Chapter 12
“You got this,” I tell my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “No one cares if you’re dining alone. The only thing they care about is eating, boozing, and getting laid.”
As for me…two out of three ain’t bad.
I slip on my black A-Line Midi. I bought this dress solely for the pockets. After sliding on a pair of strappy black sandals, I tuck a few dollars for tips and my room key in my pockets. This dress paid for itself in the money I saved by not buying a matching handbag to hold my stuff. I swing open the door and head out to the resort’s Italian restaurant…Limoncello.
As I wander down the pathway toward Limoncello, I find myself enjoying the soothing music playing in the air. Glancing back, I catch sight of a flurry of jungle critters with long tails scurrying across the path and disappearing into the dense foliage. That must be the coatis Daniel told me about.
Please stay in the jungle.
In the far-off distance, I catch sight of a couple holding hands, heading towards the resort’s main hub.
But no sign of Daniel.
I haven’t seen him since early this afternoon. Since I put my stupid foot in my stupid mouth.
“Good riddance,” I mumble defiantly, and continue to walk with my head held high. “That’s two men I’ve managed to repel in four months.”
Yay me. I’ve got skills.
The air is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of Sunday sauce and freshly baked bread. I follow the aroma to my destination.
Finally, my eyes land on the Limoncello sign perched atop a rustic-themed building. I make my way towards the hostess desk, ready to stress-eat in the most comforting of comfort foods—Italian cuisine.
“Buenas noches,” the hostess greets with a polite smile. “Table for two?”
“One,” I answer.
She nods and glances down at her iPad screen. “Can I have your name and room number, se?orita?”
“Last name Harper. Room three twenty-two.”
She checks her screen and smiles again. “Se?orita Harper, any food allergies?”
“Nope. Food would never turn on me.” Men, on the other hand…
“Okay.” She grabs a menu. “This way, se?orita. Is an outdoor table good?”
“That’s fine. Gracias.”
As we approach the wall to wall sliding glass doors, I admire the restaurant’s interior décor. The exposed brick on one wall and the wrought iron scrolls on the others create a perfect blend of Italian-inspired rustic elegance. I glance at the diners’ plates as I walk by, sizing up their meals. There’s one thing I know for sure… the menu may say one thing, but the actual food tells the truth. I spot plates with chicken breasts smothered in a creamy sauce, a baked salmon dish, and a tempting lasagna creation. Baskets of crusty bread overflow on every table.
I can live with this menu.
Exiting the building, we step into a small patio that resembles a Mediterranean courtyard. Lush potted trees surround us, while crisp white tablecloths cover the tables. Above us are crisscrossing strings of amber-colored lights, creating a cozy ambiance, and each table boasts a flickering votive candle as its centerpiece.
I’m so damn grateful I wore a loose-fitting dress. I’m dateless, stressed out, and plan on stuffing my face through Mexico’s version of Tuscany.
The hostess pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit.
“Gracias,” I say as I sit and scoot my chair in.
“Pablo will be with you to take your drink order en un momento.”
“Gracias.”
I open the menu as she leaves, debating if I’d look like a total slob if I order two main entrées. One entrée for me, the other for myself.
I’ll save dessert for I.
Because I really love the sweet stuff.
“Buenas noches, se?orita. My name is Pablo. Can I offer you a glass of our house wine?” my server asks, balancing a bottle of red and white in either hand.
“Sure. The white, please.”
With a quick nod, he pours the wine into the empty wineglass set on the table.
“Only you tonight, se?orita?”
“Yup. There’s no Mr. se?orita. Just little ol’ me.”
“Maybe not for long.” He wears a sly smile, as if he knows something no one else does. “Love is always in the air at El Corazón del Sol.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “I know that’s the motto around here… but no. The only love I plan on indulging in is my love of food.”
“We’ll see,” he teases. “Do you know your order?”
“Can I have everything?”
He smiles again. “Sí.”
“Probably not the best idea. Maybe I should stick to just one.”
“Maybe,” he answers with a mischievous lilt in his voice.
“But two appetizers,” I add quickly.
“As you wish, se?orita.”
I wash down a generous bite of crusty bread dipped in an Italian herb-infused oil with my wine. Dining alone while I wait for my appetizers is still a little foreign to me. I’m not sure what it is I’m supposed to do with myself.
Conversation is off the table. Unless I want to look insane and chat with an empty chair. That’ll surely raise some eyebrows. I can’t gawk at the other guests enjoying their dinners. It’s needy and rude. With no other options, I choose my last resort traveling companion—my phone.
