Page 53 of The Lost Guardian

When he turned back to look at Ali, she was regarding him with a very solemn expression.

“Rios, I’m not sure you are aware, but in the smaller villages, taking a drink from an eligible young woman is akin to accepting a courtship.” She clicked her tongue. “You’re going to have to marry that girl.”

Santiago stared directly into Ali’s eyes, lifting the cup and drinking deeply.

“You underestimate me.” He smirked.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. A rush of satisfaction puffed his chest.

Santi continued. “It’s not unbelievable that a group of people would have a tradition like you’ve described. But it’s unlikely that a village of this size would enforce it.”

Ali let out a hearty chuckle, and he grinned at her.

“You really thought you could fool me with that?” He found himself teasing her. “I’m a historian! Of the Andes.”

She shrugged, completely unrepentant. “It would’ve been very funny, had you believed it,” was her only defense.

Santiago laughed with her.

“What is this, anyway?” he asked, taking another long pull of the drink.

“Chicha,” she answered.

Santiago frowned. “What? Chicha is purple.”

Ali laughed again. “You’re thinking of chicha morada,” she replied. “That is made with purple corn and pineapple rinds. And very sweet, right?”

Santiago nodded as the first young woman came back with their plates, piled high with a mouthwatering serving of food. His stomach rumbled at the first whiff of the minced beef. She removed cutlery from her skirt, wrapped in cheery red-and-yellow cloth napkins.

They thanked the girl profusely. After she left, Santiago raised the drink to his lips once more.

“This is chicha de jora,” Ali explained, motioning toward his drink. “It is made by fermenting yellow corn.”

“Fermenting?” Santiago asked, peering at the yellow liquid. “It’s alcoholic?”

Ali nodded. “Basically beer.”

That explained Alfredo’s sour smell and red cheeks.

Santi loved the stuff. He couldn’t help taking another sip and caught Ali watching him with an amused expression. He turned away to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “I just didn’t know you were a beer guy,” she said, leaning closer to him. “You stood me up, remember? I didn’t get a chance to learn your drink of choice.”

She knows that’s not what happened, Santiago thought, but something more important than self-defense had dawned on him.

“You only asked because my grandfather sent you!” he gasped.

Obviously, that was the only reason. The Ali he met in the museum was a persona, humiliatingly well-crafted to entice him. The real Ali—the confident, competent, absolute badass of a woman she was—would never go for a nerdy, wannabe adventurer like him.

Ugh…did his surprise make it seem like he hoped the moment meant more?

Which he had at the time, of course. At the time.

“Maybe,” Ali said, and Santiago’s heart sank.

You knew that, he chided himself, drinking more chicha.