Listen to Your Heart
Page 37

“I’m scared.”
“ ‘I love you on the show. What advice would you give to someone who wants to ask you out?’ ”
“Ugh,” I said.
Alana glanced up. “Why is that an ugh? I thought it was nice.”
“He doesn’t know me at all!”
“What do you mean? He listens to you every week and he’s smitten.”
“Okay, fine, then I don’t know him at all.”
“He obviously wants to change that. I think it’s cute.”
“No. Not cute.” I pulled a box of chicken broth from the grocery bag. “What are you making tonight, anyway?”
“Hulihuli chicken.”
“Mmm. I love that stuff.”
“I know. It will transform Diego’s heart into putty.”
“Is that a weird way of saying it will give him a heart attack?”
“No! It’s an amazing way of saying he will finish falling in love with me.”
“Oh. Got it.” Our bags were unloaded and in an hour Diego would arrive.
“He’s bringing a friend, by the way,” Alana said. “Someone else to judge, because he thought you’d be biased.”
“Who’s he bringing?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Should we go change?” I asked. We were still both in our school clothes, and I felt sweaty and grimy.
“Definitely,” Alana said. She picked up her phone and followed me to my room. “ ‘Dear Kat and Victoria,’ ” she read aloud while she walked. “ ‘We want less homework advice and more love advice.’ ”
I rolled my eyes. “Because let’s not forget what’s really important right now in our lives.”
“My unromantic friend,” Alana declared, “love makes the world go ’round. It will always be important.”
“Well, I don’t dictate who calls in.”
“I am not the one writing these emails. No need to get mad at me,” Alana said as we walked into my room.
“But you’re the one reading them!” I pointed out, closing my door. “Why are you still reading them?”
“You’re right.” Alana put her phone in her pocket and smiled. “Let’s concentrate on the cook-off.”
An hour later, I answered my door to find Diego and Frank standing on my front porch.
I was confused. “This is who you brought to judge?” I demanded of Diego.
“Yes,” Diego said. “I needed someone biased in the complete opposite way. Plus, I’ve been told there’s some sort of truce?” He cringed as he said the last sentence, like he just now realized he’d been given the wrong intel.
I glanced at Frank, who, for once, had the decency to look penitent. He really did seem to be adamant about this truce thing. I’d give him that.
“Fine. Come in.” And for the second time ever, Frank Young walked into my house.
My dad came down the stairs right at that moment. “Hey, there are people in my house!” he said in his joking way.
“Yes, Dad. This is Diego, a friend from school, and you know Frank.”
“Frank Young,” Dad said.
“Yes, sir,” Frank said. “Nice to see you again.”
“They came over to cook,” I explained, seeing the surprise on my dad’s face.
“I only came to eat,” Frank said.
Diego shifted the grocery bag he held in his right hand to his left and shook my dad’s outstretched hand. “I came to cook. I’ve been told you have an amazing kitchen.”
My dad smiled. “Oh. Thanks. I haven’t gotten that one before. My top three compliments are: I have an amazing golf swing, I have an amazing ability to sand docks, and I have an amazing head of hair.” He rubbed his hand over his bald head. “But thank you. I’ll add kitchen to the list.”
“It’s really my mom’s kitchen,” I said. Not that she used it much. But she had designed it.
“And look at that. My daughter snatched it right back off the list.” Dad grinned.
“Speaking of golf swings, Dad, Diego claims he can hit a golf ball through the goalposts from that hill behind the stadium?”
“What?” Diego said, indignant. “This again? You still don’t believe me?”
“Your credibility was called into question recently and reminded me that no, I don’t.”
My dad held up his hands like this wasn’t his fight. “It would be impressive.”
“Exactly. Thanks, Dad.”
“He didn’t agree with you,” Diego said.
I laughed, then said to my dad, “I think Mom went next door to Aunt Marinn’s.”
“And that’s my daughter’s subtle way of dismissing me,” Dad said.
“Was it subtle?” I asked.
He laughed and I hugged him. Because occasionally he needed a sign that I loved him. He left the house still chuckling.
“Alana is already in the kitchen,” I told Frank and Diego, leading them there.
“Has she started?” Diego asked.
“I think …”
I didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence because Diego rushed by me, calling out, “Do we not have rules? We get the same amount of time.”
“What is this, Chopped?” she asked back.
Frank and I were left standing together. I met his eyes. “I just need to go lock an office door, I’ll join you in the kitchen in a minute.”
“Hilarious,” he said, but didn’t give a jab back, like he normally did, so I was left feeling like a jerk.
I took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
In the kitchen, Alana had taken over half the island and two burners on the stove.
Diego began practically flinging his ingredients onto the island beside her stuff.
“No cross-contamination,” she said, playfully swatting at his arm.
Frank pulled a barstool out and sat down.
“Does anyone want anything to drink?” I asked. “We have soda or water.”
“I’ll take a Coke.” Frank was the only one who answered. Both Diego and Alana were too busy with their food.
I retrieved a can from the fridge and handed it to Frank.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Were we in some alternate universe where Frank and I could be civil to each other?
Diego put a pan on the stove and poured oil into it. He unwrapped a fish fillet from some brown paper.
“Did you catch that?” I asked.
He looked up at me through his long lashes with a smirk on his face. He had very long lashes and a very cute smirk. “No, I did not.”
He put the fish in the pan and it sizzled.
Alana was running around the kitchen like she really was on Chopped and the announcer had just declared there were five minutes left. She pulled open the oven door and slid a pan of chicken onto the middle rack.
“I usually marinate the chicken overnight,” she said. “So it won’t be as amazing as it normally is, but it’ll come close.”
“Are you making excuses, Alana?” Diego asked.
“I won’t need excuses when I win.”
Diego drizzled some herbs over the fish in the pan and then covered it with the lid. A pot of white rice was also cooking on the stove. I assumed Alana had that going. She wiped her hands on a towel and sat on the stool, apparently having some downtime now that the chicken was in the oven.