Page 56 of Love You Always

I start to introduce them, but both women stop me with awave of the hand. “We met,” they say in unison. They laugh and high-five each other, and I feel warmth spread in my chest at the idea of Ella blending with my family.

“I’m an only child, so this is like the family of siblings I never had,” Ella says, accepting a margarita from Mallory and taking a sip. “Ooh, these are strong.”

“Yeah, I put half a bottle of tequila in here,” Mallory says, holding up a juice pitcher of margaritas.

“I’m all for you getting drunk and not being able to keep your hands off me, but that’s not why I brought you in here,” I say, calling for Dash to come inside.

He pokes his head in the door. “Yeah?”

“I think we’ve got ourselves a little guacamole competition.” I point between him and Ella and watch the smile spread across his face. He’s just slightly competitive about his cooking skills and I’m dying to see if Ella can show him up with some ingredient he never thought of. “Oh, wait,” I realize, pulling Ella aside and whispering in her ear to ask what ingredients she needs.

She gives me her list, which requires me to run back to my house for a few ingredients, but by the time the rest of my siblings arrive, they’re presented with two perfect-looking bowls of guacamole on the picnic table and one bowl of chips.

“Two guacamoles?” Fiona nods, impressed. Being the only nine-year-old at the barbecue, she’s the odd one out, so I always like to give her a little extra attention.

“How’s third grade, Fi? Any boys you like?”

She twirls her hair and thinks about it. “Only one, but he’s into basketball, like, all the time, so that’s not super fun.”

“I could teach you some basketball if you want to give him a run for his money.”

Nodding, she gives me a high five. “Let’s do it. Now?”

“How about after we eat?”

I catch Ella smiling at me. I give her a little salute.

Margaritas are poured, and then Dash comes down the stairsto make sure everyone’s briefed on the rules before a single chip is eaten.

“Taste them both and decide which one is best. Loser has to do the dishes.”

“Better get ready for dishpan hands, mister,” Ella says, fluffing her hair and jutting a hip to the side.

I study both bowls, certain I’ve seen Dash’s version enough times that I can figure out which one is Ella’s, but they both look pretty much the same. “Which one’s yours?” I lean in and ask Ella quietly, but Dash sees me do it.

“No way, no cheating,” he says. “Mallowmar is the only one who knows which is which, other than Ella and me, so don’t even think about trying to get an advantage.” I cringe at his nickname for his wife, but then figure people would probably think Princess is just as bad.

Jax and Ruby each take a chip and taste the first bowl, chewing slowly. They wash down the taste with a healthy swig of margarita and taste the second version, nodding solemnly as though this is a royal competition.

The rest of us do the same, and Mallory hands out slips of paper, so we can vote secretly.

Then she shuffles through them and reads the results. When she’s read the last one, her gaze turns to Dash, an upside-down smile on her face. “Sorry, honey.”

Ella jumps up and down and extends her hand to Dash. “Good game, sir. Honestly, I loved your version. I think the cumin in mine is what tipped it.”

“Damn cumin,” Dash grumbles, making his way back to the house to assemble the rest of his dinner. “Whatever. Tacos in ten minutes. Save some guac to go on top.”

Conversation erupts around the table, and everyone digs into the appetizers. Ella grabs a handful of baby carrots, but when she turns back toward me, her face falls. “Did I just kill his vibe? He’shosting us all, so I don’t want to make him feel bad.” She looks to where Dash is stomping up the steps to the deck.

“You did not kill his vibe. We Corbetts are a competitive bunch, so if anything, you just made him like you a little bit more.”

I wrap my hand around hers and pull her close until she collides against my chest. She looks up at me, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

I nod, my eyes greedily taking in her milky skin, the apples of her cheeks, her rosy lips, which beg to be kissed. “I’m very sure.”

Her smile tells me she understands that I’m no longer talking about Dash. I lower my lips to hers, barely brushing against them, barely tasting what I want from her. But I’m not going to grope her in front of my whole family.

“Aw, how cute are you two?” PJ asks.

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