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“Thank you.” She carefully—and somewhat reluctantly—extricated herself from his embrace. “It’s good to see you, too.”
The sharp pain of Marissa’s elbow in her side reminded Alina they weren’t alone. “This is my friend, Marissa Alvarez,” Alina said. “She’s a nurse at the hospital. I hope you don’t mind I brought her along.”
“No, that’s great. This is my friend Marty Padgett.”
For the first time Alina noticed the man standing next to Eric. She stared at him, and might have stopped breathing for a second. Marty was tall and broad and very blond, with a face like an angel.
“Hi, Alina.” Marty offered a meaty hand. “I bet you don’t remember me, but I’ve seen you at the hospital.”
She took the hand he offered, and waited for the tingle she was sure would surge through her—the signal that this was the man her grandmother had predicted would make her happy. Just because she didn’t really believe in the prophecy didn’t mean she’d pass up a chance at true love, happiness and the whole romance package.
But she experienced no particular sensation, except that Marty had kind of a weak handshake for such a big guy.
“Let me show you where everything is and introduce you to some people.” Eric took her arm and led her across the yard. Marissa and Marty trailed after them.
Alina glanced over her shoulder and saw that Marissa had her arm linked with Marty’s and was flirting with him in that open, friendly way of hers. Men always liked Marissa, with her fall of long dark hair and friendly smile.
The little procession halted in front of a half-dozen men and women who’d gathered in the shade of a spreading oak. “Everyone, this is Alina Allinova and her friend, Marissa Alvarez.” Eric turned to Marissa. “This is my brother John and my brother Bart and their wives, Renee and Sabina, and my sister Sofia and her husband, Guillermo.”
“Like you’re going to remember all that, right?” A stocky thirtysomething extended a hand. “Just remember that I’m the older, handsome brother,” he said. “Bart here—” he jerked his thumb at a slightly younger man with curly dark hair “—he’s the clown. Eric is the baby.”
“Some baby.” A slender woman with artfully streaked blond hair rolled her eyes and offered her hand also. “I’m Sofia, married to this big lug.” She nudged the shoulder of a short, barrel-chested man who grinned at her fondly. “We have three little boys running around here somewhere, but don’t bother trying to keep them straight. They’re all little wild men.”
“Sofia is closest to Eric in age,” John said. “She’s the youngest sister, but the bossiest.”
“Men need someone to tell them what to do.” Sofia gestured to her brothers. “They pretend to protest, but they’d be lost without us.”
Alina smiled and shook hands and tried to keep track of the many people and names. “How did an ugly sucker like my brother end up with two beautiful women as his guests?” Bart asked. “Tell the truth, ladies—did he bribe you to show up?”
“Can I help it if I got all the charm in the family?” Eric winked at Alina and she felt a warm tickle of attraction.
“It’s very nice to meet you all,” she said.
“We’ll have a little girl talk later,” Sofia said. “I want to hear all the dirt on my little brother.”
“Ignore her. There is no dirt.” Eric took Alina’s arm. “Come on. I want you to meet Mom and Pop.”
At the mention of his parents, Alina’s stomach gave a nervous shimmy. What if they didn’t like her? What if they were upset their son had invited a stranger to their home like this?
“Who is this?” demanded a short, broad man with Eric’s dimpled smile as the trio approached. He wore a black apron that proclaimed him King of the Grill.
“Dad, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez,” Eric said.
“Bienvenidos,” Mr. Sepulveda boomed. “Welcome.” He shook both their hands. “Eric should bring such pretty women home more often.”
Alina flushed, touched by such an effusive welcome. “Thank you for hosting us,” she said, hoping she had the words right. She still struggled with English sometimes.
“Yes, this is a terrific party,” Marissa said. She made a sweeping motion with her hand, taking in the tables laden with food, groups of laughing children and crowd of adults gathered in the shady yard.
“We like to entertain,” Mr. Sepulveda said with a modest shrug of his shoulders. “Join us anytime.”
“And this is my grandmother Torres.” Eric led them to a bent, plump woman with a crown of silver braids. “Abuelita, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez.”
Mrs. Torres nodded regally, and said something to her grandson in Spanish.
“She doesn’t speak English.” Marty leaned closer to Alina and whispered. “Though I suspect she understands it well enough.”
With a stab of pain, Alina thought of Baka Fania, who had died two years before. She, too, had never learned English, saying that since she was good at reading people’s hearts, she had no need to understand their tongues, as well.
