“I’ll do it,” I say. “We should minimize your exposure to them anyway. All of you stay here. Dean, you ready?”

He nods, his eyes darting everywhere as though he’s searching the store for any and all exit points. “Ready.”

Dean and I stride over to the table, then I pretend to be holding a pad and paper in my hands. “Welcome to Rio de Wheaton, friends. Can I start you off with a beverage?”

Everyone agrees to a round of Guaraná Brazilia, and Dean and I grab the soft drink cans from the fridge. Minutes later, our group is huddled around a tiny table, a warm batch of salgadinhos in the center, thanks to Tia Mariana, who skedaddled away to the back as if she were Remy from Ratatouille and a health inspector had just walked in.

Nia bites into one of the coxinhas and slaps her hand on the table. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Goodness, Nia,” Kimberly says, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “You’re giving us Meg Ryan fake-orgasm-in-the-diner vibes.”

“I’m not faking it, though!” Nia says, dabbing the sides of her mouth with a napkin. “But I do love that movie.”

Dean chuckles. “I know that scene. Everyone does. But I’ve never seen the entire movie.”

Nia’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “You haven’t? Oh, you need to fix that, stat. When Harry Met Sally is a classic for a reason.”

“I’ll put it on the list for our next movie night,” he says.

For a few seconds, I actually believe Dean’s going to do just that. As if movie night isn’t a mythical event that exists only in the context of our phony relationship. Snap the hell out of it, Solange. After today, you’re going to steer clear of this man.

Molly hums her approval. “Nia’s right. I’m in heaven.”

I steal a glance at Peter, who’s watching the tias behind the counter. As long as I keep him away from them, we should be okay. Satisfied that Dean and I are off the hook for now, I grab an empadinha de camarão and take a bite. The buttery flakes of the mini pot pie crumble in my mouth, and I moan my appreciation.

“Someone’s giving Sally a run for her money,” Nia says, winking at me.

Gaining confidence that we’ll survive this fiasco with each passing minute, I offer Dean a taste. “Want to try?”

His eyes flickering with interest, he opens his mouth—just as the bell above the door chimes and my cousin Rey’s voice fills the store. “What’s up, meu povo! No one told me about the party!”

Oh God, oh God, oh God. I grab Dean’s thigh under the table. Unless Lina’s a magician, which isn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility, Rey has no clue what’s going on.