Page 93 of The Sweet Spot

Inside, a dog yips. Then another, along with the shrill laughter of a child. The door swings open, amplifying the noise and the smell of delicious cooking. I recognize Luca’s mom right away, although she is taller than I expected. Perhaps that shouldn’t be a surprise; Luca’s very tall, too.

“There’s my baby,” she says with a happy sigh, scooping her boy into her arms as he bends to hug her.

“Hey, Mãe,” he says, kissing each cheek before backing up. Resting his hand on the small of my back, he gives me a little push forward. “This is Wren.”

“Wren,” she says, beaming, bringing me in for the same treatment: hugs, kisses, genuine pleasure. “I have been after this boy to bring you up here forever, my goodness.”

“Well, she’s here now,” Luca gripes, giving a good-natured eye roll.

I grin, glancing at Luca as I’m pulled into the house. “Thanks for having me. Luca talks about you all the time.”

“I know he does,” she says, winking at me as she slides her arm through mine. “And listen, before we even have to discuss it, none of this Misses stuff, okay? You call me Marissa like everyone else.”

“Okay.” I nod as we enter a bright, spacious kitchen where bossa nova coos from an unseen source. There’s an enormous island in the middle, where three younger kids have their sleeves rolled up as they work on various meal prep tasks like chopping fruit and rolling out some kind of dough. The walls are pale yellow, a bright, mosaic-style backsplash behind the sink. The real showstopper, though, are the windows that comprise most of the far wall. Just beyond the glass are gentle slopes of wildflowers as far as the eye can see. It’s so unexpected, so breathtaking, that I freeze, gasping.

“Oh. Yes, I know.” Mãe’s voice drops as she leads me over to the sink, where we can look out at the view. “When we first moved in, the window was much smaller, just around the sink here. And then the sliding doors, there.” She inclines her head toward the glass doors at the other side of the kitchen. “But it was spring then, too, and the flowers…I wanted more. So, we hired contractors to replace most of the wall with this. It’s the best.”

“I love it. Really, it’s incredible.”

“I love it, too. If I’m gonna spend lots of time in here, I might as well love it.” She gives a brisk nod and turns, clapping her hands. “Okay, Luca, get your lady something to drink. I need to make sure these three haven’t made a mess of my mangos.”

“We haven’t,” huffs the eldest, a doe-eyed girl of about nine. A long, sleekblack braid hangs down her back.

“Wren, these are Nico’s kids. Delia.” Luca squeezes the girl’s shoulder before moving to the little boys. “Manny and Jay.”

“Hi,” I say, giving them a small wave.

Delia cocks her head and smiles. “You’re way better than the last one.”

“Delia Cardoso,” snaps Mãe, but she’s trying to hide a smile.

“What? She wore too much makeup.” Delia shudders.

Kind of mortified, kind of pleased, I peek at Luca, but he just gives his niece’s braid a sharp tug. “Yeah, no kidding.”

* * *

Dinner with Luca’s family is loud, crazy and fun. There’s so much food, all of it delectable, that I eat until I can barely walk. Thankfully I had the foresight to wear a long, flowy maxi dress. Boho, cute and, most importantly, forgiving.

Dominic, Luca’s stepdad, is handsome and suave, with his cologne-heavy hugs and sparkling, mischievous eyes. He and Nico—who looks like Luca but taller and skinnier, his dark hair cut more conservatively—obviously delight in having a guest at the table, making sure to tell all sorts of stories starring Luca throughout the years.

“Don’t believe it,” he jokes, squeezing my hand beneath the table. “They’refull of shit.”

“I know you did not just use that language at my table,anjinho,” sings Mãe, flicking Luca’s ear as she passes.

“Whaaaat?” Nico smirks. “Every word is true, Wren. Lu’s trying to save face.”

“Maybe they’re not full-on lies, but you exaggerate,” Luca says, balling up his napkin and tossing it across the table to his brother.

When all is said and done, and we’re sent off with hugs and overflowing bags of leftovers, everyone crowds outside to see us off.

“Don’t be a stranger, Wren,” Mãe says, squeezing my hand. “Come back any time. I’ll teach you how to make acarajé.”

“I’d love that!” I laugh, nodding. I had more than my fair share of the tasty black bean patties tonight. “Thank you.” Waving, I follow Luca to the car.

“So?” Luca asks, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on my seat as he looks at me. “What did you think?”

“I had a great time.” I twist in my seat to look at him. “But you know that. You know they’re awesome.”

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