And find a waiting text.
Mom
Are you getting enough fiber?
Sighing, I roll my eyes and answer back.
Now you’re worried about my fiber intake? Wouldn’t that counter your diarrhea concerns?
Mom
It’s all about balance.
As usual, she answers back immediately. I swear she stares at her phone all day, waiting for my texts.
Hey crazy lady—pick a side in your digestive delusions.
Mom
I’m not crazy. I’m concerned.
Can’t you focus your concerns on Dad instead?
Mom
He doesn’t like when I fuss over him.
I don’t like it either.
Mom
What’s for dinner tonight?
Per her usual modus operandi—she changes the subject.
I’m at the Italian restaurant right now. Waiting for my order.
Mom
See if they have any fresh fennel. It’s excellent for digestion.
Sure, Mom.
Mom
I know you won’t.
Then why do you ask?
Mom
I ask because I care.
She does. I know she does.
I know. My meal just arrived. I have to go before it gets cold.
It’s not a total lie… I’m pre-telling the truth.
Mom
Okay. Enjoy! Love you!
Love you too.
I close our conversation and shake my head. She may not have used her honest passport-less face to join me in Mexico physically, but she sure found a way around it. For the next few days, she’s going to torture me through text.
Glancing around the patio, my heart races when I spot a familiar face across from me. Daniel is sitting alone at a table, engrossed in the menu. His wet hair is neatly slicked back. He must have come here straight out of the shower and boy oh boy… the look suits him.
I thought for sure the next time I saw him, he’d have some random girl hanging on his arm, sipping a cocktail he “bought” for her. I mean, I know I’m not available… far from it… but I assume he’s here looking for a good time.
Isn’t that why guys go on vacation without their significant others? To score a few sexy romps with people you’ll never hear from again? Wham. Bam. Nice knowing ya.
I came to learn it’s why Matt liked Las Vegas so much.
And hiking trips with “the boys” in the Adirondacks.
And the janitor’s closet at the bank’s corporate office where we work.
With a sigh, I blink several times to rid myself of the memories.
I sneak another peek at Daniel again. Should I…?
No. He hates me.
And I’m not that fond of him either.
Most of the time.
Sometimes.
Ugh.
I know what I have to do.
Rising from my chair, I grab my wineglass of liquid courage. The butterflies are fluttering in the pit of my stomach as I stroll across the patio. I stop at the edge of his table, the warm glow of the candlelight casting an intimate mood.
“Ahem.” I clear the lump in my throat, the sound resonating like a trumpet blast announcing royalty.
Turning his head slightly, he redirects his attention from his menu to me. Dressed in a pair of long tan khakis and an untucked, in a hella-sexy way, short-sleeve white button-down cotton shirt, the delicious outline of his broad shoulders strain against the fabric. He looks as good as that warm, crusty bread in the basket.
Coming from someone of Italian descent… that’s the ultimate compliment.
“May I join you?” My voice cracks, exposing my shaky nerves. I’m not used to putting myself out there, especially at the risk of rejection.
Bending an elbow on the table, he props his chin in his palm and taps the side of his face with his finger. “Ran out of victims to falsely accuse of wrongdoings?” he asks dryly.
“You’re an ass,” I scoff.
“Nice apology.” He raises his glass of wine in my direction and takes a sip.
“I’m sorry. You tend to bring out the…”
“Belligerent in you?” A trace of humor crosses his face as he arches a sly brow.
“You mispronounced bonkers,” I answer.
“Hey. You stole my line.” A sexy, playful smile tugs at his mouth as he points his chin forward, motioning me to sit in the unoccupied chair across from him.
“Let’s be honest… It’s not that great of a line,” I say matter-of-factly as I pull out the chair and sit.
“They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” He places a hand over his heart. “I’m touched.”
“Yeah, touched in the…”
“Is this your way of apologizing for earlier?” he interrupts. “Because if it is—this little mea culpa moment is seriously lacking in sincerity… or anything nice, for that matter.”
“You’re right.” I cast my eyes downward at the table, then back at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah. Still crappy. I need more.” Amusement flickers in his eyes as they meet mine.
“You’re yanking my chain now, aren’t you?”
“I seldom yank. I prefer a firm tug or a friendly pull.”
Pressing my lips together, I try to suppress a giggle. But I can’t, and it bubbles to the surface.
