Chapter Seventeen Jeremy
I haven’t hosted one of these dinners in a while, so the impromptu invitations are accepted with surprise and gusto.
Dexter and Sabrina show up with dessert, Rose and Ken some wine, and the rest of the guys—Sean, Gordon, and Randi—bring their appetites. Everyone arrives right at eight, hungry for a home-cooked meal. That is, everyone except the woman across the street who is the reason I put this dinner together in the first place.
“That smells awesome!” Gordon says while looming over the empanadas I pulled out of the oven. “Let me make sure they taste right.” He reaches out for one, but I smack his hand away with my oven mitt.
“What did you put in the rice?” Rose asks while leaning over the stove.
“It’s a secret,” I answer because only an amateur gives up all his recipes.
“I see beans and cilantro,” Ken offers.
“It smells richer. A new spice maybe?”
“It’s achiote, I think,” Sabrina guesses correctly which impresses me. It’s not a common ingredient.
“It’s used for a Filipino oxtail stew. Gives everything that warm orange tinge.”
“You’ll have to cook it for us some time,” I urge.
“Oh, I don’t cook it. I hate oxtail! But Dexter makes it for when my parents visit.”
As if on cue, Dexter slides beside Sabrina and wraps an arm around her waist.
“You need to give oxtail a try, babe. Suck all that gelatine from the bones,” he says with wiggling brows.
“Ick,” she says, but it’s drowned out by everyone’s varying protests: “You’re ruining my appetite!” “What the hell is an oxtail?” “Who’s sucking what?”
“You guys are gross. Out of my kitchen now ,” I grumble. “And Gordon, I saw you sneak that empanada.”
“Oh, I’ll take one too, then,” Sean says, crowding closer to the food.
“Grab me one!” Randi yaps from the living room.
Five people linger behind the kitchen island and three in front. It’s not a big house, and the kitchen is tight as it is. The Pepián de Pollo must be stirred at regular intervals or it won’t simmer properly, but I can barely turn around to reach the stove.
“Out, out, out!” I yell while shoving my teammates’ shoulders
“Oh, um, sorry. OK, we’ll go” I hear from beyond the chatter. It’s Vanya, sounding confused. This is not the welcome I planned.
“Vanya!” Sabrina comes to the rescue with her cheerful greeting. “Don’t mind him. Jeremy is a control freak when it comes to cooking. Come in, come in.”
When Vanya enters and removes her coat, I get stuck mid-swallow because wow, I’ve never seen her in a dress like that. In a dress that freaking gorgeous.
“Ahem,” Ken says with a hand on my shoulder. “You might want to have a glass of water before you introduce us to your new guests. You look parched, my friend.”
I swallow with some difficulty but manage to announce, “Make yourself at home. Dinner is almost ready.”
“You’ve got to try these empanadas,” Gordon says mid-chew.
Everyone gathers around Vanya and her friend. While I stir the pot, I catch more glimpses of what she’s wearing. Her dress isn’t clingy but it isn’t loose either, hugging her waist and flaring out to accommodate those luscious thighs. The blue hue isn’t subdued, either. It’s the kind of blue that makes her skin glow. This is the first time I’ve seen Dr. Vanya Kapur in anything but casual clothes. It is impossible to look away.
The only thing that might beat this dress are the black leggings she wore that night. I recall pulling them down so I could eat her out. Dammit, now I’m getting hard. Think of something else. The distraction from my arousal comes easily. Gordon, Sean, Randi. All three leering at my doctor is a definite turnoff.
I shut off the heat on the stove, wash my hands, and play host, making sure introductions are made and drinks are served. Closer to Vanya, it’s harder to ignore her scooped neckline where her subtle cleavage might as well be a magnet to my eyeballs. With effort, I focus on her face. That doesn’t work, either, because she’s absolutely stunning tonight. Her eyes are bold and smoky. Her lips are tinted with the shade of cherries. Her hair frames high cheekbones, strands looking smoother than silk and smelling like a fancy spa.
Ashley, her friend visiting from Boston, is a bubbly blonde who captivates everyone by declaring: “We’re practically sisters! We even shared clothes till she outgrew me.”
Ashley points up at Vanya who is a good five inches taller.
“But Vanya in crop tops and short shorts is cute, not gonna lie.”
“I bet,” Sean mumbles with a smirk. I want to whack him on the head. I hope he enjoys that empanada, because it’s the last one he’s ever getting.
“Let’s get started,” I announce, grabbing the wine to put on the table. “The table isn’t large, so we do buffet style and then sit down.” The explanation is directed at Vanya and Ashley since all the other guests have been here before.
