Chapter 14 Nina
Nina
Lynnie parked and faced me. Her eyes darted between me and the entrance to the restaurant across the street.
“Is that him?” she said, pointing at a guy leaning against the brick wall.
“Probably not.” I was a few minutes late, so he would be waiting inside.
I adjusted my jacket, fingers tugging at the hem, nerves firing under my skin.
“You gonna be all right, Nins?” Lynnie asked. “Want me to stick around for a minute before I head back to meet up with Carmen?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. I know what to do on dates.”
Did I, though? I couldn’t remember the last first date I’d had. Did Kevin’s visits count as dates? Lincoln’s expression—smiling ruefully at me over gnocchi—flashed in my mind. I clicked my tongue to push the image away. That hadn’t been a date.
I opened the door and stepped out of Lynnie’s silver hatchback, muttering for her to wish me luck. Her car didn’t move. Apparently, she was having her five minutes of playing stakeout cop.
The restaurant, La Luna, sat on the corner—sunbaked walls painted a golden ocher, catching the last traces of evening light.
The name of the restaurant was etched in multicolored letters across dark-blue trim.
A large neon arrow glowed pink and turquoise, spelling out the promise of tacos and tequila.
Music floated from the open windows, mingling with the scent of lime, grilled meat, and warm tortillas.
A man about a half head taller than me approached me, hands shoved in the pockets of a leather jacket.
His dark-chocolate hair was pulled into a half bun, the rest falling around his face in soft waves that curled just an inch below his earlobe.
It looked damp, as if he’d showered right before this date.
He stopped right in front of me, and I couldn’t help fixating on the roughness of his skin, the shadow of a beard prickling along his sharp jaw.
He smiled brightly, full lips pulling wide, with no trace of smugness—though a glint in his eye gave away how much he enjoyed being looked at.
He extended his hand to me, and when I took it, I felt the calluses on his palm and fingertips. My hand, much smaller and paler, wrapped around his warm-terracotta skin, richer than Carmen’s.
“I’m Diego,” he said. “Nina?”
I nodded. He tugged gently on my arm until I stepped into him. His warm-brown eyes flicked to the side, where I spotted Lynnie’s silhouette in the car. Her phone was tilted toward us.
A sheepish smile tugged at Diego’s mouth. “Are you up for giving your friend a bit of a show?” His voice dipped low, his breath warming my jaw.
There was a confidence in his tone, a rasp that hinted at late nights and laughter. I smirked and nodded, but he didn’t move. Only after I said I was down for whatever did he kiss my cheek. Just as smoothly, he draped his arm over my shoulders, his fingertips brushing over my collarbone.
His head dipped and he whispered, “That’ll give her—and my sister—something to talk about for the night.” Then he lifted his head. “You ready to eat? Does this place look okay to you?”
“It looks great. Carmen picked well.”
Diego laughed as he opened the door with his free hand. His arm slipped off my shoulder, but he didn’t let go of my hand until the door closed behind him.
“Carmen does fancy fusion food,” Diego explained. “Don’t ever let her pick the restaurant.”
“Hey, Diego.” The hostess waved animatedly at him.
“Hey there, is my table ready?”
“Yeah,” she answered, cheeks crimson. “Want me to take you to it?”
“No, thanks,” he said, pulling on my hand again and leading me toward the back.
The restaurant carried its ocher tones and turquoise tiles across the bar counter stretching through the space.
A woman’s painted gaze followed me from the mural—fierce and familiar, red, white, and green flowers woven through her hair—a guardian of roots I inherited from my father.
The air was filled with spice and music, the kind my dad once hummed in the kitchen, settling me.
Diego’s chest vibrated as he warbled along to the song, and with a tug on my hand, he twirled me under his arm.
I laughed, unguarded, as my feet remembered the father-daughter salsa lessons my mind had long forgotten.
Diego finally pointed to a booth by the window, then seated himself across from me after making sure I was comfortable.
“I take it you come here a lot?” I asked.
Diego nodded. “Something like that. I DJ for them when they do events.”
“You DJ?”
Diego smiled coyly, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. “I certainly do. On the side, you know.”
A server approached our table and set down a basket and two small bowls in the center.
Diego chatted in Spanish with him, introducing me as a friend of his sister’s. I’d tried to practice Spanish after my dad passed, and I still spoke it, but it felt awkward, a muscle I’d neglected for years.
Diego mouthed Tequila?