“I like when you laugh,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity.
“Why?”
He studies me thoughtfully. “Something tells me you need it.”
“Something?” I ask.
“My gut.”
“What else does your gut tell you?”
“It tells me to keep my other thoughts to myself.”
My heart flutters. I wonder if everyone in the room hears it beating—because it’s deafening inside my head.
“Probably a wise move,” I say casually, trying to mask the effect his words have on me.
“Definitely a wise move.”
“So.” Nonchalantly, I circle the pad of my index finger around the edge of my wineglass. “Where’d you disappear to this afternoon? I woke up from my nap and you were gone.”
“Missed me?”
Yes.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was wondering, that’s all.”
“I had things to do. Places to go. People to see. Did you like the gift I left behind?”
“A gift?” I ask. “I didn’t see a gift.”
Taking an unhurried sip of his wine, he raises a sly brow. “No swinging sultans?”
My jaw drops open and my hand flies over my mouth. “Walter? You made that happen?”
A wicked smirk quirks up from his lips.
“You son-of-a-bitch. I was forced to stare at the red circle of saggy man junk because of you?”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, his voice tinged with satisfaction.
“Oh my God. I knew you were pissed at me. But that… that was…” I trail off, my voice fading as I struggle to find the right word.
“Brilliant?”
“Cruel.”
He laughs—a wonderfully genuine, triumphant laugh that coaxes a reluctant smile out of me.
It was beyond brilliant. That lumpy bullseye view was the ultimate, richly deserved price to pay for my bad behavior.
“Can we start over?” I ask, with a hint of hope. “Maybe with a little less animosity?”
“Sure.” He extends his hand across the table. “Daniel Edwards.”
“Tess.” I slip my hand into his, feeling the strength of his grip as we shake.
“Do you have a last name? Or is it just Tess—like Cher or Rhianna?”
“Harper. Tess Harper.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Tess Harper,” he says smoothly.
Our server, Pablo, appears on the side of the table and turns toward me. “Will you be dining at this table tonight?”
Should I have dinner with him? I mean, I’m single. It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.
“Um. I guess.” I turn to Daniel. “I mean, if that’s alright with you.”
“How could I turn down the opportunity to share a meal with a beautiful woman?”
A blush warms up my cheeks, but I manage to keep my composure. “You could say no thanks,” I answer dryly.
He chuckles. “I’d love the company. Please stay.”
“Okay. I’d like that.”
“What’s that?” Pablo inhales deeply, placing a hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. “Ah yes, se?or and se?orita—Love is in the air.”
We both stare at him skeptically, then exchange glances and shake our heads in perfect unison.
“I’ll return shortly with your appetizers.” Pablo gives a quick nod and leaves.
As our gazes meet across the table, a sense of ease settles between us. The corner of Daniel’s mouth twitches, and we find ourselves unable to contain our laughter.
“They fed you that corny ‘Love is in the air’ line at check-in too?” I ask, amused.
“At El Corazón del Sol — Love is always in the air,” he says with an exaggerated Spanish accent.
“Yeah. No thanks,” I say through a giggle.
“Walter can have my helping of love air,” Daniel jokes.
“So, you’re not looking for…”
“Nope. I’m merely eye candy for you ladies.”
“Your humbleness is…”
“Inspiring?” he suggests.
“Nonexistent,” I answer sharply.
Once again, his laughter fills the air, his boyish grin contagious. And in this inexplicable moment, his presence soothes me, his laughter bringing a sense of comfort. Our eyes meet, and in an instant, my pulse quickens. A warm, indescribable feeling blooms inside me, and as if by magic, the invisible wall I’ve built crumbles away, leaving me feeling lighter than I have in months.
All thanks to this man.
“Two appetizers?” Daniel asks, pointing his fork between my small plates of caprese salad and crispy fried calamari.
“Our server made a mistake. I didn’t want to point it out and embarrass him,” I lie. “What’d you get?” I steal a glance across the table, admiring the steam rising from a bowl of succulent mussels marinara. “Mmm. Your mussels look delicious.”
“Thank you.” With a proud grin, he flexes his arm and plants a kiss on his bulging bicep.
Flustered, I roll my eyes. “I was referring to the shellfish in your bowl.”
“Still soaking me in, huh?” he asks, ignoring my clarification.
“Oh my God. You’re such a conceited jerk.”
“You mispronounced confident.”
“Okay, I’ll rephrase that. You’re a confident jerk. Better?”