Mrs. Torres stared at Alina as if trying to read her heart. Alina managed a weak smile. Mrs. Torres said something and Alina looked to Eric for a translation. “She said she’s pleased to meet you,” Eric said. Though something in his manner made Alina suspect those had not been the old woman’s exact words.
Eric kissed his grandmother’s cheek, then led them and Marty to a shaded arbor crowded with benches and lawn chairs. “And this is my mother,” he said, introducing an older blonde who wore a long flowered skirt and white blouse. Though lines around her eyes and mouth testified to her age, Mrs. Sepulveda had clearly been a beauty in her younger years. “Mama, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez.”
Mrs. Sepulveda smiled warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you both,” she said. “How do you girls know Eric and Marty?”
Alina was slow to answer, overwhelmed at meeting so many new people at once. Marissa jumped in to fill the silence. “Alina’s a respiratory therapist and I’m an RN at the hospital,” she said.
Mrs. Sepulveda studied Marissa thoughtfully. “Are you related to Frank and Millie Alvarez?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. My family is from Pueblo.”
“I have a lot of friends in Pueblo. Why don’t you girls sit here beside me and we’ll find out if we know any of the same people. Eric, fetch us something to drink.”
While Marissa and Mrs. Sepulvida conversed in a mixture of Spanish and English, Alina took a seat on a nearby bench. Marty joined her. Here was her chance to get to know him better. “How do you know Eric?” she asked.
“We work together—I’m a paramedic, too.”
“Then I’m amazed I haven’t run into you at the hospital. I’m sure I’d remember.” Because of her grandmother’s prophecy, every blond man she saw made an impression on her, but she had no memory of this one, though he’d claimed to have met her before.
“You’d be amazed how many people don’t remember me. I guess because I’m kind of quiet.”
“I’m a quiet person, too,” she said. When she’d first come to the United States, she’d avoided speaking because she’d been worried about betraying her ignorance of English, though she’d studied the language for years. But even at home she had always preferred listening to and watching others, never needing to be the center of attention. “And I like quiet men,” she added. “Better than ones who talk too much.”
“Eric doesn’t talk too much,” Marty said. “He’s a great guy.”
Eric again. The man who really made her heart race. But she felt she owed it to her grandmother to at least give Marty a chance. “Eric is very nice,” she murmured. “But—”
“He’s a lot of fun and really down-to-earth, too,” Marty continued. “In spite of being such a daredevil.”
“I don’t understand.” Alina wasn’t sure what the term meant.
“It just means someone who likes to take risks. Eric likes skiing out of bounds or in extreme terrain, and in the summer he races motorcycles and climbs mountains—that kind of thing.”
She hated the idea of Eric risking his life on a motorcycle. She’d recently cared for a young man who’d been seriously injured in a motorcycle accident. She pushed the thought away. She shouldn’t focus on Eric, the handsome risk-taker. She needed to get to know Marty, to determine if he was the man who would make her happy for the rest of her life. “What do you like to do when you’re not working?” she asked.
“I’m going to school, studying to be a minister.”
“A…a minister?” Not what she’d expected. The opposite of being a daredevil, she supposed.
“You know, a preacher. A reverend.”
“That’s nice.” Even to her ears, the words sounded weak.
“Not exactly the world’s sexiest profession.” He laughed. “But an important one, I think.”
“Yes. Of course.”
She waited for him to pick up the conversation, but he merely smiled at her blandly. That was definitely one drawback to two quiet people trying to get to know each other.
Eric returned, drinks in hand, and a little girl in tow. One of his nieces, she thought. “This is Emma,” he introduced the tyke as he handed the drinks around. “Say hello to Alina and Marissa.”
“He-wo,” the child said, the word muffled by the thumb stuck in her mouth.
“How old are you, Emma?” Alina asked.
The little girl looked questioningly at her uncle. “She’s three,” Mrs. Sepulveda said. “And Eric is her favorite uncle.”
“She has good taste,” Marissa said. She winked at Alina, who quickly looked away.
“Uncle Eric, I want up.” Emma stretched her arms skyward and stood on tiptoe.
“Emma, you’re too big for me to hold all the time,” he said, even as he bent to gather her in his arms.
“I like it up here ’cause I’m tall.” She grinned at the circle of adults.
