I introduced her to my dad, who was much warmer to her than he was to Gideon, and then I led her to the sink, where she washed up.
In short order, I had her helping to roll the last few enchiladas, while my dad put the already chilled Dos Equis Gideon had brought into the fridge.
I didn't even bother to wonder how Gideon knew I was serving Mexican food for dinner.
I only wondered why he'd invest the time to find out when it was very clear he other things to do - like ditch his appointments.
My dad went to his room to wash up.
Gideon came up behind me and put his hands on my waist, his lips brushing over my temple.
"Eva."
I tensed against the nearly irresistible urge to lean into him.
"Don't," I whispered.
"I'd rather we didn't pretend."
His breath left him in a rush that ruffled my hair.
His fingers tightened on my hips, kneading for a moment.
Then I felt his phone vibrate and he released me, backing away to look at the screen.
"Excuse me," he said gruffly, leaving the kitchen before answering.
Ireland sidled over and whispered, "Thank you.
I know you made him bring me along."
I managed a smile for her.
"Nobody can make Gideon do anything he doesn't want to."
"You could."
She tossed her head, throwing her sleek waist-length black hair over her shoulder.
"You didn't see him watching you dance with your dad.
His eyes got all shiny.
I thought he was going to cry.
And on the way up here, in the elevator, he tried to play it off, but I could totally tell he was nervous."
I stared down at the can of enchilada sauce in my hands, feeling my heart break a little more.
"You're mad at him, aren't you?" Ireland asked.
I cleared my throat.
"Some people are just better off as friends."
"But you said you love him."
"That's not always enough."