I laugh, looking over a bottle of jalapeño oil. I keep going to the next aisle, where there are stuffed olives and selections of olive wood kitchen utensils. "You don't have to look at all this," Hugo says. He sounds almost...shy?
"Hush." I give him a reproachful look. "This is my friend's store and I won't have you interrupting me while I look over each and every item. He puts his heart and soul into this place, he deserves to have people appreciate it."
Hugo's lips purse, nodding, and then, slowly like the dawning sun, his mouth relaxes into a smile.
I elbow him lightly. "Is this the part where you nerd out about olives?"
"I promised myself I wouldn't."
"Why?" I tug at the hem of his shirt. "I was ready to learn about all the things."
He looks uncertain.
"Don't self-censor now," I tease.
I watch as he makes a decision, a resolve forming in those dark eyes.
"We're going to need the ATV," he says. "But first, food. I need to make sure you and Peanut are fed."
Without another word he grabs my hand, marching me out of the store. We stride across the grass lawn where people sit at picnic tables, and others play shuffleboard and bocce ball, and a group of children play an oversized game of Connect Four. Hugo's leading me to another building perpendicular, similar to the store in exterior design, except for the windows on three sides of the second half of the building.
In a beautiful copper sign is the wordSimon's.
That stops me short. How have I not noticed that? I haven't been by here on my daily walks, but I have driven through on the road that leads out to town.
"The restaurant is named after your father?"
"Recent development," Hugo answers. He gazes at the sign. "Vivi, my mom, and I had the hardest time choosing a name, so we kept calling it Summerhill." He rolls his eyes. "Not very original."
"But last week I had the idea to name it after my dad. And when I ran it by my mom and my sister, they loved it."
"That's beautiful, Hugo. Truly."
My hand is still in his, and now he gives a quick tug, bringing me closer to him. His dark eyes burn, intense and beautiful and focused on me. Stubble darkens his jaw, and I have the urge to run my fingertips along it.
"I have you to thank." His voice is deep, falling over me. In the middle of this mayhem, the chatter of strangersand the shrieks of children, Hugo makes me feel like I'm the only person here.
"Me?" I squeak.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. A lone fingertip travels the shell of my ear, sending a cascade of desire rippling through me. If he dipped his face a few inches, we'd be kissing. I wish he would.
"You," he confirms. "For a long time, my father was a subject I didn't dare broach. But Mallory, you being here, asking questions, I know I was hesitant about it at first, but you've made him feel accessible again. I didn't know how badly I needed that."
Emotion surges through me, and my body responds by crying. Hugo grins like he finds me adorable. He starts for Simon's, and when we walk inside, he reaches one long arm behind the hostess stand and plucks a tissue from a box. I move to take it from him, but he dodges me, running the tissue over my cheeks. Tender. Sweet. Our breath hitches in tandem.
Hugo takes a step back, tosses the tissue in the trash.
Every table at the restaurant is occupied, the atmosphere jovial. Happy chatter and the sounds of the open kitchen fill the air. The view of the olive orchard beyond is spectacular. I spot Vivi in the kitchen, wearing a white chef's coat. She's not cooking, but she's overseeing every dish produced.
At that moment, Vivi turns around, spots us, and gives us a harried wave. "I thought Vivi had a restaurant in town," I say, my eyes on her as she yells through the open window to someone deeper in the kitchen.
"Dama Oliva is her place in Olive Township, but she helped create the menu here. She's filling in today because the head chef called in sick. Which probably means my mom has her kids at the big house. We can go there later. Say hi."
"I'd like that."
A teenage boy hurries through the kitchen carrying the most adorable wicker basket. Vivi stops him, peeks inside, and tosses in something else. The kid skids around the corner and hustles out to Hugo.
"Mr. De la Vega, here's your picnic."