“We brought a salad,” Vanya offers.
“Thank you. Do you mind bringing it into the kitchen?” I lift my full hands.
“I’ll top us up for drinks,” Dexter says while freeing my hands of the wine. “Anyone want a beer instead?” he adds.
I lead Vanya into the kitchen where she puts the salad down on the last free section of the counter.
“Great place,” she states, looking around. Although it’s the same midcentury, no-frills architecture as all the houses on the street, I’ve made renovations. My childhood home is updated with the best appliances money can buy and sleek, built-in storage spaces that maximize square footage.
“Thanks. I’m glad you could make it at short notice. Your friend seems fun.”
“Ashley’s a blast.”
“How long is she staying?”
“Four days. We’ll make a long weekend out of it.”
“Good that you’re taking time off. You work too hard.”
“I’ll come in for some early appointments, since Ashley will sleep in till noon.”
“Oh, good!” Gordon says, creeping up from behind me. “I have a nine a.m. with you on Saturday.”
I elbow him back. “She deserves a weekend, too, you know.”
“From you , maybe. But I’m her favorite Mavericks patient. Isn’t that right, Vanya?”
“I don’t play favorites,” Vanya states.
“She won’t admit to favorites, but Vanya is partial to goaltenders,” Ashley says from across the room with a smirk.
I’m entertained by Vanya’s flush, spreading from her chest to her cheeks.
“Guess our secret is out, huh, doc?” I tease.
“You wish,” she answers haughtily in a tone that sounds more like a dare than a rebuttal.
By the time we pile our plates and settle in our seats, we’re all ready to dive in. Between enthusiastic bites, there’s talk of holiday plans and hockey stats. Ashley is getting tips on shopping districts from Sabrina. The boys yap about their cars and the fishing trip Dexter is planning for next summer. Rose is giving Vanya the gossip on everyone who watches Musical Mondays at the Drexel. The whole time, I’m stealing glimpses of Vanya from across the table, the subtle lighting catching the edges of her lashes and the sheen on her lips.
“Jeremy, did you hear me?”
The voice comes from my left, where Rose is sitting. By the time I tilt my body to face her, she is already shifting her eyes between me and Vanya. Whatever she finds makes her smirk.
“Sorry, Rose. Dexter talking about his fishing boat was distracting.”
Randi, sitting on the other side of me, snorts like a farm animal. “That was ten minutes ago.”
I kick him under the table before speaking. “You were asking?”
“About your mom. Is she coming to visit any time soon? Not that I blame her for staying in Arizona as the winter approaches. Is she still busy with the nonprofit?”
I nod. Three years ago, my mother moved to Tucson. After struggling to raise me as a working single mother—my father was a useless jerk from the beginning—Christina Lopez could have retired comfortably. Instead, she took a job with Frontera Care, a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting migrants at the US-Mexico border. Her official title is Humanitarian Support Coordinator, but she wears many hats.
“Busier than ever.”
“What nonprofit?” Vanya asks.
Rose jumps to answer before I can. “Frontera Care helps migrants with translation services and access to humanitarian care. She’s incredible,” Rose praises.
“She coordinates with local shelters and health clinics, that sort of thing,” Ken adds.
“You must be so proud of her,” Vanya says to me with a smile.
Of course, I’m proud of my mother. She escaped extreme poverty and political instability as a young woman from Guatemala. She’s now dedicating her life to helping others who, like her, have crossed the border in search of a better life.
“Yeah, she’s incredible,” I confirm before taking a bite of the dish she taught me to make since I was a teenager.
“Jeremy sends them money. That’s why he’s still in this little house.” Rose speaks excitedly, barely keeping her fork from flying as she points at my little house .
I roll my eyes and shake my head. She’s exaggerating. Sure, I helped start a foundation with my mother, but it’s a drop in the bucket of what people need.
“It’s not that little,” Vanya states. “The house, I mean. It’s homey and lovely, Jeremy yet beautifully updated inside. And the fact that you send to the organization instead of spending money on yourself, that’s admirable.”
“Enough about me,” I declare, because I didn’t put together this dinner to talk about my mom. I did it to get to know the woman in front of me. “How about you? Are you close to your family?”
Vanya’s smile wavers slightly, but she answers with a steady voice. “My mother and stepfather live in Toronto. I visit when I can. Oh, Sabrina, I meant to ask you about that restaurant on Hyde street.”
It isn’t lost on me that she changed the subject. And if Ashley’s raised brow and tightly pressed lips are any indication, I’m not the only one who noticed.