6. Lindee
LINDEE
“Do you like breakfast tacos?”
The cool morning air seeps through the floorboards, winning the battle against the small pile of mostly extinguished embers in the fireplace. A shiver crawls across the exposed skin of my arm and I shift under the covers, curling into the heat of Brewer’s bare chest.
“Breakfast, lunch, dinner…if your sweet taco is on the menu…”
What?!
I scrunch my brow, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. Not only am I not going to be doing the cooking, breakfast tacos aren’t—
Ohhhhhhhhh…
Heat rushes up my body, his actual meaning hitting me upside the head like a wayward tetherball. Well done, Lindee…
“I’m not saying no…but I was referring to the actual food.”
“There are people who don’t like breakfast tacos? Or any kind?”
I laugh, the movement of my chest against his creating a friction that makes me wish we didn’t have to get out from under these covers. That we could stay wrapped up like this all day. But that’s simply not possible.
Even ignoring the fact that we both have lives to get back to, plus my itchy eyes thanks to sleeping in my contacts, the lack of fire or any other heat source would require getting up to rectify that. However, we do have lives to get back to. Very different—very separate—lives.
Le sigh…
“Mi-my older sister,” I answer, catching myself before I use her name. I lift my head, positioning myself so I can look into Brewer’s eyes. “She is insistent that tacos aren’t a breakfast food, no matter the ingredients.”
“She must be fun at parties…”
I laugh. “Fun isn’t exactly her specialty. She’s the serious one of the family.”
“And which one are you?”
Brewer drags his fingers up and down my spine, the movement lazy and instinctual, like this is our every Sunday morning.
The butterflies hovering right under my skin take flight, threatening to burst through.
This man has some wild power over me, unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
Right about now, I’ll do anything to stop this all from ending.
“The nerdy one. Our brother is the fixer, always stepping in to help with a problem, even if he knows nothing about the situation. The baby of the family—she’s the fun one.”
He nods, brown eyes looking at me like I walk on water.
“I’m the absent-minded one,” he offers. “My sisters make fun of me for being forgetful, but it’s not that.
It’s more that I get so focused on something, everything else doesn’t exist and, well…
” Trailing off, his hand pauses on my bare ass, giving it a squeeze.
For a second I think he’s going to try to start up another round, but then he continues.
“Middle is the wild child. She’s…I dunno that there’s a single word to describe her.
She dances to her own drum, and there’s no telling what is coming next.
And the youngest, she’s the smart one. Like, scary smart—with degrees to prove it. And her own business now.”
The pride in his voice is unmistakable as he talks about his sisters. Even the one who last night he said has made questionable life choices. It’s clear from the little he’s shared that he takes his role as big brother and protector seriously and loves these two women with his whole heart.
Making my own heart melt and swoon.
Following his own absent-minded movements, I trace along his pecs, swirling the dark hair under my fingers, committing the softness to memory. Committing this whole moment to memory. So I can return here, basking in his warmth and the fading glow of the fire, any time I need a happy memory.
“But you asked about breakfast tacos,” he says, clearing his throat. “Yes, I love them.”
Perfect.
“Do you trust me?”
Chuckling, Brewer smacks my ass, hauling me into him. “Little late if I didn’t.”
Fair.
“Good, because I know just the place.”
Thankfully, it’s still early enough that most of the town isn’t up and about yet, allowing us to slip into Taco ’Bout Trouble and grab the far booth unseen.
Well, other than by Rosario, April’s mother-in-law and the genius behind the menu here, who I know would never rat me out.
Mostly because she hasn’t called me by my actual name since high school.
Despite the relative calm inside the restaurant, nerves race through me like they are trying to earn a spot on the Olympic team.
I want to be able to savor this—enjoy being with this amazing man who stumbled into my life—not wasting a single moment.
Because with each passing second, the urge to tell him the truth and invite him to stay in Trouble grows.
And that is little T trouble that I don’t really need right now.
“I know I specifically mentioned the breakfast tacos,” I start, trying to harness my nerves.
“And they are fantastic. You won’t find better ones anywhere.
I recommend getting an extra side of the pico with them, because you’re going to want to bathe in the stuff.
But…the huevos rancheros are heavenly—again the pico.
