Page 85 of A Dish Best Served Hot

Tío Luís’s head dropped while everyone else had varying looks of anger, disgust, and concern.

“Fuck,” his tío Rico hissed. “This is going to be a headache. Are you sure she mentioned a protest?” he asked Lucy.

She nodded.

“And she’s leading it?”

Another nod.

“Fuck.”

Saint jumped in then. “Why does it matter if she’s leading the protest? Isn’t the reason for the protest more important?”

Tío gave him a pitying look. “I take it you don’t know your girlfriend’s history.”

Saint straightened his spine. “If this is about her dad—”

“No. Of course, it isn’t. This is about her. When she came into my office with the director of the community center a few weeks ago, I looked into her. She has a record.”

“What kind of record?” Papi asked.

“She has a tendency to instigate rowdiness at protests. She was arrested multiple times at demonstrations back in California.”

Saint shook his head in disbelief although a large part of him questioned why. He knew Lola. He knew she was more likely to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Actually, with her fiery attitude, she was most likely to give the middle finger and keep doing what she was doing.

“She’s a violent criminal just like her father and brother?” Mami looked at Saint. “And you have her spending time with my granddaughter?”

“She’s nothing like them,” Saint argued.

“Really?” Papi asked. “Because I knew her father before he was the Puerto Rican Al Capone. He started his lawbreaking during the riot. He was thirteen or fourteen. He and her grandfather were there for every meeting, march, and protest, but Rafa didn’t think things were moving fast enough. All of a sudden, he was hanging around the gangbangers talking about taking back the neighborhood. From there he just got worse.”

Saint didn’t have to ask what riot. Everyone knew which one. In the summer of 1977, there was a two-day riot in the neighborhood after a confrontation with police led to the deaths of two young Puerto Rican men. Buildings were burned, people were panicked, many injured, and some dead. His uncle had said that the riot and its aftermath was what made him want to be a local politician.

“Lola is not her father,” he told Papi. “She cares about people. She wants to help those kids and would never put anyone in danger.” He did his best to ignore the part of him that wondered if that was true.

20

Lola sat at the island reading the email she’d received from Yara for the third time. She kept getting distracted by the sight of Saint’s back. She couldn’t help it. He was just built so spectacularly. He was wearing a T-shirt, but she could still see the muscles flex as he dipped down to open the oven and pull out a pan covered in thick slices of toasted bread.

He caught her staring when he suddenly turned to grab some minced garlic from the island in front of her. He smiled. “Don’t start that,” he murmured. He placed the garlic in a pan with melted butter then turned it off.

“It’s your fault.” Lola bit her bottom lip. “You can’t invite me over for breakfast and then open the door looking like that and make fresh Texas toast and expect me not to want to jump your bones.”

He licked his lips, eyes gone hazy with lust. He pulled a silicone basting brush out of a drawer and used it to give the butter garlic a mix. “You need to stop.” He brushed the mixture over the toasted bread. “Rosie is about to call for me at any second.”

Now that he mentioned it, the sound of the girl playing in the tub with her dolls had gotten pretty quiet.

“Papi, I’m ready to come out now!”

Lola smiled at how well he knew his daughter. “How much water do you think is on the floor?”

“Enough to make me happy that I tiled the floor instead of just refinishing the old wood one.”

“Go get her ready,” she said. “I’ll guard the toast and bacon with my life.”

“I’ll be right back. Then I’ll make the scrambled eggs.”

She waved him off. “Go. Then maybe I can focus on this email from Yara.”

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