He winks and drops his hand from my phone, which I tuck away. I squeeze his hand and tug him a little closer to me. He turns to me and I take a step closer.
“Thank you for asking and not assuming,” I whisper.
Confusion flicks across his face before understanding lights his eyes. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. Goosebumps travel in a wave up my arm as my cheeks heat.
“Mi amor, you’re a strong, independent woman. I’m sorry any man ever treated you as less.”
I can’t take the heated look in his eyes for a moment more or else I risk throwing myself into his arms and begging him to kiss me. I duck my head, and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. I clear my throat and glance at the menu. We’re having a moment in public, which is exactly what I want the press to see. I even called my favorite journalist, who I usually hire for Alex, and she sent a photographer here for this exact reason. I want the press to think this is real.
But that’s not what I want with Mateo.
I want it to be real.
I pull my hand out of his and he slowly lets it go, his fingers trailing across mine. I don’t look, afraid to show how he’s making me feel and complicating this even more. Mateo starts talking to the young man behind the counter, ordering our food in fluent Spanish.
Why is that so attractive?
I take a step away and urge my cheeks to cool it. I search for an escape.
There’s a condiments bar at the end of the counter and I walk over, hoping there’s something there to keep me occupied. Salsas of varying colors, chopped cilantro, and lime slices greet me. I grab a small plasticcontainer and put a few lime wedges inside.
Mateo’s walking toward me, but I focus on my task. “What are you getting those for?”
The question surprises me, and although I knew he was walking toward me, I still jolt. My hand shakes and I steady it, barely saving my lime slices from death by dirty floor.
“Doesn’t lime juice make Mexican food taste better? At least that’s what google told me.”
Mateo laughs. “Google’s not wrong, but this issalvadoreñafood, mi amor. They’ll give you everything you need on your plate. This is for the tacos they serve, not our pupusas. Let’s go find a table.”
I already have the limes and though I feel the fool, I don’t want to look it, so I carry them with me. Mateo sits down and the fake leather squeaks as he adjusts himself. I place my limes on the table and sit across from him. Luckily, the leather doesn’t squeak for me as I get comfortable, saving me from further humiliation.
Mateo pulls over the small caddy of hot sauces and twists each bottle, inspecting the labels. “Oh man, this hot sauce is fantastic.” He points to one that’s a bright orange and has a red label.
I shudder. Definitely not going near that bottle.
My nose wrinkles. “How can you say it’s delicious when you can’t taste anything because your taste buds are on fire?”
Seriously, how does anyone eat anything with hot sauce?
He gasps, placing his hand on his heart dramatically. I’ll never tell him, but I love when he pretends to be dramatic. It’s adorable.
Yes, men can be adorable.
“Don’t tell me you can’t handle spicy food, Holly.”
I shake my head and fold my arms. “I’m a no-spice girl, thank you very much. I want to taste the flavors of the foods without tainting it with fire.”
“But the flavor from the peppers,” he exclaims, acting out a classicchef’s kiss meme.
I shrug. “I can never taste it because I’m washing away the heat so I don’t die.”
He leans across the table, a wicked grin on his face. “It’s a good thing I didn’t order you a jalapeño pupusa then.”
I lean away and wrinkle my nose. “They have such a thing?”
Mateo nods. “Yes, they have those and they’re delicious, but not my favorite. Anything you can combine with cheese can go in a pupusa. That’s why they’re amazing.”
I fold my hands, not quite sure what to do with them, so I opt to place them on the table. “What combination is your favorite?”
