Page 61 of No Sweeter Poison

“Listening to your sob story puts everything into perspective for me.”

I watch as a smile spreads across her lips and she laughs at her own horrible excuse for a joke. I’d laugh too, if not for the fact that all I want to do is lean forward and close the distance between us. She sat there and listened to me divulge the absolute horrors of my life and she refuses to let me take myself too seriously.

And I fear I’m dangerously, perilously close to falling in love with her.

WADE THROUGH BLOOD

Dahlia

I ’ve never had so much food in my entire life.

Delicious paella with sautéed vegetables, roasted potatoes, and caldo de pollo. By the time I come up for air I think the zipper on the back of my dress is going to burst. Bertha and Moises are incredible hosts. Every few seconds Bertha gasps like she’s had an idea and returns with more food—fresh baked bread, a thick, creamy garlic sauce I don’t know the name of, and more drinks I’m able to consume in a single sitting. I have no idea how I manage to make room for dessert but I do. Usually, I’d feel self-conscious about eating this much in front of anyone but Alejandro indulges in a way I’ve never seen him do so before.

“These are buñuelos, they’re like zeppeles,” he explains. He tosses a few pieces of fried dough into a paper bag and shakes. When he’s done, he uses a fork to fish them out again and they’re covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar. He puts one on my plate. “I think these are stuffed with custard. I don’t like the marmalade ones.”

I point to a round, cake-like dessert across the table. “What about that?”

“Tarta de Santiago.” He turns another plate in my direction. “Huesos de Santo, Lettie’s favorite.” He moves on to another plate. “I think this is Crema Catalana. Hm.” His nose scrunches and he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Moises isn’t too good with dishes like this.”

“I heard that!” Moises’s voice reaches us from somewhere in the restaurant.

I, however, am still hung up on the Huesos de Santo. “Saint’s Bones?”

He looks up and a second later, he grins. “Something like that would be Lettie’s favorite, wouldn’t it?”

Before I can reply, Moises approaches us with another plate of food and Bertha close behind, holding clean utensils.

“Moises, por Dios.” Alejandro lifts his hands as if he can stop the ensuing food tornado. “Todo esto es demasiado—”

Moises tsks at him. “Callate, this isn’t for you.” He smiles at me as he sets the plate down. “This is for our beautiful new guest.”

Bertha signs and sets clean utensils down.

“My sister says Alejandro never brings dates,” Moises whispers as if it’s a secret between the two of us. “His sparkling personality scares them all away.”

Bertha dips her head back and laughs. Alejandro regards her with the same tender affection he sometimes grants to Lettie when she isn’t getting on his nerves.

“Sit!” I scoot over on the booth and take Bertha’s hand. “Come! Eat with us.”

Bertha hesitates and I wonder if she was able to read my lips. She looks to her brother for permission and he almost declines my offer until Alejandro slides over to make room.

“We’re not going to finish all this,” he says. “Especially the leche fritas.”

Bertha doesn’t wait another second before sitting next to me. She reaches for the plate Moises set down and puts it in front of me. With a fork and knife she shows me how to cut into the dessert without making a mess and eagerly pushes it in my direction. The first bite is paradise.

“Oh my god,” I murmur around a mouthful of cinnamon, sugary goodness. “That’s better than sex.”

I don’t know why I say it. It bursts out of me and Bertha must’ve read my lips and understood because she’s laughing so hard her cheeks turn red.

Alejandro slows midchew, expression devious. “That’s incredibly insulting.”

Maybe he doesn’t realize it but he’s as good as implied we’re sleeping together in front of Moises and Bertha. Which, technically, we did but that was at the beginning of the summer and it hasn’t happened again since. Despite my apparent mortification, Moises doesn’t seem to mind. He laughs right along with his sister, giving Alejandro an apologetic pat on the shoulder.

“Sounds like you need to work on that,” Moises teases.

“Clearly.” Alejandro’s gaze never leaves mine and a warm, heavy feeling unfurls in the pit of my stomach.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say after a moment, feeling slightly uncomfortable the conversation took such a turn because of me.