“The salsa is Ruben’s mother’s recipe, right?” Kai asked, ignoring her outburst. “And I’m sure Charlie loves being ridiculed for her food analysis as much as I do.”
I laughed. “I don’t mind,” I said. “At least you’re making salsa from scratch. My family never ate tortilla chips without melted Velveeta and a heaping spoonful of ground beef. And beef not raised on a sustainable farm, mind you.”
“That concoction sounds delicious,” Dahlia said with a smile.
I smiled back because, truthfully, it really was.
“The recipe for the margaritas was in a cooking magazine,” she said with a shrug, “and I did it exactly as written. And the salsa, chefs, is from a jar with a bar code.”
Kai frowned, but I had to bite back a smile.
“I’m not very much of an experimentalist,” Dahlia said. “Certainly not like Kai, who commandeered my Easy Bake Oven by the time he was six and who thinks of recipes as cheating.”
Kai shook his head but had to wait to swallow a mammoth chip piled with salsa before he could speak. “Not true. I think recipes are great. For children.”
My turn to punch him. “I use recipes all the time, and I’m not a child.”
“Speaking of children,” Dahlia interjected, her eyes lively, “Charlie, when do you see yourself getting married? Raising a family?”
“All right, then,” Kai interrupted. “We can pick up this line of questioning again never. Thanks, Dahls, for the drinks and salsa.” He stood and waited for me to join him.
“What?” Dahlia said, looking ornery as she pushed her swing gently back and forth. “These are perfectly logical questions, Kai. You take a girl home for the first time in a decade, you better believe I have some questions at the ready.” She winked at me.
“Right,” Kai said, his ears pinking again. He steered me by the elbow back to the kitchen. Grabbing a brown paper bag by the fridge, he pulled me by the hand and called behind his shoulder as we made our way to the front door. “We’ll drop this off with Ruben. You said he was in the blueberries, right?”
“Yes,” Dahlia said, not moving from her swing. “Tell him dinner is at six. You two will be here, I assume? I could use some help, fancy chef people.”
“Sure!” I said, heartily.
Kai rolled his eyes at me. “We’ll be here.”
Three hours later, Kai and I took our time making our way back toward Dahlia and Ruben’s house. My face and shoulders had taken on a deep pink, and my hair, piled into a messy bun, was hot to the touch. After meeting an effusive and jovial Ruben and handing off his lunch, we had toured the farm. Kai showed me rows of blueberry bushes, strawberry plants, and apple trees. We picked fruit as we walked, tasting, talking, bickering about the best way to use them at their prime. We sat on a sandy spot on the river’s edge, letting our feet get tugged along with the gentle current. We stood against the trunk of an apple tree, crushed blossoms still littering the ground, and kissed each other like we meant it.
I watched Kai’s face as he told me about how much he loved his family, even with their intrusive questions and constant advice. His eyes softened when he described his nieces and nephew. The lines around his mouth deepened as he laughed through a story of when he and Gemma had hung out the upstairs window to spy on Dahlia and a high school boyfriend, only to be found out when he slipped on the windowsill and fell to the lilac bushes below. A broken arm and Dahlia’s weeks of merciless rebuke made him give up eavesdropping for good. Kai’s face, I decided, was one I could imagine watching for many, many years and not ever tire of it.
We followed a wooden fence line, and as we topped a lush, green hill, we glimpsed the house in the distance. Grasshoppers flew up around the path we cut through the grass, and the sun continued its slow drop toward the horizon. The air was close and warm, dancing among the trees and the alive summertime light. I took Kai’s arm, and he moved closer to me as we walked.
“So what’s the deal with never taking a girl back here? I would think you’d be an easy sell once she saw this place.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “An obnoxious sister and an afternoon in the orchard is all it takes?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well,” he said, slowing his stride as we neared the house, “I came close once. The skinny lunch girl Dahlia was telling you about. You know her, actually.”
“I do?” I scanned my mental images of Kai and another girl and, happily, came up empty.
“Sunshine. The server at Howie’s.”
I felt my heart drop. The girl was gorgeous. And she had dreads. This was horrible news.
“We dated for a while, and I think she wanted more, but I just didn’t. I felt bad about it, really. She’s a nice girl.”
I nodded, going for nonchalance. “You never took her here. That’s interesting.”
He stopped and pulled me into him. “You’re gloating.” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile.