Chapter 6 – Remi #2
“No. I love it. Is that where your family’s from?”
His obnoxiously long legs have no problem catching up with me.
“My mom was born there.” I glance over at him. “What about you, Thiago? Where are you from?”
“My parents were Brazilian. They met in Miami and had me a few years later.”
He told me the night we met that his father died when he was young and his aunt took him in. I hadn’t given much thought to what that meant for his mother, but the past tense grabs my attention now.
There’s obviously more to the story, but I don’t ask. I know better than most how complicated family can be, and whatever happened is his to tell if he ever wants to.
I slow as we reach the double doors and turn toward him. “I have a feeling you’ll like this place. They make the best chilaquiles I’ve ever had.”
The claim lasts all of two seconds before Estela’s version comes to mind.
“Okay, second best.”
Thiago opens the door for me. “I can’t wait.”
Marie, the longtime hostess, greets me with a smile that immediately shifts to Thiago. I can’t blame her. The man already sticks out among the regular human population, and the impromptu crop top isn’t exactly helping.
“Hey, Remi! Just two?” she asks, already grabbing a pair of menus and motioning us toward a table before either of us can answer.
Thiago rests a hand lightly against the small of my back as we follow her toward the booth. It’s barely a touch, but I’m aware of it until the moment he pulls away and waits for me to slide into my seat.
“JB will be by to take care of you in just a bit,” Marie says.
She steps away, and the second she’s safely behind Thiago, her mouth falls open. She looks from him to me, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Jesus.
I narrow my eyes at her, but she’s already disappearing around the corner. Heat creeps up my neck as I reach for one of the menus before Thiago notices.
Damn you, Marie.
“How’s your arm?” I ask, pretending to study the entrées as though I don’t already know them by heart.
“A little sore when I think about it, but nothing too crazy.”
I lower the menu and meet his eyes. “You know, I’ve never met anyone who takes being shot so lightly. And don’t tell me it’s not your first time, because then I’ll have to seriously consider walking out.”
I’m only half-joking. The more time I spend around him, the more curious I become about the things that don’t quite add up.
He chuckles and rests his forearms on the table. “I told you it’s barely a scratch. The only thing I’m worried about is the scar cutting through one of my favorite pieces.” He glances at the tattoo on his arm. “And avoiding the ER means I get to take you out to dinner, so I’d call that a win-win.”
I lower the menu another inch. “Take me out to dinner?”
“That’s usually what it’s called when two people go somewhere and eat together.”
“You’re buying me food as restitution for damages.”
“Right.” His mouth twitches. “Completely different.”
“Glad we cleared that up.” I lift the menu again before he catches how close I am to laughing.
JB comes by as promised, takes our orders, and sends me a wink before leaving. Apparently, everyone here has decided this is a date except me.
They’re going to have a hell of a lot of questions when I show up alone next time.
“So,” Thiago says, “about that GT-R.”
“What about her?”
“Her?” His eyebrows lift.
“Yes, her.”
“How long have you had her?”
“A few years.”
“That color is unique. Not something you see every day. What made you choose it?”
My fingers find my father’s ring in my pocket as memories of Ryuji surface. Katsura orange was never meant to blend in, and neither was the GT-R. But I didn’t choose the color because I wanted people to look.
I chose it because of him.
That part of my life isn’t something Thiago has earned, so I give him the easy answer instead.
“It’s pretty,” I say with a shrug.
“And you did all the work yourself?”
“Most of it.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Now I’m curious.”
“What’s got you so curious?”
“How much of what’s under that hood came from the factory.”
I grin. “Not much anymore.”
“See, now I feel like you’re showing off.”
“You asked.”
“I did.” His gaze stays on mine. “So how’d you get into cars?”
The question catches me off guard because most people who ask why I work on cars make it sound like they can’t understand why I’d want to. There’s none of that in Thiago’s voice. He seems genuinely interested.
“I grew up around them. My dad always had something in the garage, and once I was old enough to understand what he was doing, I started following him around and getting in the way.”
“So he taught you?”
“He started it. I took it from there.”
“That explains a lot.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, you don’t seem like someone who does anything halfway.”
I study him, unsure whether it’s an observation or a compliment. Maybe both. “You say that like you know me.”
“Not even close.”
My fingers remain curled around the ring.
“But I’m trying.”
There’s no arrogance behind the answer, no assumption that he already has me figured out. Sitting across from him like this, talking about cars and family and things that have nothing to do with why we met, I start to realize I’m trying too. I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to do with that.
My grip on the ring eases before I realize it.
“Chilaquiles and birria tacos.” JB appears beside the table with our food before I have to figure it out.
Perfect fucking timing.
He sets the chilaquiles in front of me and the tacos in front of Thiago, along with a small bowl of consommé.
“So do you always order the same thing?” Thiago asks. “Or have you tried a little bit of everything?”
“I grew up eating this food. Of course I’ve tried everything.” I point my fork at the plate in front of me. “But here? I ordered these the first time I came and never looked back.”
“You haven’t tried anything else on the menu?”
“Why would I if this is perfect? It’s like fixing something that isn’t broken.”
Thiago looks between our plates and nods. “Okay, but if they’re that good, why did you let me order something else?”
“I’m not your mother. You can make your own bad decisions.”
He laughs and picks up one of his tacos. “Maybe you should try one.”
“I don’t need to.”
I take my first bite and ignore him, but a few seconds later, half a taco appears over my plate. I look at it, then at him.
“I have my own food.”
“Come on. I bet you’ll like it.”
“Right, because it would be my first time trying a taco.” I narrow my eyes but take it from him anyway. “If this is better than mine, I’m still not admitting it.”
The look on his face tells me he’s already counting that as a win.
Of course the damn thing is good. That’s not the point.
I swallow and give him a sarcastic thumbs-up.
Thiago shakes his head and glances at my plate.
Without thinking, I cut off a piece and hold the fork across the table.
His eyes lift to mine before he leans forward and takes the bite.
It isn’t until I’m pulling the fork away that I realize I just fed him.
Well, shit. Apparently, we’re feeding each other now.
I slowly pull the fork back. “Well?”
He takes his sweet fucking time chewing. “Tacos are better.”
“Get out.”
We both burst out laughing, earning a glance from the table beside us, but I don’t care.
Between arguing over food and watching Thiago practically stretch his way out of a shirt I gave him as a joke, I stopped questioning why I brought him here.
I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun with someone I barely know.
So for once, I leave it at that.
Taking the last bite of vanilla ice cream and cinnamon churros, I lean back against the booth, stuffed to all hell.
“Ready to get out of here?” Thiago asks, finishing the dessert we somehow ended up sharing.
“You say that like we’re leaving together.”
“I don’t know. We could.” He leans back. “My challenge still stands.”
I scoff. “Might I remind you that Sloane’s is closed and we just ate?”
“You’re the boss, and that sounds a lot like an excuse.”
I point my spoon at him. “Thiago, if you fucking cluck in here…”
His lips press together.
“Don’t.”
His shoulders start to shake.
“I swear to God.”
He holds up both hands, fighting a laugh. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You were about to.”
“Oh, you can read minds now?”
“No. Your face is just really fucking obvious.”
He grins, and I already know I’m going to regret what comes out of my mouth next.
“Fine. One round.”
His eyebrows lift. “One?”
“That’s all I need.”