Page 95 of When Love Is Unexpected

"Where did you learn to speak Spanish?" asks Laila.

"I spent two summers in Guatemala, remember? I had no choice. It was either sink or swim."

"So you turned into a fish," she says.

I laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Did you go with your parents?" she asks.

I don't like where this conversation is headed.

"Um, no," I begin, "I actually went with our church youth group."

"The same church your family attends now?"

"Yep. The same one."

"So you and Tricia have been friends for years."

"We were friends until our lives took us in different directions."

"How?" she asks.

"We have very different interests and points of view about life."

"So you two don't get along now?"

"I haven't seen or spoken to her in seven years," I say. "So, no. We're not close."

"Hmm," she says just as all the food is brought out.

We spend the next few minutes learning about the different types of meats and cooking methods.

"I'll try them all," Laila says, "but please don't make me taste the, leh, lengooah? Am I saying that right?"

"Yes," I say, “lengua. It's cow tongue."

"I can't do it," she says.

"Eat whatever appeals to you," I say. "Just know that if you don't try the lengua, you'll be missing out. Trust me."

"It's good," she says, taking the last couple of bites of the lengua taco. "It's actually really tender and flavorful. I really like it."

"Tomorrow, I'll take you to try menudo for breakfast."

"Hmm, that sounds promising," she says. "What is it?"

"Cow stomach."

Her eyes grow wide, and she starts shaking her head. I start laughing out loud, and so does she. Then it happens: She breaks into uncontrollable bouts of giggles, including snorting every time she tries to say anything. God, I love her. She's my world.

Afterwards, we walk to the pier. As we hold hands, the cool breeze blows through Laila's hair. I brush aside a few strands to kiss her. Her lips still taste sweet, like hibiscus from the jamaica drink she had for lunch. I wrap my arms around her and gently push her against the guardrail until there's no space between us. When I deepen the kiss, she responds with sweet surrender. In this one kiss, she's clearly conveying that she's giving me everything without reserve.

When we return to the house, we have only a couple of hours to prepare for the reunion. I shower and shave the beard I've been letting grow out for a week. I'm ready in less than an hour. I go into the den and sit to wait for Laila. I log into my emails to address some pending work items and see two emails from Patricia. I choose to ignore them and delete them without reading them.

When Laila walks in, all I can do is gape at her. Since I met her, I've learned that she doesn't need to wear elaborate outfits to look good. Her simplicity of style only adds to her breathtaking beauty.

"So, what exactly do you call this style of dress?" I ask, thinking I should've paid more attention to my sisters when they dressed up.

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