Page 9 of White Wedding
“Hey, Rafa. What’s cooking?” His cousin Araceli walked in, tossing him an impish grin. Every time she came over, she made the same damn joke.
Not that he minded. She was one of his favorite cousins. Petite in stature, she made up for it in terms of sheer energy. Always going, always doing, always involved with five things at once.
He set the onion on a cutting board. “I’m testing out a new recipe—tacos árabes.”
She pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar. “Cool. Is my brother around? I signed up to foster a couple of kittens, but I need a cat carrier. I know ’Nesto has one, because remember that girl he was dating—the one with the Persian cat? Fluffy, or something like that? No, wait.Mr. Fluff.When they split up, he had to take Mr. Fluff for two months because his ex was traveling, so he ended up buying a carrier and…” She took a breath.
Before she could resume her monologue, he held up his hand. “You think Ernesto has a cat carrier stashed somewhere in the apartment? Why wouldn’t he have given it back to her?”
She pushed her dark curls over her shoulder. “Because this girl already had a fancy, high-end carrier. But she forgot to leave it with him, so he had to buy a cheap one from Petco.”
With Araceli, he always got more information than he needed. “Why are you fostering kittens? Don’t you have two cats already? And don’t you have a carrier for them?”
“Yes. But kittens aresocute. We’ll put them in the spare bedroom until we can get them used to the other cats. And my carrier is disgusting because the last time I took Gordo to the vet, he peed in it. Even though I cleaned it, the smell’s still there, and the kittens might react to it.”
“Got it.” Her life was too much for him. She had two cats, a husband, a demanding job as a paralegal, and a side hustle making ceramic tiles. She also helped out whenever Tres Hermanos needed extra servers on their catering jobs, and she and her husband, Jaime, were actively trying to get pregnant.
“You want a beer?” he asked. “Or are you abstaining?”
She stared down at her flat stomach. “Sadly, no need to abstain yet. I’ll take a beer.”
He grabbed two bottles of Sol from the fridge, opened them, and passed her one. “Ernesto’s not here. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
“That’s fine.” She took a long pull of her beer. “I’ll wait. Jaime’s out tonight. He and his brother went toDollface 3. It’s a horror movie about a creepy doll that steals people’s souls.”
He chuckled. “No, thanks. Life’s stressful enough without soul-sucking dolls.” He attacked the onion with vigor, cutting it into even slices, then chopping it with precision.
“That’s some aggressive chopping,” she said. “What’s eating you?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t buy it. You’ve got that look. Like you’ve bottled up your anger, and you’ll only be able to unleash it if you decimate a few vegetables.”
He leaned back on the counter and took a swig of beer. Light and refreshing, the first sip of Sol always went down easy. He hesitated, unsure whether to unload his woes on Araceli. But talking to her might loosen the tension in his chest. Even after his workout, he still had too much residual anger festering inside him—and that was never a good thing.
“I’m up for a catering job at Blackwood Cellars,” he said.
“’Nesto told me. Congrats!”
No surprise Araceli already knew, considering how quickly news traveled in his family. Since both his parents were from large Mexican-American families, he had a shit-ton of cousins. All of whom lived within a fifty-mile radius. He liked his family but keeping anything under wraps was tricky.
“Don’t congratulate me yet,” he said. “The couple was entitled as hell. He thought the food was too spicy. And she threw up.”
Though he’d behaved graciously, the bride’s reaction had infuriated him. She’d acted like it washisfault.
Araceli wrinkled her nose. “Gross. What did you serve her that made her puke?”
“It wasn’t me. She’s pregnant, so it’s probably morning sickness. Right?”
“Yeah. Sucks for her.” She grinned. “No wonder this wedding’s so last-minute. She’s probably in a hurry to make things legal before she pops out that baby. Unlike yours truly, who waited untilafterher wedding to start trying.”
Cringing inwardly, Rafael turned and checked the heat on the skillet. No way could he look Araceli in the eye if she started sharing her recent attempts to get pregnant.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky, and the couple will choose you,” she said.
“It would be great for our reputation, but they seemed high-maintenance. And the wedding coordinator…” He set the pork in the sauté pan, followed by the onions. After rinsing the cutting board, he placed a handful of cilantro on it.
“Victoria Blackwood, right? Daughter of the CEO of Blackwood Cellars?” When Rafael looked at her in surprise, she gave him a smug smile. “She’s kind of a big deal. At least her father is. He’s mega-rich. Which means Blackwood Cellars would be a primo client. Think of all the parties they host.” She bounced on the stool. “If you get the job, can I come serve? I want to check out Blackwood Manor. You have to be a little excited about it, right?”
