long.”
“Aha,” she said, putting the box of brown sugar on the counter.
“The kids polished off that casserole you made yesterday,” he said,
opening the fridge. “But that boy of yours ate so much of it I barely got some.”
“The chili beans will be done soon.”
“Oh yeah!” Romero smiled big, turning to the pot on the stove. He
closed the fridge and walked over to the pantry next.
“Did you get everything you’re in charge of,” she asked, turning to
watch Romero searching through the pantry. “Honey, the chili is probably
already done. Just get yourself a bowl if you’re that hungry. There’s corn
bread and all the fixings right there on the counter”
The second she saw the box in his hand she froze. “Look, babe,”
he said, looking at the box of brown sugar she’d set down on the counter then
at her a bit dolefully. “You went to the crowded ass market for nothing. The
brown sugar is right here.”
Isabel looked at him and frowned. “I knew I’d bought it.” She
quickly turned away to look into the chili pot instead because she knew how bad
she was at lying. She didn’t want to look him in the face when she did. “But I
searched and searched and couldn’t find it.”
“Probably because it was way in the back.”
Romero closed the pantry door and proceeded to make himself a
bowl of chili as he assured her everything he was in charge of for tomorrow was
ready: the air mattresses for the out-of-town guests who’d be coming back here
after dinner at Moreno’s, the table extension in the dining room for the day-after
brunch they always had, and all the booze for the mimosas and Bloody Marys they’d
have at said brunch.
She was about to sit down and have some chili with him when her
phone rang. Romero reached for it, glancing at the screen before he handed it
to her. “Elliot?”
How Valerie would think for even a second that she didn’t know
about Romero hating her working with Elliot was beyond her. Isabel was certain
of it now. Her husband wasn’t even trying to hide that fact, and his lethal
glare now was proof of that.
Isabel took the phone from him, shrugging. She had no idea why
Elliot would be calling her. He only ever texted her and even that was few and
far between. “Hey Elliot,” she said, walking away from the kitchen table.
“Isabel, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“No, not at all.” She stopped before walking out of the kitchen,
knowing it’d be better for argument’s sake that she take this call right in
front of Romero. So she walked around the center island and leaned on it,
facing her very annoyed-looking husband. “What’s going on?”
“My plans for Thanksgiving fell through. My buddy who was
supposed to come with me to Mammoth is a cop, and he got recalled last minute.”
“Oh no,” Isabel said, genuinely feeling bad for him. She reached
for a napkin to wipe a smear on the counter. “That sucks. So what are you gonna
do?”
This was his first Thanksgiving divorced, and his ex-wife had the
kids, so he’d be alone. They’d talked about his skiing trip to Mammoth, and he’d
been really excited.
“Well, that’s why I’m calling you. I’d been trying to decide
since I found out yesterday if I should be pathetic and spend tomorrow night sitting
alone at Denny’s or just call you and ask if the invitation to spend
Thanksgiving with you guys at the restaurant you mentioned still stood.”
Invitation? Oh, Good Lord.
Isabel glanced up at Romero, who was sitting back in his chair
now, staring at her and not even eating. She’d never actually invited him, and
she couldn’t believe now that not only had he taken it that way he was actually
taking her up on it.
“Sure,” she said her voice nearly squeaking, and she smiled at
Romero before saying the next part. “Yeah, that’s fine. You can even bring
someone if you want to. We always make way too much food.”
Romero sat up slowly as if it just dawned on him that she’d
“Aha,” she said, putting the box of brown sugar on the counter.
“The kids polished off that casserole you made yesterday,” he said,
opening the fridge. “But that boy of yours ate so much of it I barely got some.”
“The chili beans will be done soon.”
“Oh yeah!” Romero smiled big, turning to the pot on the stove. He
closed the fridge and walked over to the pantry next.
“Did you get everything you’re in charge of,” she asked, turning to
watch Romero searching through the pantry. “Honey, the chili is probably
already done. Just get yourself a bowl if you’re that hungry. There’s corn
bread and all the fixings right there on the counter”
The second she saw the box in his hand she froze. “Look, babe,”
he said, looking at the box of brown sugar she’d set down on the counter then
at her a bit dolefully. “You went to the crowded ass market for nothing. The
brown sugar is right here.”
Isabel looked at him and frowned. “I knew I’d bought it.” She
quickly turned away to look into the chili pot instead because she knew how bad
she was at lying. She didn’t want to look him in the face when she did. “But I
searched and searched and couldn’t find it.”
“Probably because it was way in the back.”
Romero closed the pantry door and proceeded to make himself a
bowl of chili as he assured her everything he was in charge of for tomorrow was
ready: the air mattresses for the out-of-town guests who’d be coming back here
after dinner at Moreno’s, the table extension in the dining room for the day-after
brunch they always had, and all the booze for the mimosas and Bloody Marys they’d
have at said brunch.
She was about to sit down and have some chili with him when her
phone rang. Romero reached for it, glancing at the screen before he handed it
to her. “Elliot?”
How Valerie would think for even a second that she didn’t know
about Romero hating her working with Elliot was beyond her. Isabel was certain
of it now. Her husband wasn’t even trying to hide that fact, and his lethal
glare now was proof of that.
Isabel took the phone from him, shrugging. She had no idea why
Elliot would be calling her. He only ever texted her and even that was few and
far between. “Hey Elliot,” she said, walking away from the kitchen table.
“Isabel, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“No, not at all.” She stopped before walking out of the kitchen,
knowing it’d be better for argument’s sake that she take this call right in
front of Romero. So she walked around the center island and leaned on it,
facing her very annoyed-looking husband. “What’s going on?”
“My plans for Thanksgiving fell through. My buddy who was
supposed to come with me to Mammoth is a cop, and he got recalled last minute.”
“Oh no,” Isabel said, genuinely feeling bad for him. She reached
for a napkin to wipe a smear on the counter. “That sucks. So what are you gonna
do?”
This was his first Thanksgiving divorced, and his ex-wife had the
kids, so he’d be alone. They’d talked about his skiing trip to Mammoth, and he’d
been really excited.
“Well, that’s why I’m calling you. I’d been trying to decide
since I found out yesterday if I should be pathetic and spend tomorrow night sitting
alone at Denny’s or just call you and ask if the invitation to spend
Thanksgiving with you guys at the restaurant you mentioned still stood.”
Invitation? Oh, Good Lord.
Isabel glanced up at Romero, who was sitting back in his chair
now, staring at her and not even eating. She’d never actually invited him, and
she couldn’t believe now that not only had he taken it that way he was actually
taking her up on it.
“Sure,” she said her voice nearly squeaking, and she smiled at
Romero before saying the next part. “Yeah, that’s fine. You can even bring
someone if you want to. We always make way too much food.”
Romero sat up slowly as if it just dawned on him that she’d
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