Chapter 14
Ryan
Seven Years Ago
“Tacos?” Scarlett arches a dark eyebrow in my direction. She glances warily at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant in front of us. “I know we’ve been seeing each other for a few months now, but I was hoping you’d try to impress me for a little while longer.”
I put a hand over my heart in mock offense. “How dare you. Tacos are the perfect food.”
She purses her lips skeptically. “ Perfect is a pretty strong word for what is essentially a sandwich.”
“Take it back this instant,” I tease. “A measly sandwich has nothing on a taco. There are so many options! Crispy or soft, any meat or vegetarian filling you want, beans, cheese, salsas, guacamole, sour cream. Should I go on?”
“Sour cream is disgusting,” she counters.
I tip my head back and forth, thinking. “I’ll give you that one.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I should be jealous of your relationship with this particular food item,” she says sardonically.
“You joke, but I take my tacos very seriously.”
“I can see that.”
Stepping forward, I hold the door open for her and motion for her to go inside. “Reserve your judgment until you try them, okay? At the very least, they’ll be easy to take where we’re going.”
As she passes me inside, her shoulder brushes mine. I have to fight against the urge to grab her and pin her against the wall with a searing kiss. She’s so strikingly beautiful, with her dark hair hanging long down her back, the silky strands tempting me to run my fingers through them. Of course, she’s wearing my favorite color on her, too—a royal-purple tank top that brightens the hue of her eyes and dark wash jeans. As her hips sway on her way into the restaurant, I know she’s intentionally made herself hard to resist.
Three months with this woman, and every day I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot.
“We’re not staying here?” she asks over her shoulder. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we could take our food to a park nearby. Set up a picnic. Maybe read a little.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but I surreptitiously rub my sweaty palms against my jeans.
Scarlett joked about me trying to impress her, but every date I’ve planned so far has been carefully crafted around something I think she might like. She’s not the type to enjoy large crowds or loud spaces—I gathered that from the night we met. Most of the time she spends on her own has something to do with her writing, whether she’s drafting or editing or working with her critique partners. JMP has her slated for a small press tour with the possibility of expanding it when her book releases, so some of her time has been spent shopping for outfits with her roommates. I know she’s nervous about all of that, but she doesn’t have anything to be worried about. Her book is fantastic, and even though she describes herself as painfully introverted, she lights up a room when she’s talking about her work.
So far, when I’ve planned dates for us, I’ve been careful to avoid things she doesn’t enjoy but even more attentive about what she likes. Just the other day, she was bemoaning the fact that since she signed her deal, she doesn’t have any time to read. I grabbed the book that has been sitting on her nightstand for weeks, hoping she wouldn’t miss it if it was gone for a few days, and planned this afternoon for her to unwind.
Scarlett turns to face me, pouting. “You should have told me. I don’t have my book.”
I wink at her and look up at the menu hanging above the cashier. “Let’s order.”
“What are you up to?” She sounds skeptical, but I don’t look at her. If I do, I’m likely to spill all my deepest, darkest secrets, and not just the fact that I have her book in my backpack.
“Trying to impress you,” I say simply. “Now, what kind of tacos do you like?”
She sighs and turns her attention to the menu board. “I’m assuming you’ve been here before, so you tell me what’s good.”
“It’s all good. Like I said, tacos are the perfect food. You literally cannot go wrong.” I think for a moment, then add, “Unless you top them with sour cream.”
“We’d better get one of each, then.”
She’s joking, but I nod and step forward to order one of everything on the menu. It’s a small restaurant, so the menu isn’t extensive, but Scarlett can’t stop laughing about how serious I am.
As we wait for our food, we chat about little things. Every once in a while, she’ll catch one of the cooks eyeing us, then rolling their eyes, and she’ll burst into a fit of giggles all over again.
I’d probably order one of every type of taco in existence just to hear her laugh like that again and again.
It doesn’t take too long for them to get our order together, and the teenager behind the counter passes me four foam containers that squeak when they rub against each other. I thank the kid, leave a massive tip in the jar next to the register, and ask Scarlett if she can hold the door for me. She laughs as she pulls the door open.
We walk down the street to a small park. The summer sun is warm, and the heat of the tacos is seeping through the containers to warm me even further. It’s a relief to finally set them down in the grass while I spread out a large blanket from my backpack.
Scarlett sits cross-legged on top of it and starts opening containers of food. “I’ll admit, it does look good.”
Joining her on the ground, I inspect the tacos. I grab a shrimp that has fallen loose and pop it into my mouth. “Mmm,” I hum in satisfaction.
“You like the shrimp ones?” She clasps her hands in her lap and leans forward slightly, curious.
“They’re tied with carne asada for my favorite.”
She nods as if she’s packing away this information for later. “Well, I’m starving.” Her fingers wiggle over the tacos as she makes her decision. Carefully, she extracts a pork taco from one of the containers. When she takes a bite, her whole body relaxes on a moan. All the blood in my veins rushes south, and I have to shift to hide what that noise does to me.
“Okay, you were right. This is heavenly.”
After she takes another bite, some juice from the taco runs down her chin. I use a finger to wipe it off, but before I can pull it away, Scarlett dips to draw it in her mouth. She swirls the digit with her tongue, and then there’s no hiding what she’s doing to me.
“Fuck, Scarlett,” I groan.
She releases my finger and smiles. “Maybe later,” she says coyly. “Right now, I want to enjoy the sunshine and these tacos.” Her expression becomes shy, and her cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of pink. “And you.”
I kiss her then, because how couldn’t I? It occurs to me as my tongue dances with hers that I could kiss her every single day for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t be enough.
She pulls away, smiling, her joy spelled out across her face. I grin back as I grab my own taco and start eating.
We chat and watch people play catch while we eat. She doesn’t make a big deal about it, but I notice she leaves the shrimp and carne asada ones for me. When we’ve both eaten our fill, I throw the empty containers into a nearby garbage can and pull her book out of my bag. She squeals in delight, and we both lie on the blanket. She curls up against my side, her head on my chest.
I’ve had several relationships, though none of them got very serious. I should be wary of such strong feelings for her so soon, but for some reason, I’m not. If someone were to tell me right now that I wouldn’t be spending the rest of my life with this woman, I’d tell them to check again. It’s simply unimaginable.
Once, before he died, I asked my dad how he knew my mom was the person he’d spend his life with.
“How do you know I love you?” he said.
I furrowed my brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It’s simple. How do you know I love you?”
“I just do,” I said, feeling like I was missing the point.
He nodded sagely, as if I had gotten it right. “I just knew I loved her, too.”
That was that. I thought I understood at the time, at least as well as a ten-year-old boy could. But now, as Scarlett turns a page and shimmies a bit to get more comfortable, I realize that I didn’t understand at all. Because if anyone were to ask me how I feel about her, I’d probably tell them she’s it for me. And if they asked me how I knew, I could point to the weightlessness of her head on my chest, the effervescence of her laughter, the brilliance of her mind. But all of those things pale in comparison to the truth.
How do I know? I just do.