“Sweetheart…”
Nearing emotional overload thanks to his more than kind gesture, combined with the undeniable fact that I was falling head over heels for him, I decided to make a swift getaway before my guy had the chance to reply. I needed a break, just a small second to pull myself back together before I collapsed into a messy puddle of feelings on the gravel-covered ground.
So, I did the only thing I could.
I ran inside.
We were seated at a table in the back.
Between us sat two servings of Salsa Criolla, a basket of chips, a glass of ice-cold passion fruit juice—mine—and a frosted mug of hand-squeezed lemonade belonging to James. The sight of it made me giggle, drawing his attention. Never in a million years would I have taken him for a lemonade type of guy.
Seeing that he was—well, it was endearing.
“What are you over there snickering at?”
I shrugged. “Just didn’t take you for a lemonade drinker.”
Lowering the menu he’d been studying ever since we sat down, he smirked. It was almost as charming as the smile he was beginning to regularly flash my way. “Better than Jack or any of the other shit I used to drown myself in.”
I nodded. “Si, that is true.”
Reaching across the table, he began tracing small circles up and down my forearm with his fingertip. Goosebumps broke out along my sensitive flesh in response. Clearing my throat, I tore my attention from him—an act which took much force—and glanced back down at the menu.
The move was pointless. I couldn’t read a single word. Thanks to his gentle caress, my brain was a mess.
“You know what you want yet?” His deep voice washed over me, adding to the heat rolling over my balmy skin. “Or do you need me to stall the waiter?”
I licked my dry lower lip. “I’m still a little nauseous thanks to the withdrawal,” I said, speaking a truth I hadn’t had the chance to inform him of yet. “But I want to try—”
“When was the last time you ate?” he interjected, finger stilling. “And what was it?”
I swallowed hard. “I…” Knowing he’d be upset if I gave him an honest answer, I fell quiet.
“Carmen,” he growled. “Talk to me.”
“I’ve been eating crackers when I can,” I answered hesitantly, not ready to deal with the tantrum he was likely to throw. “We don’t have much, but those are easy on my stomach, and the small packets are even easier to steal—”
I clamped my mouth shut with an audible click as James’s eyes filled with undeniable anger. With the veins in his forehead beginning to bulge, he looked ready to spit fire.
“You’re eating tonight, only if it’s a few bites,” he stated, matter of factly. Hands fisted, he ground his back teeth together. “I messed up when we left the motel and then again when I dropped you off after spending the night at the mill. Baby, I’m so goddamned sorry. Swear to Christ, I’ll do better from here on out. I should’ve handled this correctly before, but I was twisted in so many damned knots over you having to go back to him each time that I didn’t think shit through.”
Confusion set in.
I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What? I don’t—”
“Food, sweetheart.” Taking one of my hands in his, he squeezed it tight. “I knew your stomach would be torn up for weeks on account of you detoxing, and I royally messed up by not providing you with the supplies you needed to get through it.” Tapping his chest, he leaned forward. “That mistake, one I won’t make again, is on me.”
He had to be kidding me.
“Guapo,” I started. “You—”
“Are we ready to order?” James squeezed my hand tight as the waiter, a cute guy in his twenties, stopped next to our dimly lit table, ink pen, and lined pad in hand. “Or would you like me to come back?”
James didn’t hesitate. “I’ll have the Arroz Con Pollo and another lemonade.”
The waiter smiled as he jotted down his order. “And what for your wife, señor?”
If I hadn’t been spiraling over el hombre referring to me as James’s wife, I would’ve been offended. I could order my own food. But I had no time to be upset because I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
His wife? Absurdo!
“My wife,” James replied, a troublemaking grin spreading across his face, “will have the Bandeja Paisa, along with the Pandebonos.”
I blinked. Slowly. Repeatedly.
Narrowed gaze focused on the overgrown pendejo seated across from me, I took no notice of the moment the waiter left. “Did you just order for me?”
Hand wrapped around his drink, he lifted it to his kissable lips. “I did.”
My right eye twitched. “And why would you do that?”
The heavy-bottomed mug clanked against the table as he sat it back down. “Because it’s what you wanted.”
The man was infuriating! “You are so—”
“Don’t even attempt to argue with me,” he interrupted, smile growing more pronounced. “I know I ordered exactly what you wanted because I watched your finger stop on both items”—he paused—“multiple times.”
My mouth fell open.
“Am I right, or am I right?”
I couldn’t argue with him.
Mainly because he was indeed right.
“You may have been correct this time,” I said, the smile I wore sugary sweet and fake as could be. “But the next time you take such liberties with your wife’s food, I will shove my foot right up your culo.”
Shoulders shaking, he chuckled. “You and my little girl will get along just fine.” I was unsure what caused him to say such a thing, but I prayed he was correct. I wanted Shelby to like me. Very much. “Trust me on that.”
Heart thumping, I froze.
Little did he know, I’d begun to do just that.
I couldn’t stop staring at my leftovers.
The mere sight of them made me feel guilty.
Immensely so.
And like an idiota, I teared up because of it.
“Carmen,” James said, hand freezing midair as he pulled enough cash from his wallet to pay for our shared meal. “What’s wrong?”
I blinked, fighting with everything I had to keep from falling to pieces. The last thing