Alina couldn’t help but grin back, not only at the adorable little girl, but at the picture of the child nestled against Eric, who held her with such tenderness. Before her eyes the ladies’ man who had flirted with her at Vinotok—the man who risked his life racing motorcycles and skiing off cliffs and no telling what else—had transformed into an easygoing family man, beloved by grandparents and toddlers alike. What woman wouldn’t be charmed?
“There you are!” One of the women Alina had met earlier—Renee—hurried to them. “Stop bothering Uncle Eric and let him visit with his friends.”
“I wasn’t bothering him!” Emma protested.
“She really wasn’t,” Eric said, though he handed her over to her mother.
“Let’s go fix you a plate,” Renee said. “Papa made some little sausages especially for you.”
Effectively distracted, Emma went willingly with her mother. Eric squeezed in beside Alina on the bench so that she had to move over toward Marty to accommodate him. She was aware of how close she was, not to Marty, but to Eric, their thighs touching. He glanced toward his mother and Marissa, who were deep in conversation once more. “I don’t think Mom meant to leave you out in the cold,” he said.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Alina said. “Marissa’s like that. She can talk to anyone about anything.”
Whereas the three of them suddenly had nothing to say. Alina, aware of both men watching her, was struck by the truth of the saying “three’s a crowd.” Marty might be the type of man her grandmother had decreed she should be attracted to, but Eric drew her the way she imagined the forbidden fruit had once tempted Eve.
ERIC’S DAD ANNOUNCED that the meat was ready, and Eric was pressed into service helping to fill plates with smoky chicken, spicy chorizo sausage and slices of beef brisket. As he worked, he darted glances at Alina and Marissa, who had found a spot at one of the big tables with some of Eric’s sisters and his brothers’ wives.
“She’s very pretty.” His brother John accepted a plate of brisket from Eric and nodded to Alina. “What’s the story with you two?”
“I met her at Vinotok last night and invited her to come to the barbecue,” Eric said. “There is no story.”
“She’s good-looking.” Bart joined them. “I noticed the accent. Where’s she from?”
“Croatia.” He sliced chorizo into bite-size pieces and transferred them to a young nephew’s plate.
“She’s a long way from home,” Bart said.
“She’s here on an exchange program with the hospital.”
“So she’ll be going home eventually.” John nodded as if this was significant.
“In a few months,” Eric said.
Bart grinned. “That explains it, then.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you’re staring at her and not her pretty Latina friend.” John popped a bite of chicken into his mouth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We know you, bro,” Bart said. “You don’t date women who are wife material. It’s how you’ve managed to remain single longer than any of the rest of us.”
“And it’s why Mama is getting worried,” John said. “Didn’t you see the way her eyes lit up when you introduced her to Marissa? She doesn’t know yet Alina is the one you’re really interested in.”
“If you’re nice to us, we won’t tell her the truth.” Bart’s grin was wicked. “Yet.”
“You’re imagining things.” Eric attacked the brisket with renewed vigor.
“No, we’re not.” John’s expression grew serious. “Mama is desperate to see her baby married and settled down.”
“Why does she automatically assume Marissa is the one I should marry?” Eric asks.
“Not Marissa specifically,” Bart said. “But she fits the profile.”
“What profile?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Bart said. “You know the drill. You find a nice girl from the same background and culture, get married and build a life just like the one your parents built.”
“It’s the way we do things,” John said.
Eric thought of his brothers and sisters, who had all followed this pattern. Though he would never admit it to his brothers, he’d assumed he would take much the same path. While he enjoyed taking risks in his leisure activities and even on the job, he saw no reason to be reckless when it came to his personal life. His brothers and sisters were all happy; his parents were happy. Why shouldn’t this same approach make Eric happy, too?
He respected his family’s history and admired all his parents had done. They were leaders in the community. His dad’s machine shop was a gathering place for local men, and his mother was active in the church and the local community center. Eric would be proud to pattern his life after theirs—but not just yet.
“There’s nothing wrong with having fun with pretty women,” John said. “But you ought to think about settling down soon.”
“If you don’t, Mama and Grandmother will find a wife for you,” Bart said. “You don’t want that.”
“Remember what happened to Gilberto,” John said.
“What happened to Gilberto?” Eric looked across the yard to where his eldest brother stood with a group of older men. Gilberto had been married for years—apparently happily—to a large, cheerful woman who had come into the machine shop one day to pick up parts for her father.
