I hit play on the screen and let music fill the void as I head toward my favorite Mexican restaurant. It’s not the fanciest place in town, nor is it the most expensive, but I don’t think Bea cares about that.
“This is cute,” she says as I pull into the parking lot.
“The food is insane. You’re going to love it,” I explain as I climb out before marching around to help her down.
Bea hesitates when I hold my hand out for her. Her need for independence oozes from her, but as much as she might want to demand I leave her to it, she bites it back and slips her palm against mine, allowing me to help her.
“Thank you,” she whispers as her feet touch the ground.
“You’re welcome,” I say, keeping her hand in mine a little longer than necessary. The sweet scent of her perfume floods my senses. “I thought you were taking me for dinner?” she teases when I don’t move.
“Y-yeah,” I stutter, finally taking a step back and closing her door.
“Oh my god, that smells amazing,” she says as we step into the restaurant.
When I was a kid, this was always my top choice to eat. I wanted every birthday meal here.
“Mr. Donnelly,” Diego says the second he sees me.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?”
Diego is the owner’s son. He’s only a few years older than me. I remember him helping out when we were both kids. He’s taken over from his parents now, although his mom refuses to let go and works just as many hours as ever in the kitchen, from what Ican figure. It was the first place I came to eat after moving back here. It was like returning home.
“It’s great. Business is good.”
“Glad to hear it. Any chance you could find us a table for two?”
Diego’s eyes immediately shift to the woman beside me.
“A table for two?” he mutters to himself in surprise. “Who’d have thought it?”
“Hey, I’ve been here with others before,” I argue, my cheeks heating with Bea’s attention.
“Your little sister doesn’t count,” Diego points out, making her laugh.
“Dude,” I complain. “I thought you had my back.”
He chuckles as he leads me to my usual booth at the rear of the restaurant.
I take the side that puts my back to the rest of his customers in the hope that no one will notice me and gesture for Bea to sit opposite.
“Can I get you started with drinks?”
Bea reaches for the menu before letting out a heavy sigh when her eyes land on the margarita options.
“Beer?” Diego asks, aware of my usual order.
“Uh…no. No, I think I’ll just get a water tonight.” His eyes widen, but he doesn’t comment as he turns to focus on Bea.
“Can I have a virgin margarita?”
“You got it. Coming right up,” he says before spinning on his heels and marching toward the bar.
"You could have had a beer,” Bea says after a few seconds.
“You can’t drink,” I state.
“Right. That’s me. Not you.”
