Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I take a minute to collect my scattered thoughts before heading back into the living room. Everyone’s eating, plates balanced on their knees or on the big table in the middle of the room. Mama, making sure everyone has drinks, looks up when I return.
“Go check on Naz in the kitchen,” she says. “Make sure he doesn’t need anything.”
My pulse quickens at the thought of me and that beautiful boy alone. “Yes, ma’am.”
When I enter the kitchen, sure enough, Naz is staring at all the dishes, his empty plate held between two huge hands.
“Need help?” I ask, walking farther into the kitchen to lean against the counter.
“Uh, maybe.” He points to a few covered dishes. “Is any of that fish? I don’t really eat chicken or beef.”
“What about duck?” I ask, nodding to a plate of curried duck.
His nose scrunches. “No, and not any goat either.”
“Oh, well, goat is all we have left.”
He looks at me like he’s not sure if I’m joking.
“If my granny was here, you’d be eating goat tonight. You don’t turn that woman down.” I laugh and lift the lid on the soup. “How about fish soup and a few vegetables and coconut bread. Sound good?”
“Perfect. I don’t wanna be difficult.”
“Difficult?” I scoff. “Cliff makes me crack his crab legs and dig out all the meat. He’s the resident diva.”
Naz laughs and raises his brows but doesn’t reply. I take his plate and start loading it with the dishes I know only contain vegetables and seafood.
“I’ve never had food from Trinidad,” he says, considering the abundance of dishes spread across the stove and counters.
“Then you been missing out. We may live in Houston, but we Trini through and through.”
“I see.” He nods to the scroll hanging on the wall by the fridge. “What’s that about?”
“Oh, you gonna find one of those in just about every Trinidad-American household.”
“Trinidad and Tobago, Land of Calypso,” he reads, stepping closer to inspect the souvenir scroll depicting our islands, population, exports. Even the limbo dance and national bird are pictured there.
“We never forget where we come from,” I say, repeating something my father has said all our lives.
His eyes shift from the wall scroll to study my face. “I really appreciate your family sharing your food and culture with us like this.”
“It’s nothing,” I say with a shrug, though it’s everything to us. There’s no greater pride than Trini pride.
“So why haven’t we seen you around this season?” he asks, eyes following my hands drifting between dishes and heaping food on his plate. “Your mom’s been at just about every game.”
“I have a job after school, so I don’t have many free nights.”
“What do you do?”
“I work at a hair salon,” I say, facing the stove to serve up some of the fish soup. “I want to be a stylist.”
“You’re what? A junior?”
“Actually, a senior.” I turn and hand him the plate. “Cliff had a late birthday and I had an early one, so we ended up starting school together. We’re really close in age. Mama and Daddy didn’t waste no time having us kids.”
His chuckle is a deep, husky thing that makes me shiver. I fix my eyes to the tile floor, afraid that if I look, I’ll stare. There is just something about this guy. It’s deeper than his good looks and gorgeous body. He seems to be around the same height as Cliff, but broader and leaner. It feels like his arms and legs are still trying to catch up with how his body grew so big so fast. It lends him a ranginess, an almost physical uncertainty Cliff shed years ago.
Silence stretches between us to the point of awkwardness, so I hazard a glance up at him only to find him staring at me. Uncomfortable, I slide my eyes to the side, away from the intensity of that look. Of the way it heats me up inside until it feels like my heart may melt and puddle at my feet.
He clears his throat. “Sorry.”
My eyes snap to his. “For what?”
“For staring.” A rueful grin crooks his full lips. “No wonder Fletcher warned us to stay away from his sister.”
I suck my teeth, huffing out an irritated breath. “That boy works my nerves.”
“He was just looking out for you. He knows how guys are and wanted us to know the shit some of them try with other girls, they better not try with you. Protective big brother. I have three sisters. I get it.”
A roar of laughter from the living room cuts into our conversation. He turns his head toward the sound almost reluctantly. “I guess I better get in there.”
“Right.” I grab one of the red cups on the counter already filled with ice. “Lemme get you something to drink. Soda? Tea? Lemonade?”
“Water?”
I grab a bottle of water and hand it to him. Our fingers brush, and that shiver returns, shimmying down my spine. A slow smile inches onto his mouth, and he looks from where our fingers touch to my face.