“Keeps glitching. I tried to reset the system but nothing’s catching. I think it’s a hardware issue.”
“Can’t you just use the regular oven?”
Amused eyes danced over to the girls huddled together with their arms folded and their faces turned down. “Apparently it’s not the same.”
“Alright,” I said, rounding the table. “I can take a look.”
With tools already laid out on the table, I picked up one skinny enough to pop the back face of the oven off. A collective gasp rose as I got to work taking it apart but I ignored it. It would go back together, they didn’t need to worry. Minutes later, I had the circuit board slid out of its protective covering and turned over so I could see the wiring clearly. One wire in particular looked mangy and frayed.
I tapped it before looking up to Connor. “It’s glitching on startup?”
He nodded and mirrored the motion. “Got any electrical tape?”
It was Ox who supplied it this time, handing it over with scissors as well. In a few seconds I had the wire covered and laid down and in even more minutes, I was securing the machine back together. After popping the last part back into place with the butt of the small screwdriver, I handed it over to the girls. “Give her a try.”
They did, and I was unsurprised that it worked. It was only a temporary fix. They’d need to buy a new machine soon if the wires were fraying. I told her that too, assuring her that it was no big deal when she thanked me for the tenth time in ten seconds. It had given me something to do other than obsess over what the hurt look in Alta’s eye meant, though it was something that just brought back memories of my childhood working alongside my sister.
The watchful eyes of someone brought my gaze to Clay’s brother, just the one I’d been meaning to talk to. “You like computers and stuff, right?”
He grunted.
“So does my sister,” I tried. “You two would get along.”
He frowned, another grunt leaving his throat before he looked at me a little downtrodden. “Sorry I couldn’t trace your number.”
“All good man.” I tapped a fist to his shoulder.
A man of not so many words, he nodded and disappearedpromptly. Leaving me to meet the eyes of the girl I’d only seen in passing all day once again from across the room.
She was staring at me, her eyes curious and active as they moved all around the scene. When she saw me looking, she tilted her chin, her eyes slit into clear apprehension. But all too soon, she was disappearing again.
And damn was I getting tired of watching her walk away from me.
By the time dinner rolled around, my hands were sweating and my feet twitching with the urge to just get up and leave. The only thing keeping me there was the terrifying fact that I knew where I wanted to go. I knew what being around these families was urging me to want.
My own.
And that was something I still wasn’t ready to face, not with a ten-foot pole. Instead, I just took my seat at the table, my place right beside Alta just as Martina promised. The table was so long; it resembled ones TV shows always featured. The food was set up like a real life feast, and just as everyone was sitting down, a beautiful girl dressed in white was bringing out a turkey the size of a baby ostrich… or at least I assumed so since I’d never seen a baby ostrich before.
She’d changed. Dressed casually before, now she was clad in a long dress that hugged her body in a snug fit. The white sweater-like material looked soft as a cloud and covered almost every part of her body aside from her shoulders, which the garment cascaded off of, showing off her bare skin. It reminded me of when she came to my house looking like a marshmallow. I felt my heart soften toward her at the memory.
An angel, my girl, through and through. And literally handling that bird like a pro as she carried it in on steady hands and carefully set it down at the far end of the table. I found myself rising half up off my chair when she first emerged with the thing covering half herbody but quickly found my seat again when I saw she had everything under control. Just like always.
From the looks of the activity down there, I might be the only one to think so, though.
“Cuchillo?” Alta asked, looking around the table for something. When she found it, she held up a large carving knife and smiled sheepishly at the table as she announced. “Aqui.”
“Aye, Mija!” Someone, an aunt if I remembered correctly, said. “Let someone else do it.”
“Yo puedo hacerlo, tía,” Alta said. “No te preocupes.”
I assumed she told them that she could do it, you know, because she could use a fucking knife by herself. Yet as she leaned in to do just that, holding the knife above the turkey at an angle to cut into the bird perfectly, another older relative decided to add their two-and-a-half-cents. A man jumped from his seat and bumped Alta out of the way so that he could take over the knife—barely missing her fingers with the slice of the blade.
I’m not the only one who rose from their seat now. I saw at least two dark-haired boys and one salt and pepper man rise from their seats. I, however, was the first one there. Laying a hand along Alta’s hip as I squeezed myself in between her and the man, perceptions be damned. Promptly, I slipped the knife from his hand, holding it down so it didn’t go slashing anyone else, me slashing an accusing look his way instead.
“I know I’m new here, but she looks old enough to use a knife, man. You can sit down,” I said to the guy that was probably twice my age. I didn’t care, if he wanted to act like a child he could get set down like one. Gesturing to his seat, I watched intently as he opened his mouth to say something else before catching the look on my face and thinking better of it. As he sat I gave him a look, but lifted my voice a little louder for the room just in case anyone else needed the reminder. “Next time she says she’s got it, listen.”
Turning, I didn’t wait for an answer as I passed the knife beside me. “Boss.”
