Javier Peña wasn’t planning to mingle. He showed up at Steve Murphy’s house with a bottle of liquor and a mental timer for how long he’d stay. Smile, nod, maybe argue politics with someone’s uncle. Then leave.

But when he saw them—that one guest, standing by the bookshelf, laughing at something Steve’s wife said—his drink stopped halfway to his mouth.

“Murphy,” he muttered, leaning in close. “Who the hell is that?”

Steve followed his gaze, already smirking. “Don’t tell me you’re catching feelings during my family dinner.”

“Oh, fuck me. Just introduce me, gringo.” Javier hissed, straightening his shirt. “Before I do something stupid. Like try small talk.”