Christmas? Or after the kitchen is finished? I know he’s attracted. He knows I am too. How long until he gives up on me, knowing nothing can happen for years?

  “Lie down, Millie,” Luc says with his eyes still closed. “I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that.”

  I nearly bounce out of the trampoline. “How did you—” Then I swat him on the shoulder. “You were spying on me behind your eyelids.”

  His laughter bounces us a little more. “I’m not sorry,” he says, mischief in his eyes.

  I go to swat him again—if I’m being honest, just to touch him—but he captures my hand. “It’s mine now,” he says, is voice low and teasing. He doesn’t let go. And when I look back, the mischief is gone. “Lie down with me, Millie. Please.”

  It’s the please that does me in.

  I lie on my side, facing him. He turns toward me, our hands linked between us. My heart hammers so hard, I’m afraid it’ll shake the trampoline.

  “Just for a little while,” I whisper.

  He nods. “Just for a little while.”

  We stare at each other, neither one trying to hide it this time.

  For a long moment, nothing else exists. Just him. Just me. We’re a thousand miles away from anyone else.

  His throat moves as he swallows. “Millie. Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

  I don’t want to have this conversation now. Not here. “What do you mean?”

  Luc squeezes my hand. “Don’t play with me,” he says, and the way he says it, guilt congeals in my stomach like instant grits. “You know what I mean.”