The huevos rotas is also really yummy. Actually, there isn’t anything bad on this menu.
Rosario is possibly the best cook on this planet. ”
“That’s a big statement.”
“I mean it. Everything on this menu is either an old family recipe or one she created herself. She’s one of those people who throw themselves into their cooking—it’s her love language. And she’s been keeping the people of Trouble fed for almost forty years now.”
Brewer looks at me, the surprise on his face making his eyes lighten. “Forty years? Wow. What’s gonna happen when she decides she doesn’t want to do this anymore?”
“There are some, like my parents, who think that will never happen. That she’d never give up control.
But, she’s taught April, my bestie who you met yesterday, everything she knows.
April is married to Rosario’s son, and the two of them are really close.
I’m of the opinion though that once there are grandbabies, Rosario is going to go into full-on Abuela mode. ”
“Munequita…” Rosario greets me, using the nickname she gave me more than a decade ago and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Without skipping a beat, she looks at Brewer, scanning him up and down, not bothering to hide her judgment. “I do not know you.”
“Hi.” Brewer gives a little wave, clearly feeling the weight of her eyes on him. “I’m…I’m just visiting.”
“Mmmm-hmmm…”
Turning back to me, Rosario brightens again. “Usual?”
“Please.”
Wordlessly, she turns to Brewer, lifting a single brow.
“Ummm…” He picks up the menu for the first time, swallowing hard. Almost as quickly as he grabbed it, he puts it back down, turning on his bright, charming smile as he looks up at the woman who holds our breakfast fate in her hands. “You know what, surprise me. Chef’s choice.”
“You like spicy?”
“I do.”
Rosario thinks for a moment, then nods, letting a smile peek through. “Okay then. I will send Darren over with the coffee.”
I wait until she’s out of ear shot, then turn to Brewer, trying to hold back a laugh. “That’s brave.”
“You said that she’s a good cook, so she’s going to know what’s best.” He shrugs, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
Fair. But I don’t know that I could ever trust someone I didn’t know, in a town I didn’t know, with choosing for me. I like control too much. Not that I’m about to admit that.
“Munequita?” he asks, not letting the conversation stumble.
“It means doll in Spanish.” I pull my lips into my teeth, a little embarrassed to admit to this story.
But what does it matter? I won’t ever see this man again.
“When we were younger, Rosario couldn’t remember my name, so she referred to me as Munequita, since I looked like a Barbie doll in her mind, with the blonde hair. And the nickname stuck.”
“Only in a small town.”
“Exactly.”
The front door opens, sending a whoosh of cool air rushing inside, hitting us easily without other customers to block us from it.
I flick my eyes over to see who it is, catching the quick wave from a couple of the guys from our packing plant.
I return the gesture, making sure to be only as polite as I need to, and return my attention to where it needs to be. The sexy man sitting across from me.
“Know them?”
I nod. “Small town, everyone knows everyone. At least those of us who live here. Taco ’Bout Trouble is kinda a locals’ place.
Not to say that tourists and visitors don’t make it in here, but since it’s not on High Street, which is the main drag through town, it doesn’t get as much foot traffic as some of the other places.
The Hidden Barrel, Secluded Still, Final Cask—those are the places that visitors flock to.
They’re part of the whole Trouble experience.
Us locals keep it real with our hot spots. ”
“Keep it real?” Brewer sits back, looking at me like he thinks I’m pulling his chain. “How so?”
“Well, Taco ’Bout Trouble for one. And we don’t hit up Holler House when we want a drink. We go to the Post.”
“The Post?”
“The General Post,” I clarify, using the establishment’s real name.
“It’s hidden down this back alley off High Street, but the entrance is hard to find unless you know where it is on the backside of the old General Store and Post Office.
The front of the building now serves as a gift shop, while the back is a speakeasy, same as it was during Prohibition. ”
“You mean, there was moonshine and whiskey in this town prior to 1932?” Brewer fakes a gasp, his pretend surprised face barely cutting it.
“Shhhhhh…” I return the jest. “Miners had to do something to pass the time.”
Rosario appears again, with two large, brightly colored plates in hand. She slides one in front of me, my bacon and chorizo tacos standing perfectly in the metal holder positioned in the middle of the plate, surrounded by a sea of pico de gallo. Perfection.