“Much. Thank you.”
Pursing my lips together, I suppress an amused smile.
This man.
This pain-in-the-ass, charming, funny, unpredictable man.
I don’t know what to make of him.
He entertains me to no end—that much I do know. And the dormant part of me… the place where I put my libido to sleep months ago… finds him ridiculously attractive.
What the hell am I doing? Stop overthinking, Tess. Be present. Here. Now. Rather than scrutinizing every detail, embrace the moment before it slips away.
My suppressed smile emerges victorious as Daniel reciprocates, his face lighting up like he’s won the grand prize.
“What?” I ask, my smile widening to a lopsided grin.
“Nothing,” he casually dismisses.
“Liar.”
“Maybe.” He grabs his fork off the table and scoops a muscle out of its shell. “Let’s eat.”
“Okay.” I pinch a ring of fried calamari between my index finger and thumb, dip it in the small bowl of marinara sauce and pop it in my mouth.
My tastebuds thank me as I savor the creamy, cheesy goodness of a forkful of lasagna. This dinner is damn near perfect.
“How long are you staying in Mexico?” Daniel asks, taking a bite from his seafood fra diavolo.
“Nine days in total.”
“Really? That’s a long vacation.”
That’s because it was supposed to be a long celebration, leading up to my big day.
“I had a lot of vacation time to use or I’d lose it,” I lie. “What about you?”
He hesitates momentarily, like he’s considering how to reply. “Don’t really have a timetable. Freelancing gives me a lot of leeway.”
“So, you are a photographer.” There was no mistaking the skill and talent behind the pictures I saw last night—there’s no way an amateur took them. They were incredible.
“You know of my work?” he asks slyly. He knows I know—when he caught me spying last night.
“I think I saw it in a gallery or something,” I lie. “You have shown your photos in a gallery, haven’t you?”
“Several, actually.”
“There you go.”
“Which gallery?” His eyes narrow. I can sense his amusement at my crappy attempt to deceive him.
“Huh?” I stammer, trying to buy myself some time.
“Which gallery did you see my work in?” he presses, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
My mind draws a blank. I can name all the galleries I know on no fingers. “I can’t recall the name. It’s the one downtown.”
“The one downtown?” he asks, amused at my lie. “There’s a lot downtown.”
“This one has glass doors with art and photographs hanging on the walls.” I’ve just raised the vague bar one-thousand percent.
“Oh.” He smirks, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. “That one. The one with the door.”
I nod, taking a sip of wine to hide my smile.
“So, what did you think?” he asks.
“Of the gallery?”
“Of my work.”
“I think it’s amazing. Breathtaking, really. I’d love to see more,” I tell him honestly. “I mean, if you’d like to share them.”
“Sometime, maybe.” He smiles—a self-assured, satisfied smile. He knows he’s good. And dammit, his confidence is attractive. “What do you do for a living?”
“Corporate banking, commercial loans… that kind of thing.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. Well, most of the time.” Reaching over the table, I use my fork to pierce a succulent shrimp from his dish and take a bite.
He tilts his head slightly, his eyebrow arching in amusement, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“I like my clients. Most of them, anyway,” I continue. “And I get a decent bonus at the end of the year.” Reaching across the table again, I pierce my fork into a small scallop on his plate.
“Please help yourself,” he says drolly.
“Oh my God.” I drop my fork to my plate. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry. It’s just I…I feel so…”
“Comfortable?”
I nod in agreement. “Once you get past the maddening part of you, you’re pretty easy to talk to.”
“Thanks?”
“Do you think we… maybe… could be… I don’t know… less enemy-like?”
“You know.” He kicks back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “There’s a term for that.”
A look of confusion creases my brow.
“Friends, Tess,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You want to be friends.”
He’s right. That’s exactly what I’m proposing.
“We could keep each other company at the pool or something,” I offer.
“Can Walter join our circle?”
“Absolutely not.”
He chuckles. “I’d be honored to be your vacation friend for the next couple of days.”
“But just friends. No benefits,” I clarify, to avoid any misunderstandings.
“I think we’ve already established you’re not my type.”
“You’re not mine either.” I mean, look-wise… he’s everybody’s type. Then he opens his mouth and…
“To new friends.” He raises his wineglass.
“For the next few days, anyway.” I raise my glass and we clink. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” he toasts back and takes a sip.
I steal a quick glance at his dish. “Any mussels left?”
He pushes his plate toward me. “Help yourself.”