He wasn’t a Brooklyn or beer type of guy, but aside from the fish incident, he didn’t complain once. By the time we finished our day with jumbo slices from a well-known pizzeria, he almost looked like he was enjoying himself.
“Admit it,” I said around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. “You did have fun.”
“Because of you.” Kai plucked a pepperoni off his slice and placed it on mine. He hated the topping and I loved it, which meant we were pizza partners made in heaven. “Not because of this place.”
Butterflies swooped in my stomach. How did he manage to say the perfect thing every time without even trying?
That was one of the things I loved most about him. He was thoughtful and caring because that was who he was. There was no ulterior motive.
“So how does this birthday rank compared to your others?” he asked after we polished off our food and started walking again. The sun was hanging low over the horizon, and we wanted to head out before sunset.
“Pretty damn high. In fact…” I stopped on the boardwalk and turned to loop my arms around his neck. I stood on tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss. “It was perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His mouth brushed mine. “Happy birthday, love.”
He’d presented with me a beautiful gold and amethyst necklace earlier, but his best gift was accompanying and spending time with me here.
An unshakeable warmth settled in my bones. It didn’t matter that it was winter or that my face was raw from the wind. I would’ve floated away on a cloud of sunny bliss had Kai not been holding my hand.
“The first part of my birthday wish came true,” I said when we resumed our walk. “Let’s see about the second part.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t something money could buy.
Kai gave me a quizzical look. “What’s the second part?”
“To make buko pandan as good as my mother for Christmas. I’ve been trying for years.” I pictured myself puttering around the kitchen in an adorable apron and Kai’s amazed expression when he ate my masterpiece of a dessert. “It’ll happen. Just wait.”
CHAPTER 24
Kai
Isabella did not, in fact, make buko pandan as good as her mother.
I’d never tasted the Valencia matriarch’s famed recipe, but one bite of the cold dessert told me all I needed to know.
“I don’t understand.” Isabella stared at the delicacy with dismay. “I could’ve sworn I got the ratio of ingredients right this time! How does my mom do it?”
She flopped onto the kitchen stool in a fluff of reindeer-print wool and despair. She looked so adorable I couldn’t repress a smile, despite the delicacy of the situation.
“I’m afraid there are certain superpowers only mothers have.” I added an extra heap of marshmallows to a steaming mug of hot chocolate and pushed it toward her. “Cooking traditional recipes being one of them.”
Isabella took a morose sip of the sugar-laden drink. “Is it that bad?”
Yes. I was fairly certain that the usually sweet dish wasn’t supposed to be so…salty. But while I operated on a general principle of honesty, wild horses couldn’t drag this particular truth out of me.
“It’s perfectly edible.” I stirred milk into my tea and prayed she didn’t ask me to elaborate or, God forbid, take another bite. “However, it’s Christmas. We should be enjoying the day instead of, ah, cooking. Why don’t I order food instead?”
She acquiesced with a sigh. “That’s probably a good idea.”
I hid my relief and placed the order on my phone.
We were supposed to tackle her mom’s Christmas recipes last night, but we got…distracted after she’d showed up at my front door wearing a red dress. Granted, the dress had been modest by Isabella’s standards, but it didn’t matter. She could wear a potato sack and the sight would still hit me in the gut.
It was quite concerning. I had half a mind to fund research on her baffling impact on me during my next round of scientific donations.
We migrated from the kitchen to the dining room, which my housekeeper had decorated with a massive flocked Christmas tree after Thanksgiving. White marble reindeer sculptures, sleek gold wreaths, and a row of snowy velvet stockings added to the festive atmosphere.
“This is so beautiful.” Isabella ran her hands over the stockings. “If I were you, I’d never take these down.”
Warmth sparked in my stomach.
I asked for the same decor every year. Changing it annually was a waste of time and efficiency, and I’d never thought much about it. But seeing them through her eyes made me appreciate the details just a little more.
“I could keep them up,” I said. “But then there’d be no fall decor, Halloween decor, Lunar New Year decor…”
“Good point.” She dropped her hand with another sigh. “I hate how you keep making those.”
Our food arrived with surprising speed, and after some debate over Netflix versus board games, we settled into increasingly competitive rounds of Scrabble over cinnamon roll pancakes, champagne donuts, eggs Benedict, and sweet potato hash.
“Vizcacha? Are you kidding?” Isabella slapped her palm against the board when I won the third round in a row. “How do you come up with these words?”
“You came up with quetzals in the last round,” I pointed out.
“One, I visited Guatemala in college, and two, I still lost.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you cheating?”
“I don’t need to cheat,” I said, offended. “Cheating is for the intellectually lazy and dishonest.”
Isabella came close to beating me a few times, but we finished with a final score of five to zero. I almost let her win at the end, but she wouldn’t take kindly to a pity loss from me. Plus, the thought of willingly giving up a victory curdled like bile in my stomach.
Other than her vizcacha outburst, she took the outcome in stride.
“I have something for you,” she said after we finished our food and put away the Scrabble board.
“I know we didn’t say anything about presents, but I saw this and couldn’t resist.”
She reached into her bag and handed me a brown paper-wrapped package. It read To Kai. Merry Christmas!! in her signature loopy cursive. Red hearts dotted the i’s and matched the red bow.
A pang pierced my gut at the sight of the hand-drawn hearts.
I unwrapped the present methodically, taking great care not to rip the paper or the bow. The wrapping fell away, revealing a book unlike any I’d encountered before.
I stared at the cover, too flummoxed to form a coherent response. “Is this…”
“A signed copy of A Raptor Ripped My Bodice, the latest dino erotica by Wilma Pebbles,”
Isabella confirmed. “It’s a hot commodity since Wilma only sells a small number of autographed books every year. I literally had three screens up at the same time so I could snag one before they sold out. Congratulations.” Her dimples deepened. “Your literary collection is now complete. Also, you have something new to translate when the board pisses you off. I bet it’ll be more relaxing than translating Hemingway.”
If the hearts had cracked the outer wall of my defenses, the present—and her explanation— demolished it beyond repair.