“I think…” I say slowly, surprising even myself, “I’d like to go on a safari.”
Beckett blinks, then laughs—warm, delighted, not mocking at all. “That’s… that’s a pretty adventurous pick. For you.”
I meet his gaze. “I don’t need to be safe all the time.”
He watches me. Quiet. Considering.
“Do you think I’m fragile?” I ask. Is that why he didn’t share his problems at work with me?
He sits back, eyes still locked on mine.
“It’s not that you’re fragile,” he says slowly. “In fact, you’re the strongest person I know. But… when we found out you were having twins, something shifted for me. I looked at you—and life got more serious. You were the most precious thing in my life. All of you… Ash, I haveneverseen you as fragile. More like… priceless. Like if I failed you—I couldn’t live with myself.”
Something squeezes my chest.
Not because it hurts. But because it’s the most vulnerable thing he’s said to me in over a year.
“Then don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t fail me.”
His hand reaches across the table, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles over my knuckles.
“I’m trying not to,” he says, low and steady.
“An after-dinner drink,Señor, Señorita?More wine, perhaps?” our waiter asks as he removes the dessert we’d shared.
I pull my hand back. “No more for me.”
The waiter doesn’t miss a beat. “Ah… then perhaps something smooth?” His tone softens. “SomeVino de Tequila, then? You are in Mexico, after all.”
My eyes flick to Beckett’s, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. Cabo. Captain Julio. The way tequila had been the answer to everything.
The waiter gives a knowing nod.“Si?Clase Azul?”
Beckett lets out a low laugh. “We’ll take two. Neat.”
“Excellent choice.” The waiter disappears with a wink, and in the silence that follows, Beckett meets my gaze again.
I rest my elbow on the table, tilt my head, and smile. “So… you saw me looking at the dress, then? Earlier?”
Beckett doesn’t blink. “Of course.”
He hasn’t paid me that kind of attention for a long time. Before I can answer though, the waiter returns to place two crystal tumblers between us—doubles, definitely. Not shots. This is sipping tequila, served neat, with wedges of lime and a small dish of salt on the side.
He gives a little bow.“Para los amantes del amor,”he says, with a wink.For lovers of love.
Beckett’s eyes lock with mine. “What should we drink to?” I can’t help the way my stomach flips.
I want to drink to “us”, I really do, but I can’t. Not yet.
“To Luna and Noah,” I say. “The newlyweds.”
We clink. We drink.
The tequila is smooth. Almost syrupy. It tastes hot and golden, and warmth immediately blooms inside me.
“I love the dress,” I say. “Thank you.”
He smiles. “It obviously loves you.”
