Page 24 of Ablaze

He squints. “Oh, is that what’s holding you back from beating me? Practice?”

I square my shoulders. “Yes.”

“So you’re saying you’d win if you have time to warm up?”

“No doubt about it. I won two hundred dollars in college from throwing darts and beating a group of guys who were way more sober than I was.”

“Alright.” He nods. “I’ll take that bet.”

“But I didn’t make a–”

“You’re coming to my dad and Karine’s house with me tomorrow morning. I’ll give you all the time you need to warm up on their dartboard, and then it’s you versus me and my brothers.”

My mouth drops open. “Um, no, I’m not–”

He backs away from me, walking toward the exit. “Have your bag packed for a couple of days. I’ll pick you up at eleven. Karine’s making traditional Armenian food, my favorite.”

“Dean–” I rush after him, but he’s too fast. Before I can stop him, he’s dashed back to his truck, throwing up a peace sign at me.

Ugh, he’s annoying.

* * *

“Take one more dolma, Mala. You haven’t eaten a thing!” Karine doesn’t wait for my acceptance before she’s putting another dolma on my dish. And as for her comment about not having eaten anything, my currently expanded stomach, seconds from ripping through my jeans, would disagree.

Yes, I wore jeans today. It’s not often that I dress in anything but my shorts and sweatshirt, but given that I’m a guest at someone’s house–though everyone is dressed casually–I wanted to look a bit more presentable. So, I opted for a black turtleneck and dark-washed denims.

Do I feel a bit suffocated and overdressed in this attire? Yes. But I suppose most people feel that way in formal wear.

Dean smiles at me from across the table, addressing Karine, “She’s just being shy.”

Karine frowns at me. “Mala jan, you don’t need to be shy when it comes to food, especially not in my house. No one goes hungry here, and there’s plenty of food.”

I glare at Dean before kicking him under the table. As usual, the asshole doesn’t even flinch. “I literally ate half of what’s on this table–at least twice what you ate. I’m definitely not shy when it comes to food.”

This isn’t the first time I’m visiting the Meyer family. In fact, I’ve been invited to Dean’s dad and stepmom’s house on a number of occasions. Over the summer, I was even here when they hosted a Fourth of July get-together, and then again when we celebrated Karine’s birthday in October.

I’ve never seen a family quite like theirs, blended in a way you wouldn’t even know it. Karine is the quintessential mom–constantly doting on her boys, two of whom, Garrett and Dean, she didn’t even birth but loves like her own. Marvin is the calmest, most even-tempered dad. Like his twins, he’s fair-skinned with blond hair and blue eyes, but like his youngest son, Darian, he’s sharp and perceptive. While Garrett and Dean tend to be talkative and entertaining, Marvin and Darian sit back and observe, taking everything in with keen awareness.

I’m slowly finishing up another dolma, hoping my stomach will create a bit more room in there for it, when Sonia, Darian’s wife, turns to me. She’s beautiful in that perfectly put-together way with shaped brows and flawless skin. But there’s an iciness to her demeanor that rivals the chill in the Tahoe breeze.

With the way she surveys me, I get the feeling she thinks of me as nothing more than an inexperienced toddler fumbling her way inside a kiddie pool.

“So, Mala, how are things at the café?” she asks, garnering the attention of everyone at the table. She chuckles with an air of condescension. “Still giving away half your cookies for free?”

A few months ago, Sonia and Darian stopped by Doggy Bag Café to grab a box of cookies and drinks for their staff at their sports school, and I refused to charge them for it. Darian is Dean’s brother, and someone I’ve come to respect over the time I’ve interacted with him. I just didn’t feel right taking his money.

But instead of thanking me, Sonia proceeded to lecture me about the ins and outs of running a successful business. For five minutes, she went on about how giving things away would become an expectation from my customers, and that I’d quickly find myself having to hike up prices to compensate for my generosity. I suppressed my eye roll, nodding as I thanked her for her advice. Again, out of my respect for Darian.

Over the course of my interactions, I’ve realized that like me, the Meyer family–not including Darian, of course–isn’t a huge fan of Sonia, either. For the most part, they seem to keep their distance, but they love Darian so much that they tolerate her for his sake.

Before I can answer her, Dean chimes in for me, a muscle ticking in his jaw, “You know what’s interesting? She does give away half the stuff she bakes, but somehow, she still happens to make a killing.” His eyes wash over me with a warmth I’ve come to expect from him. “Doggy Bag Café was even named one of the top three small businesses in Tahoe. How many people can claim they’ve been on that list?”

“Congratulations, Mala!” Garrett says, throwing me a charming smile, rivaling his twin’s. Garrett is a pilot and quite the ladies’ man, from what I hear. Of course, I’m not surprised, given the charisma that seems to roll off him–and his twin–in spades.

“Thanks!” I respond, quickly covering my plate with my hands when Karine tries to place another piece of lavash on it. The woman is relentless about feeding everyone, though I haven’t seen her ask Sonia if she wants seconds. “I’ve been really lucky because of the location.”

“That location is amazing, but don’t sell yourself short,” Darian pipes in, leaning over to look at me from his seat next to his wife. “You’ve worked hard and it’s paying off.”

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