Gina gave me a hard stare. “Yeah, cold is really bad for us Ramos women.”
“Do something with her and yourselves and give these two thickheaded people some space.”
They dispersed.
The last one to go was Gina’s dad, who pointed his fingers at his eyes and then pointed them at me to indicate he was watching me. I nodded in acknowledgment. Considering how the day had gone so far, I’d gotten off easy.
I didn’t appreciate being called thick, but I also couldn’t dispute that description at the moment. “Where’s Samantha?”
“My abuela has her.” Gina gave my arm an absent rub as if she’d briefly forgotten she was pissed at me. The warmth of her skin against mine even through my shirt was comforting—and was also causing another sensation I should not have been aware of with her mother standing inches away.
Staring down at her daughter’s hand on my arm.
“That is what I mean. You have so much between you. Isn’t it time you deal with that instead of squabbling over nonsense?”
Gina lifted her chin—and somehow didn’t take her hand off my arm. I wasn’t about to remind her. “It’s not nonsense. I’m hurt. Really hurt. And he made me lie for him.”
“Did he threaten to throw you in jail on a made-up charge?”
“No. But he knows I can’t say no to him.”
“I don’t know that,” I interjected.
Both women ignored me. I was almost relieved.
“Why didn’t you want to bring her to New York?” Bonnie asked me, her tone brooking no debate.
I was going to answer this question. Inappropriateness be damned.
“It was an official conference,” I began and then released a long breath as I held Bonnie’s gaze. “I didn’t want something to happen.”
“Like what? That I’d be kidnapped and held for ransom for my pecan pie recipe?”
I frowned. “You didn’t bring it. I saw you drop some bag in the hall, and that pie weighs a ton. You always use that red covered dish.”
“Not today,” Gina said smugly, and finally, she snatched back her hand. “I didn’t make the pie.”
This was the final straw. “How could you?”
“Maybe I’m sick of pecans. Maybe I don’t even like pecans anymore. Maybe I decided I liked crustless pumpkin pudding crap better than I ever liked pecans.” Gina gave me a fierce grin, her dark eyes blazing. “How about that?”
Bonnie heaved out a sigh. “In my day, I’ve seen a lot. I’ve counseled couples on the verge of divorce. I even helped Gina’s Aunt Vera make up with her estranged son. You two are beyond my scope. Figure it out yourselves. But don’t come out of this room until you’ve resolved…things.”
She gave us a meaningful stare that had prickly heat climbing up my neck and along my scalp. Either I was being eaten alive by a sudden infestation of fire ants or she was suggesting something highly shocking.
That did not mean I wasn’t on board with it, however.
“Did she mean…” Gina whispered as soon as Bonnie pulled shut the double doors to the dining room with a decisive click.
“She can’t have. It’s Thanksgiving.”
Gina smirked. “People do have sex on Thanksgiving. Don’t get out much, huh, Brooks?”
“I know that.” I gestured wildly in the hopes of the breeze killing the flames eating my head. “I just mean it’s almost time to eat, and all your family is here.”
“And yours,” she reminded me.
“I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath and then another until the cramp in my ribs eased. It was hard to look at her. All I kept doing was screwing this up. “I did this all wrong.”