“I haven’t done that much,” I said. “I made some tamales.”
He shot me a sideways glance. “You’ve done more than that, and you know it. But those tamales have definitely been appreciated.”
“Good.” After I’d packaged them all up, Connor had taken most of them over to his cousin Marie’s house as his contribution to the Wilcox potluck. Of course he still said he wouldn’t go, that he wouldn’t leave me alone on Christmas Day, even though I’d told him I really didn’t mind. Maybe I did, a little; sitting here alone while he was off at a get-together didn’t sound all that appealing. But I didn’t want to be the reason he avoided going. Truthfully, I sort of wished I could go, too, if only for the anthropological curiosity of seeing a bunch of Wilcoxes in their natural habitat.
Even as I thought t