I nodded, but when he ordered, his tone still carried that upward lilt, pointing at me to confirm before the server left.
“On the side?” I asked, grabbing a tortilla chip and dipping it in the red sauce.
“On the side.” He dipped his own chip. “I’m a mechanic—mostly vintage, but I can work on anything.”
The server brought the drinks and asked for our food order. Diego slid a shot toward me and held my gaze as we tilted our heads back and downed the clear liquid, its heat burning my throat.
He leaned back against the booth, grinning. “So, you’re really gonna sit there and pretend you ain’t impressed I can fix an engine and make people dance ’til sunrise?”
I lifted my margarita, already feeling the shot’s warmth. “Impressed is a strong word. Intrigued, maybe.”
“Intrigued?” His hand pressed to his chest in mock offense. “Amiga, I’m a two-for-one deal.”
I laughed, rolling my eyes, though the warmth in my cheeks betrayed me. “You sound like a commercial.”
“A sexy one, I hope?” His dark eyes glinted, waiting.
“A ridiculous one,” I teased.
He leaned in, elbows on the table, voice lowering just enough to feel secretive. “Nah. I’m just honest. People throw shade because I didn’t get a degree. But I love working with my hands …” He tilted his head, teasing. “I’m good with them.” He winked. “What about you?”
I told him a bit about my family. Mostly from before, but I mentioned I wasn’t close with my aunt or uncle.
Diego’s eyes didn’t waver from mine, and they never slipped into pity.
It made it easier to share fun stories with him.
I told him how Vinny used to sneak into my room, trying to get into the box I kept under the bed.
Once, I left it propped open with a mousetrap, and Vinny’s fingers got caught.
“Well, served him right,” Diego had said.
His laugh rattled through the booth. He was open, easy.
My sharp edges had been sanded down by the sweetness of someone who wore his heart on his sleeve.
“I get it.” Diego shared, sipping at his second beer. “My family disapproves of me not going to college.” He watched me sip at my margarita. “You don’t look at me like that, though. You don’t seem to think I’m less because of how I make a living.”
“Please,” I scoffed. “I’d be a hypocrite.
I’ve struggled to make a living most of my life.
” He looked at me intensely, his eyes catching the dim light in a gleam of polished amber, steady and searching, as if he could see the cracks I usually kept hidden.
I wondered what it must feel to have that much warmth stocked up that you could give it away so freely. “We’re all doing the best we can.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said. “I’m just trying to be a good person, you know? A good son, be there for my sisters, keep my best friend healthy …”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Four. They’re all a pain, but I love them all to pieces. How do you like Carmen?”
“Do you want honesty?”
Diego laughed, his whole body shaking and fists pounding on the table. “Good,” he said, “You’ve seen through her knight-in-shining-armor routine.”
“What do you mean knight in shining armor?”
“Even this date,” he added. “There’s some kind of wrong she’s trying to right. She’s been this way since she went to a snazzy high school, Robinson or Matherson or some shit, with a really good computer science program.”
“Stevenson?” I asked.
“That’s right.” Diego nodded. “Hasn’t been the same since.”
“I went there for a year.”
“Huh, weird coincidence.” Diego leaned in. “And you never met?”
“Not that I remember.” I shook my head. “I kept to myself, though.”
Diego scratched his chin, connecting some puzzle pieces but not sharing. “Just remember, I love the girl, but she looks out for whatever her end goal is.”
I smiled at his warning, at the way he was both protective and unfiltered, as if he couldn’t help giving me the truth straight.
And yet, my chest tightened in the wrong way.
He was magnetic, warm, real, the kind of man who’d fix your car at midnight and dance until you laughed.
But another pair of eyes intruded; Lincoln’s fierce and bluest eyes were possessive and impossible to ignore.
Diego was right here, tasting of belonging and smelling of Tequila …
and I wanted to lean into it. Yet every time I tried, my heart recoiled, tripping over hurting someone who’d never tripped over hurting me.
“Wanna get out of here?” Diego asked. Is he asking? “We’ve drank and dined. We gotta burn it off. There’s a place around the corner. I DJ there often. Let’s dance the night away, yeah?”
He stood and offered me his hand. Again, waiting for my decision. I grasped his hand, warm and rugged against mine.
We stepped outside, the night air cool against my legs, and Diego’s hand landed on my back. We stepped out laughing, still carrying the warmth of the tequila between us. His shoulder brushed mine as he teased me about the way I wrinkled my nose when I disagreed with him. Then I froze.