The living room led into a dining area with a beat-up wood table and ladder-back chairs, a bay window and a built-in hutch with mirrored back and glass-fronted doors.

There was nothing in the hutch.

I stared at the dining room table.

Eddie did too and then he said something in Spanish that sounded half annoyed, half amused.

It had been laid with place mats, silverware, napkins and candles. I didn’t think Eddie was the type of guy who owned cloth napkins or candles and I began to wonder about the

“pity” part of his Mom’s dinner. I started to wonder more if Eddie’s Mom was kind of like mine.

We sat down and Eddie didn’t bother lighting the candles.

I began to get nervous, wondering what we’d talk about.

I didn’t have to worry. Eddie asked questions that were not too demanding and I answered, tel ing him a little about Lottie but mostly about Mom.

I asked questions and found out Eddie’d bought the house as a wreck about three years ago and was slowly doing it up. He had three sisters, two brothers, he was the second born and his father had died of a heart attack a little over a year ago. The family was close, they al stil lived in Denver, and the loss of their father was a blow. I also found out he’d known Lee since the third grade and with Lee came Indy, Hank and Al y.

Then we were finished eating and I realized I’d been lul ed into a false sense of security.

Dear Lord, what were we going to do now?

I didn’t want to think what we could do so I jumped up and grabbed the plates.

“I’l do the dishes,” I announced, deciding that was a

“I’l do the dishes,” I announced, deciding that was a good plan. Then I hustled into the kitchen.

I was rinsing the plates when I heard Eddie come in behind me.

“Leave them,” he said to the back of my head.

I didn’t turn around.

“No, there’s not a lot. I’l just do these and wrap up the food.” And anything else I could think up to avoid him while we were in his house. I wasn’t beneath cleaning his bathroom if I had to.

Eddie came up behind me, his h*ps pressed mine into the sink, an arm came around my middle and his other hand moved my hair away from my neck. Then his mouth was where my hair used to be.

“Leave them,” he said against my neck in a voice that clearly stated his words were not a suggestion.

I did a ful -body shiver and, between my legs, my doo-da quivered.

His mouth moved up my neck to behind my ear.

Then the doorbel rang.

His arm tightened and his mouth went away.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and even though I couldn’t see him, I was pretty sure it was muttered through gritted teeth.

Eddie walked out of the kitchen.

I rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher and heard my cel phone ring. I wiped my hands on a dishtowel, grabbed my purse and just missed the last ring. I looked to see who it was, worried it was Mom but it was Indy.

I heard voices talking in Spanish, so I put the phone on I heard voices talking in Spanish, so I put the phone on the counter deciding to text Indy later and I walked into the other room. I saw Eddie standing in front of a tiny, Mexican woman with shiny black hair and a near-perfectly round body. She was carrying a smal baker’s box, the kind in which you pack birthday cakes.

She turned to me and looked me up and down. Then her face split in a smile.

“Hel o,” I said.

She came toward me.

“Hola. I’m Blanca, Eddie’s Mom.”

Uh… wow.

This was a surprise.

I glanced at Eddie and his hands were on his hips, his head was tilted back, looking at the ceiling. This was not a happy posture.

For some reason (probably residual hysteria), I found this amusing.

I smiled at Blanca.

“I’m Jet,” I told her.

Then, the front door opened and two women and a man walked in. It wasn’t difficult to see they were related to Eddie. One of the women was tal and so was the man, the other woman was tiny, like Blanca. They were al glamorously good looking, just like Eddie.

They al looked at me.

Eddie glared at them, then dropped his head and ran his hand through his hair and muttered words in Spanish and English, none of them nice.

I looked at the newcomers.

“Hey,” I said to them.

There were general greetings and smal waves and lots and lots of white teeth against dark skin.

“These are my kids, Carlos, Rosa and Elena,” Blanca said (Elena was the short one).

“I’m Jet,” I repeated, stil smiling and beginning to think this whole thing was hilarious.

“Are we having a reunion?” Eddie asked.

Carlos laughed. Rosa and Elena looked at each other and grinned. Blanca gave Eddie a death glare and spat something at him in Spanish. Then she turned back to me, al smiles again.

Yep, Eddie’s Mom was just like mine.

“I forgot the dessert so I brought you Napoleons from Pasquini’s,” Blanca told me.

She did not forget dessert. She deliberately delayed delivery of dessert so she could check out Eddie’s date. I wondered if it was me or if this happened to Eddie al the time. I couldn’t imagine Eddie would put up with this al the time so it had to be me. I didn’t know what to make of that so I pushed it aside.

I came forward and took the box from her. “That sounds lovely. Dinner was delicious, by the way. Thank you.”

“De nada,” she said, graciously inclining her head.

Everyone stood around, smiling at each other. That was, everyone but Eddie.

Final y, I broke the silence. “Did you get enough for everyone? Should I serve these?” I asked Blanca.

“No!” Eddie final y snapped and I couldn’t help myself, I turned my smile to him.

He glared at me.

His family watched us.

Eddie looked at his mother and said something in Spanish. It didn’t take an interpreter to translate she was being ousted.

“Al right, al right. We’re going,” she said and turned to me, “Eddie told me about tu madre. How is she?” I was stil smiling, too amused to be annoyed she knew about Mom.

“She’s fine.”

“She need company tonight? Maybe we could swing around…”

I couldn’t help myself, I started laughing.

Eddie didn’t think it was funny and started talking, more Spanish, this rapid-fire, beyond annoyed and vaguely threatening.

“Ay Dios mio, mi niño, you’re wound up tonight,” Blanca said to Eddie and Carlos burst out laughing. Blanca turned back to me, “He’s a little bit hot-blooded, just like his Papa.” No kidding. I’d already figured that out.