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"Hello, Frankie." Clem's voice became calm and almost monotonous in her response.

Every part of my body tensed as I waited for the next phase of the exchange. I held my breath, but all Frankie did was look at me. And then promptly punched me in the arm.

"Jerk." I frowned at her and rubbed my shoulder.

She laughed, but turned away from us when Reagan slammed into her with her arms around the middle. "Frankie! Can you make me a tattoo?"

"Sure, kid." Frankie set her wine glass down and swooped Reagan onto her hip. "Where are your markers?"

"By the living room. C'mon!" Reagan pointed behind her and off they went.

I looked from Tati to Clem then back again as most of me finally relaxed. Clem appeared unphased as she sipped her wine.

Mrs. Silva smiled at me, a single eyebrow lifted before she turned back toward her cooking. "Wyatt, filho, come taste."

"Yes, ma'am. Happy to taste all the things." He saluted her and slid over to the stove in his socked feet.

"You're stiffer than a pipe of tungsten," said Clem, her voice an unusual sing-song with a higher pitch.

I chuckled but furrowed my brow. "What's tungsten?"

"The strongest metal in the world." She shrugged and promptly looked up at the ceiling. "This chandelier is not made of tungsten."

"That would be a cheap IKEA knock off." Tatiana laughed, her hands on her hips as she followed Clem's gaze.

"You could do better," said Clem, again, her tone pretty matter-of-fact.

"What do you mean?" asked Tati.

"It's an unattractive chandelier. It clashes with the exposed brick. I dislike IKEA. Everything from there is strange." Clem set her glass down on the table when I did, then finally drew her attention away from the ceiling.

"I will inform the super of the building." Tati grinned, appearing highly amused by the exchange.

"That might offend him if he picked it out in the first place." Clem tapped her lip with her index finger before slipping her hand into her pocket.

"Good thing I didn't pick it then, huh?" Tati lifted a brow at Clem.

A pause followed while Clem's serious expression lingered until, finally, her gaze flickered to Tati's and she smiled.

While the two of them continued their exchange, my attention wandered over to Frankie. Her unusually tame behavior concerned me, mainly because the longer she contained herself, the worse she exploded in the end. I feared she would insult Clem or worse—hurt her feelings—which would send her away from me. As if she could feel me watching her, she drew her attention from Reagan to me. I felt my stomach tighten for a moment, but when she wiggled her tongue at me in a suggestive manner then flicked her brows toward Clem, I knew she wasn't controlling herself too much. I tossed her a scowl and she laughed.

Much to my surprise, dinner went over without a hitch. Mrs. Silva fixed a traditional Portuguese dish called bacalhau com natas, which was a codfish and potatoes recipe. In addition, she made a vegan version with mushrooms instead of fish. Both were amazing. Coupled with cornbread she called broa, and a spread of desserts, my stomach was as content as my mood.

We gathered on the sofa afterward to share coffee or tea, and nibble on the leftover confections.

"I like this best," chimed Clem as she held up a spoonful of the arroz doce. To me, it resembled some kind of rice pudding.

"It's good." I leaned into the comfortable cushions of the sofa while listening to the others carrying on conversations. Even with my closest friends and family, dialogue wasn't my strong point at times, especially when the stakes were high. They felt high to me tonight, and my brain seemed to forget how to think.

Wyatt and Frankie talked shop as always. Mrs. Silva sat on the floor with Reagan and worked on some sort of beading project, neither of them speaking a lick of English while working together. Tatiana relaxed beside Clem while cupping a mug in her palms as steam rose from it. The relaxed environment soothed me some, but not much. Frankie's presence always caused concern in general, but today I worried more than usual. It made sense at least.

Eventually, Clementine wandered away from us after a trip to the bathroom. She floated off into the gallery portion of the apartment that lived below Tatiana's loft. With her hands laced in front of her, she frolicked through the vast fields of Tati's work with a content half-smile lingering on her lips.

Tati squeezed my knee to get my attention and I looked at her.

"Feeling okay?"

"A little nauseous."