I nodded and took a sip of my drink. “Wow, that’s good.” It wasn’t too sweet like some bartenders tended to make mojitos. It was very reminiscent of the drink I had back in Mexico.
“Buenas tardes,” a male waiter appeared at the side of the table. He placed a basket of tortilla chips with a bowl of guacamole on one side and salsa on the other. “On the menu tonight, we have three types of tacos; pork belly tacos, cauliflower tacos, and beef tacos. The chef is preparing your order, and it will be out shortly. My name is Armando, please let me know if you need anything else in the meantime.”
I turned to Brutus. “That’s the same menu we had in Tulum.”
He nodded, the smile on his lips creeping up to meet his eyes. There was a twinkle in those hazel orbs.
“What are you up to?” I asked again.
“Big things, baby. And memories,” he answered cryptically.
It was pointless to ask him what he had planned for the rest of the night. He would never play his hand before he was ready. He had uncanny patience when it came to matters that needed it. It made him great at his job, but sometimes it could drive me to insanity. Like when he took his time, on purpose, bringing me to orgasm just to drag it out.
And like tonight.
I knew something important was happening. It made sense. The nervousness I’d picked up on earlier, the gleam in his eyes. There was always an intensity in his eyes when he looked at me. But that night, it was even more apparent. He wouldn’t stop staring at me. Like if he even blinked for too long, I would disappear.
“Did you bring me here because you have to go away for a month with Aaron Townsend or something?” I guessed. “Is that why you want to make tonight memorable?”
“No,” he answered seriously, shaking his head. “Contrarily, I’ve done some negotiating on my work schedule.”
This was news. I snagged a tortilla chip and dipped it into the guacamole. “Oh, yeah?” I hedged, before taking a bite of the chip. Though I tried to come across as casual, inside I was holding my breath.
I’d come to terms with Brutus’ work schedule, especially since he never, not once, made me feel like I came second to his job. Yes, he worked a lot, sometimes twelve or more hours a day. But he never made me feel like I came second to his career. He always made sure to let me know that he was thinking of me and that he loved me.
Thus, I had no room to complain about the hours he put in at work. Especially since I knew what it was like to work a demanding job. And now, opening my own business, I worked long hours there, too. However, there was always room for our relationship. I had my priorities in order now.
“I’ve come to an agreement that we’ll keep my schedule as close to eight to five as possible, during the work week. One weekend a month, and travel only when required. That should take me down to traveling only every other month or so,” he explained. “And I’m having Rick hire a handful of more guys to take on the hours I’m giving up.”
“What brought about this change?” I hadn’t asked or put any pressure on him to adjust his work schedule.
“You.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “You’re my future, Mia. My present and my future, and I want to make sure you know that you’re the priority in my life.”
My vision blurred from the tears that crowded my gaze. Blinking, I reached across the table. “I love you. Every day you make me feel wanted, loved, and cherished. I know I’m your priority, not because you say it but because you show me.”
I hesitated, clamping my lips shut.
“But what?” he asked.
“But I know how much you love the Townsends. They’re your family, too. You’ve made promises to protect them, not just as part of your job but because you care for all of them so deeply. Are you sure you’re okay with decreasing your hours?”
He pulled my hand to his lips. I loved it when he kissed my fingers.
Before he could reply, Armando brought our plates of food out. Everything smelled divine and looked even better. A comfortable silence fell between us as I lifted a pork taco to my mouth and took my first bite.
The smokey BBQ flavor from the grill filled my mouth and mixed with the lime juice I’d squeezed on top. The flavors danced across my tongue, and I savored it all.
“These taste just like the tacos from that restaurant,” I said, surprised. They were identical to the pork tacos we had that first night. I remembered that taste because we’d eaten at the place many nights after that first one. I’d had many plates of tacos in my time in Mexico, but that restaurant was the best.
These tacos were identical.
“It should,” Brutus said after he swallowed his first bite.
I squinted, silently asking him to explain. Instead, his eyes went over my head. I followed his line of sight as a man in a black apron and a white chef’s hat approached us with a massive grin.
