Page 52 of Maxwell

“What you said about me coasting and having a safety net.” His voice was quiet, without anger or ice. “You’re not entirely wrong about the privilege I’ve had in my life, but you’re not completely right about the type of person I am, either.”

“I look forward to being proven wrong, assuming you do as I asked.”

Jasmine left the building a few minutes later. If Maxwell carried out her request—and she wasn’t 100 percent certain that he would—she had made a promise to him. They could go to dinner.

She didn’t know how to define what was unfolding with him, but she suspected that whatever happened in the coming weeks would be life-changing.

Chapter Twenty-One

Maxwell parked on the side of his parents’ house around dinnertime on Friday night. After entering through the front door, he heard shrieks of laughter upstairs and the thump of pattering feet. Then a deeper voice, which he knew belonged to his father, Benicio, doing something a man of his age probably shouldn’t be doing with his grandchildren.

Following his nose, Maxwell entered the kitchen. Rodolfo was at the stove, wearing his uniform of a gray chef’s coat, moving fluidly between the appliances with the expertise of years of practice.

Whatever he was cooking smelled delicious, the scent of savory herbs perfuming the air and the unmistakable sweet aroma of his lemon cake. The family was eating good tonight.

“Maxwell,” Rodolfo said when he saw him, a smile breaking out on his face. “I did not know you were coming for dinner.”

“Neither did anyone else.” Maxwell walked deeper into the kitchen. “Whatever you’re making smells delicious.”

“Your parents have the grandchildren, and the kids wanted breakfast for dinner. We have herb-crusted salmon, fried potatoes, bacon, and a frittata.” Rodolfo adjusted the heat under the potatoes.

Whatever the chef made, Maxwell already knew would be well done, but he missed his mole poblano most of all. During his residency, Rodolfo had overnighted the dish to Maxwell, and eating it had been like a spiritual experience.

“Do I smell lemon cake?” he asked hopefully.

“Almost finished,” Rodolfo confirmed.

“My nieces and nephews are going to have to fight me for that cake.”

Rodolfo chuckled. “There are two in the oven. Plenty for everyone.”

Before Maxwell could respond, small feet raced across the floor accompanied by giggling and screaming, much closer this time. His father’s delighted, booming voice speaking in rapid Spanish joined the noise.

“How long will the kids be here?” Maxwell asked.

“The kids” belonged to Audra and Damon and included their biological three and the two they had adopted.

“All weekend. Only the little ones. Kerilyn isn’t here,” Rodolfo said, referring to Audra’s oldest. “Your father is enjoying himself. Keeps him young,” Rodolfo said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Until his back goes out chasing them around,” Maxwell said.

“Then the señora will fix him up,” Rodolfo said with confidence.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Rose, Maxwell’s mother, entered the kitchen carrying his two-year-old niece on her hip. She stopped short when she saw him.

“Maxwell, honey, I didn’t know you were coming over.” Her face broke into a warm and genuine smile.

“I had to come see my favorite girl,” Maxwell said.

Rose Santana was a tiny woman, barely over five feet with mahogany skin and her gray-streaked hair brushed away from her face and onto her shoulders.

She laughed, walking over and kissing his cheek. “You always know what to say. When did you get here?” She adjusted the little girl on her hip, Audra’s youngest.

“A few minutes ago. I haven’t been here long.” He looked at his niece, who examined him with serious brown eyes. “What are you looking at, girl? Come here.” He extended his hands, and she immediately reached for him. He lifted her into his arms and tickled her, making her giggle.

“She’s been attached to me all day. You show up and she’s gone.”

“That’s the power he has over women,” Rodolfo said without turning around.