Rudy should have warned him.
That was Alejandro’s first thought the moment he stepped into the little house. The place smelled like simmering broth and fresh tortillas, warm and familiar in a way that made you feel welcome whether you belonged there or not. Alejandro had brought groceries — fruit, bread, some spices Abuela liked — the same as he always did.
“Buenas tardes, Abuela,” he greeted politely.
From the kitchen came the clatter of a spoon and the unmistakable voice of a woman who had raised three generations and feared absolutely no one.
“Alejandro! Finally. Come in, come in.” She appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel, small but formidable, silver hair pinned neatly back.
Alejandro bent slightly to kiss her cheek. “How is he behaving?”
From the living room came Rudy’s muffled protest. “I can hear you!”
Alejandro grinned faintly, more a slowly growing smirk.
Rudy was sprawled on the couch with his injured leg stretched out, brace hidden under loose pants. He looked half-offended and half-relieved to see Alejandro.
“Someone has to make sure you’re not starving,” Alejandro replied, setting the grocery bag on the counter.
“I’m feeding him,” Abuela said sharply. “He just complains about it.”
“You sigh dramatically every time I give you more food.”
Alejandro chuckled quietly, enjoying the soft familiar banter between Rudy and his abuela. Then Abuela turned her full attention to him.
Alejandro had faced cartel gunmen without blinking. He still felt the sudden instinct to brace for impact.
“So,” she said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Alejandro.”
“You are over thirty.” Alejandro blinked. “…Yes?”
“And Rodolfo is also over thirty.” Alejandro felt the faintest flicker of danger. Rudy groaned from the couch. “Abuela—”
She ignored him completely.
“You two spend all your time together,” she continued, stirring something in the pot without even looking at it. “Working. Visiting. Bringing groceries.” Alejandro glanced at Rudy. Rudy looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him.
“Abuela,” Rudy said carefully, “we’ve talked about this—”
“Yes, yes,” she waved a hand dismissively. “You are ‘busy.’ Soldiers are always busy.” Alejandro tried very hard not to smile.
Then she pointed the spoon at him.
Alejandro straightened instinctively like he’d just been addressed by a commanding officer.
Silence dropped over the room like a bomb. Rudy made a strangled noise.
Alejandro blinked once, twice, caught completely off guard. “I—” He glanced at Rudy again. Rudy was staring at the ceiling like he might achieve spiritual transcendence if he focused hard enough.
Alejandro cleared his throat. “…Someday, maybe.”
Abuela nodded sagely. “Good.”
Rudy covered his face with both hands. “Abuela—please—” She continued, completely unfazed.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, stirring the soup again, “if making babies is too complicated for you two…” Alejandro choked on absolutely nothing. “…there is always adoption.”
Rudy slid further down the couch in defeat.
But she only shrugged, perfectly calm. “You would both make good fathers. Rodolfo cooks. You bring groceries.” She tasted the soup again. “Balanced household.” Alejandro stared at her, stared like the thought processes in his brain needed a few good whacks to reboot.
Then, slowly — dangerously — he started smiling.
Rudy saw it immediately. “Don’t you dare,” Rudy warned. Alejandro leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed now.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “Abuela does make a good point—”
Abuela beamed, pleased with herself.
Rudy groaned so loudly the neighbor’s dog started barking.
