“Natalia, talk to me?—”
Natalia reaches up toward the Don Julio, nearly tipping over several bottles of gin and whiskey, and I run behind the bar to prevent any kind of potentially bloody incident. “Natalia, stop. It’s fine.” I catch the bottle of Don Julio before it tips over its ledge, onto her head, and set it back in its secure place. I take her hand in mine and lead her out from behind the bar, toward our table. “Come.”
Her heels tap against the floor behind me before I stop and squeeze her hand.
“You don’t have to do this, Rowan. I don’t need you to save me,” she says quickly, frowning. “We can come up with an excuse or…I’ll just…tell them the truth. It’s okay.”
My hand wraps around her upper arm mindlessly. “I know,” I say. “But I’m here because I want to be.”
She nods, expelling a breath. “You can leave, though—if you want, or if they start to get on your nerves…I don’t know. They can get really fucking annoying.”
I snort and step closer, squeezing her arm for reassurance. “I did this to myself,” I remind her. “I’ll be fine.Wewill be fine.”
Her lips twitch, her eyes brightening only a smudge. “I keep telling you to mind your business.”
I give her a half smile. “And I keep forgetting to listen.”
“Rowan,” she breathes, biting her quivering lip. “I’m sorry, I’ve been…a bitch.”
I shake my head. “None of that. Now, tell me what’s wrong. Why are you shaking? What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing,” she rasps. “I just…”
“Anything you need me to do, sweetheart, I’ll do it.”
“You…You called?—”
The sentence goes unfinished when I look over her head and spot her dads immediately as they take in the restaurant I’ve worked hard to build for myself. A dream I’ve had since my mother taught me how to cook, sharing her familyrecipes, and since my father taught me how to properly cook a steak.
“They’re here?” her quiet voice asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “We can talk after.”
“I—”
I hate that Peter cuts her off when he nears, with his arms open toward me. “Rowan! This place is…Wow.Your father must be beyond proud of you.”
My heart breaks. Natalia’s back is still toward her dad’s, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes down at our feet. I wrap my arm around her, resting my hand at the small of her back—an affection a boyfriend would show.
A show of affection I would love toalwaysgive her.
Natalia steps into my side and I hear the inhale that tells me she’s preparing herself. Like magic, she flips her hair, twists in my arm, puts a hand on my chest, and pastes a smile on her face. You would never know that this girl was just taking shots to make herself feel better to have dinner with her fathers and me.
“Thank you, Mr. Jeong,” I say, and press my hand into the small of her back.
“Please,” her dad says, “Peter is fine.”
I dip my chin. “And how are you, Mr. Davis?”
Mr. Davis laughs deeply. “Richard is also fine, Rowan, please. And we’re well. We’re looking forward to the food.”
“Your mother was an amazing cook,” Peter says, and Natalia’s hand presses harder into my chest. “I’m sure she taught you well.”
“Thank you, sir,” I mutter, the compliment warming my heart. “Shall we sit?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
Natalia’s dads claim the chairs on the outer side of the booth, but I hold onto her for just a moment longer. When she does the same, I kiss the top of her head just because I can. I breathe her in, the scents of honey and coconut and whatever else she uses in her curls, and her fresh-scented perfume. I inhale unabashedly, allowing the aroma to call my senses.
