Diego laughed as he opened the door with his free hand. His arm slipped off my shoulder, but he didn’t let go of my hand until the door closed behind him.
“Carmen does fancy fusion food,” Diego explained. “Don’t ever let her pick the restaurant.”
“Hey, Diego.” The hostess waved animatedly at him.
“Hey there, is my table ready?”
“Yeah,” she answered, cheeks crimson. “Want me to take you to it?”
“No, thanks,” he said, pulling on my hand again and leading me toward the back.
The restaurant carried its ocher tones and turquoise tiles across the bar counter stretching through the space. A woman’s painted gaze followed me from the mural—fierce and familiar, red, white, and green flowers woven through her hair—a guardian of roots I inherited from my father. The air was filled with spice and music, the kind my dad once hummed in the kitchen, settling me.
Diego’s chest vibrated as he warbled along to the song, and with a tug on my hand, he twirled me under his arm. I laughed, unguarded, as my feet remembered the father-daughter salsa lessons my mind had long forgotten. Diego finally pointed to a booth by the window, then seated himself across from me after making sure I was comfortable.
“I take it you come here a lot?” I asked.
Diego nodded. “Something like that. I DJ for them when they do events.”
“You DJ?”
Diego smiled coyly, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. “I certainly do. On the side, you know.”
A server approached our table and set down a basket and two small bowls in the center.
Diego chatted in Spanish with him, introducing me as a friend of his sister’s. I’d tried to practice Spanish after my dad passed, and I still spoke it, but it felt awkward, a muscle I’d neglected for years.
Diego mouthedTequila?
I nodded, but when he ordered, his tone still carried that upward lilt, pointing at me to confirm before the server left.
“On the side?” I asked, grabbing a tortilla chip and dipping it in the red sauce.
“On the side.” He dipped his own chip. “I’m a mechanic—mostly vintage, but I can work on anything.”
The server brought the drinks and asked for our food order. Diego slid a shot toward me and held my gaze as we tilted our heads back and downed the clear liquid, its heat burning my throat.
He leaned back against the booth, grinning. “So, you’re really gonna sit there and pretend you ain’t impressed I can fix an engineandmake people dance ’til sunrise?”
I lifted my margarita, already feeling the shot’s warmth. “Impressed is a strong word. Intrigued, maybe.”
“Intrigued?” His hand pressed to his chest in mock offense. “Amiga, I’m a two-for-one deal.”
I laughed, rolling my eyes, though the warmth in my cheeks betrayed me. “You sound like a commercial.”
“A sexy one, I hope?” His dark eyes glinted, waiting.
“A ridiculous one,” I teased.
He leaned in, elbows on the table, voice lowering just enough to feel secretive. “Nah. I’m just honest. People throw shade because I didn’t get a degree. But I love working with myhands…” He tilted his head, teasing. “I’m good with them.” He winked. “What about you?”
I told him a bit about my family. Mostly frombefore, but I mentioned I wasn’t close with my aunt or uncle. Diego’s eyes didn’t waver from mine, and they never slipped into pity. It made it easier to share fun stories with him. I told him how Vinny used to sneak into my room, trying to get into the box I kept under the bed. Once, I left it propped open with a mousetrap, and Vinny’s fingers got caught. “Well, served him right,” Diego had said. His laugh rattled through the booth. He was open, easy. My sharp edges had been sanded down by the sweetness of someone who wore his heart on his sleeve.
“I get it.” Diego shared, sipping at his second beer. “My family disapproves of me not going to college.” He watched me sip at my margarita. “You don’t look at me like that, though. You don’t seem to think I’m less because of how I make a living.”
“Please,” I scoffed. “I’d be a hypocrite. I’ve struggled to make a living most of my life.” He looked at me intensely, his eyes catching the dim light in a gleam of polished amber, steady and searching, as if he could see the cracks I usually kept hidden. I wondered what it must feel to have that much warmth stocked up that you could give it away so freely. “We’re all doing the best we can.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said. “I’m just trying to be a good person, you know? A good son, be there for my sisters, keep my best friend healthy…”
