Hunt Me Down {boyxboy} ✓

Chapter 21

A/N: I’m not familiar with Spanish cuisine so if I messed up, please tell me! Also, the twins have a birthday soon; what do YOU think they should get as presents?

Chapter dedicated to @layingonthefloor

 

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Nathaniel’s POV

How was it that up until now I’d been calm about this?

Was it because I’d had other things, other people, on my mind?

Even if it was not an official ‘let me introduce you to my boyfriend’ situation, I was still meeting her parents. Adults usually liked me but I found myself faced with the same fear which took over whenever I thought I might disappoint my own parents. What if I didn’t not live up to their expectations?
It was in that moment that I realized Irene was more important to me than any of the few girls I’ve dated so far.

I looked at her browsing absentmindedly through the menu. She probably knew it by heart; after all she worked here. Maybe she was just passing the time. Could she be nervous like me?

Her face was relaxed and her lips were even turned up in a small smile. No, she wasn’t nervous; I thought I saw a spark of excitement in her eyes, but she wasn’t nervous.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder and we both looked up to a smiling woman who wore a white apron over a simple light green dress. I immediately identified her as Irene’s mother; she had the same dark brown hair and eyes as her daughter, but her complexion was slightly darker.

“Hey, mom,” Irene greeted. “Nat, Val, this is my mother – Belén,” she then introduced.

“Hey, kids,” the woman saluted and I was surprised she had no accent. Then I felt silly; why would she have an accent when she grew up in America?

“How do you do,” I replied, standing up to shake her hand and she raised her eyebrows.

“‘How do you do’?” She replied. “So formal! Next thing I know you’ll be addressing me by my last name instead of as Belén.”

I bit my lip; that had been exactly how I’d meant to address her.

“So, Belén,” my sister began, her eyes glued to the menu, “what would you recommend?”

I pursed my lips at her behavior; I knew she was hungry, but she could’ve at least greeted Iren’s mother before she asked for food. I sat back down and kicked her underneath the table, a gesture which she blatantly ignored.

“That would depend on what you like,” Belén answered, her smile not faltering for a moment.

“Nat,” my twin looked up to meet my eyes, “what did I enjoy eating back in Spain?”

“What you enjoy eating everywhere else, Val: fries, pizza and steak.”

“We can make those here,” the woman replied.

“Thanks, but we came for something Spanish,” my sister murmured. “How about patatas bravas?”

I covered my forehead with my hand as she had managed to mispronounce both words.

“It’s patatas bravas, Val,’ I noted with the correct pronunciation. “We lived in Spain for four months, and you can’t even say that right?”

“Yeah, and even though I am not religious, I used to thank God every single day that a lot of people there spoke English,” she commented, without an ounce of shame at her ignorance. It never seized to amaze me how she couldn’t be bothered to learn new languages even though we traveled so often.