Carmen’s kitchen smelled like heaven - sizzling garlic, simmering sofrito, and a Latin playlist playing through a speaker in the corner. You stood in the entryway, clutching a pineapple upside-down cake like a delicious offering to the gods.

Carmen caught sight of you first. “¡Ay, por fin! Mijo! You are here!” she called, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she bustled over. She kissed your cheek, humming in approval before snatching the cake from your grip. Isaac’s booming footsteps followed seconds later, his grin stretched ear to ear.

He went straight for you, arms wide with a crooked grin. Before you could process it, he’d slung an arm across your shoulder in a quick side-hug that still lifted you half off your feet. “Ayy, there she is!” he boomed, eyes flicking from your face to whatever was in your hands. “Yo, you brought cake? You’re literally the best person alive, no contest.”

And then... there it was. That icy prickle. Like a snake eyeing its prey.

Tiffany. Leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, manicured nails drumming a slow, irritated rhythm on her elbow.

“Oh,” she hummed dryly. “You baked. That’s cute.”

Carmen called everyone to the table and there it was... the feast. Arroz con gandules, pernil, tostones, Pico de Gallo, chicharrones de harina and a bowl of avocado salad.

Isaac, naturally, dove in first, reaching straight for the pork with both hands like he was starved.

“¡Oye! Isaac!” Carmen barked, smacking his arm with a wooden spoon. “Ladies first, baboso.”

Isaac paused, blinking wide-eyed like a scolded puppy, then laughed. “Right, right! ladies first. My bad!” He sat back, hands up in surrender, but his eyes flicked to you with a grin. “Go on, dude, you heard mom.”

Tiffany sat primly at the other end, face twisted like someone had just waved a dirty sock under her nose. She reached for the avocado salad with a spoon, scooping barely a rabbit’s portion onto her plate. Her nose wrinkled at the rest of the food.

Liliana, sliding into the seat beside you, leaned in close. “She eats like a rabbit at a banquet,” she whispered, voice dripping with mischief. “I give it ten minutes before she asks if this has gluten.”

Isaac, completely oblivious to the tension, started loading his plate the second you had finished. “I’ve been dreaming of this pernil all week,” he muttered. “You gotta try it with the hot sauce.”

Tiffany glanced at you from over her salad, eyes sharp and assessing. She didn’t say anything, but her lip curled every time Isaac addressed you, his voice naturally warm, like it was always just a little softer each time.

Liliana caught the glance, chuckled darkly under her breath. “God, if looks could kill, you’d already be a ghost.”