Her Christmas Wish. Cindi Myers

      “That’s nice.” Even to her ears, the words sounded weak.

      “Not exactly the world’s sexiest profession.” He laughed. “But an important one, I think.”

      “Yes. Of course.”

      She waited for him to pick up the conversation, but he merely smiled at her blandly. That was definitely one drawback to two quiet people trying to get to know each other.

      Eric returned, drinks in hand, and a little girl in tow. One of his nieces, she thought. “This is Emma,” he introduced the tyke as he handed the drinks around. “Say hello to Alina and Marissa.”

      “He-wo,” the child said, the word muffled by the thumb stuck in her mouth.

      “How old are you, Emma?” Alina asked.

      The little girl looked questioningly at her uncle. “She’s three,” Mrs. Sepulveda said. “And Eric is her favorite uncle.”

      “She has good taste,” Marissa said. She winked at Alina, who quickly looked away.

      “Uncle Eric, I want up.” Emma stretched her arms skyward and stood on tiptoe.

      “Emma, you’re too big for me to hold all the time,” he said, even as he bent to gather her in his arms.

      “I like it up here ’cause I’m tall.” She grinned at the circle of adults.

      Alina couldn’t help but grin back, not only at the adorable little girl, but at the picture of the child nestled against Eric, who held her with such tenderness. Before her eyes the ladies’ man who had flirted with her at Vinotok—the man who risked his life racing motorcycles and skiing off cliffs and no telling what else—had transformed into an easygoing family man, beloved by grandparents and toddlers alike. What woman wouldn’t be charmed?

      “There you are!” One of the women Alina had met earlier—Renee—hurried to them. “Stop bothering Uncle Eric and let him visit with his friends.”

      “I wasn’t bothering him!” Emma protested.

      “She really wasn’t,” Eric said, though he handed her over to her mother.

      “Let’s go fix you a plate,” Renee said. “Papa made some little sausages especially for you.”

      Effectively distracted, Emma went willingly with her mother. Eric squeezed in beside Alina on the bench so that she had to move over toward Marty to accommodate him. She was aware of how close she was, not to Marty, but to Eric, their thighs touching. He glanced toward his mother and Marissa, who were deep in conversation once more. “I don’t think Mom meant to leave you out in the cold,” he said.

      “Oh, it’s all right,” Alina said. “Marissa’s like that. She can talk to anyone about anything.”

      Whereas the three of them suddenly had nothing to say. Alina, aware of both men watching her, was struck by the truth of the saying “three’s a crowd.” Marty might be the type of man her grandmother had decreed she should be attracted to, but Eric drew her the way she imagined the forbidden fruit had once tempted Eve.

      

      ERIC’S DAD ANNOUNCED that the meat was ready, and Eric was pressed into service helping to fill plates with smoky chicken, spicy chorizo sausage and slices of beef brisket. As he worked, he darted glances at Alina and Marissa, who had found a spot at one of the big tables with some of Eric’s sisters and his brothers’ wives.

      “She’s very pretty.” His brother John accepted a plate of brisket from Eric and nodded to Alina. “What’s the story with you two?”

      “I met her at Vinotok last night and invited her to come to the barbecue,” Eric said. “There is no story.”

      “She’s good-looking.” Bart joined them. “I noticed the accent. Where’s she from?”

      “Croatia.” He sliced chorizo into bite-size pieces and transferred them to a young nephew’s plate.

      “She’s a long way from home,” Bart said.

      “She’s here on an exchange program with the hospital.”

      “So she’ll be going home eventually.” John nodded as if this was significant.

      “In a few months,” Eric said.

      Bart grinned. “That explains it, then.”

      “Explains what?”

      “Why you’re staring at her and not her pretty Latina friend.” John popped a bite of chicken into his mouth.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “We know you, bro,” Bart said. “You don’t date women who are wife material. It’s how you’ve managed to remain single longer than any of the rest of us.”

      “And it’s why Mama is getting worried,” John said. “Didn’t you see the way her eyes lit up when you introduced her to Marissa? She doesn’t know yet Alina is the one you’re really interested in.”

      “If you’re nice to us, we won’t tell her the truth.” Bart’s grin was wicked. “Yet.”

      “You’re imagining things.” Eric attacked the brisket with renewed vigor.

      “No, we’re not.” John’s expression grew serious. “Mama is desperate to see her baby married and settled down.”

      “Why does she automatically assume Marissa is the one I should marry?” Eric asks.

      “Not Marissa specifically,” Bart said. “But she fits the profile.”

      “What profile?”

      “Don’t play dumb,” Bart said. “You know the drill. You find a nice girl from the same background and culture, get married and build a life just like the one your parents built.”

      “It’s the way we do things,” John said.

      Eric thought of his brothers and sisters, who had all followed this pattern. Though he would never admit it to his brothers, he’d assumed he would take much the same path. While he enjoyed taking risks in his leisure activities and even on the job, he saw no reason to be reckless when it came to his personal life. His brothers and sisters were all happy; his parents were happy. Why shouldn’t this same approach make Eric happy, too?

      He respected his family’s history and admired all his parents had done. They were leaders in the community. His dad’s machine shop was a gathering place for local men, and his mother was active in the church and the local community center. Eric would be proud to pattern his life after theirs—but not just yet.

      “There’s nothing wrong with having fun with pretty women,” John said. “But you ought to think about settling down soon.”

      “If you don’t, Mama and Grandmother will find a wife for you,” Bart said. “You don’t want that.”

      “Remember what happened to Gilberto,” John said.

      “What happened to Gilberto?” Eric looked across the yard to where his eldest brother stood with a group of older men. Gilberto had been married for years—apparently happily—to a large, cheerful woman who had come into the machine shop one day to pick up parts for her father.

      “You’re too young to remember,” John said. “When he was twenty, he made the mistake of telling Mama that he didn’t plan on getting married until he was thirty because he was having too much fun being single and didn’t want the burden of a family.”

      Eric tried to imagine anyone in his family making this kind of announcement to his parents; he couldn’t. He and his brothers and sisters might think such things, but why say them out loud and risk an argument? “What happened?” he asked.

      “Mama said that was fine. That no one should be burdened by a family,” Bart said.