He inhales deeply. “Now this is food.”
“And no tie required.”
We’re shown to a booth near the back wall, partially shielded by a tall fake plant and a half wall. It’s the best seat in the house if you’re avoiding people. I slide into the booth across from him and feel my shoulders drop. Dos Hermanos is one of my safe places. And for a few glorious minutes, I believe we’ve actually managed to avoid the gossip of Snow Valley.
The margaritas arrive sweating and unapologetic. Not dainty glasses with salted rims arranged like art. Just thick, heavy glasses that feel like they belong in your hand.
I take a sip and sigh dramatically. “See? This is civilized.”
He watches me over the rim of his own drink. “You look pleased with yourself.”
“I am.”
“For picking the restaurant?”
“For knowing you’d like it.”
He smiles faintly at that. There’s something about the lighting in here that softens him. Or maybe it’s the lack of performance. He’s not dressed for presentation tonight. No suit. No curatedlook. Just jeans and a dark sweater. The only time he looks better is naked.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” he says, scanning the menu.
“Wesley Tisdale took me somewhere with truffle foam. I don’t recommend it. Tastes like dirt, but worse.”
He raises a brow. “Wesley’s family is in my social circle.”
I lean back in the booth and prop my elbow on the table. “He talked about Tuscany for twenty minutes.”
“You should have left.”
“Emotionally, I did.”
He laughs, low and real. It does something to me that margaritas can’t take credit for.
We order lengua tacos and something with enough cheese to ruin a week of discipline. It feels indulgent in the right way.
“Oh,” he says lustfully once the food arrives.
“Yeah.” I completely understand.
We eat like we’re not trying to impress anyone. Sauce on fingers. Napkins discarded carelessly. It’s so different from that other restaurant that it almost feels rebellious.
“You seem lighter tonight,” he says.
“I’m in good company. Liv has the boys again. And the food is so delicious that I don’t mind if it makes me look pregnant again by the time I’m done.”
His smile widens, and his gaze lingers on me a second too long. “And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is full of small humans and existential dread.”
He studies me for a moment, like he wants to ask something else. But he doesn’t, and that restraint is becoming suspiciously attractive. Too many men say whatever comes to mind, regardless of the consequences. Not Damian.
The restaurant fills slowly around us. A couple at the bar is arguing quietly. Two teenagers share a plate of nachos. A family at the front is laughing too loudly. It’s busy enough to blend in. Busy enough to disappear.
I relax into it fully. “I love it here.”
“This was a good idea.”
“I have those on occasion.”
