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Gia swallowed the last sweet raisin and pineapple tamale. Nana smacked her on the arm, warning her she was going to choke if she didn’t eat more slowly.
“Ow, not so hard, Nana,” she chided, rubbing her arm even though it didn’t hurt. It was a game they’d played since Nana was little.
She ate some more, savoring the warmth of the kitchen. Before Nana, it had been Celestina cooking here. Before Celestina, this had been Renata’s domain. Her sister’s descendants had generously opened their home to her for centuries. And, fortunately, they had all been good cooks.
Nana’s steady stream of chatter worked its usual magic, soothing the ragged edges of her soul. The fight with the Fae warrior had bothered her more than she had let on. What had been done to him—that kind of depravity and despe
