Page 105 of The Troublemaker
A man behind the host stand looks up, and his face splits into a grin.“Easton.”
He comes around the stand, arms open, and pulls Easton into a hug that Easton returns without hesitation.He’s maybe sixty, with silver at his temples and deep laugh lines.His eyes are warm and not judging when he sees me next to him.
“The missus?”He looks at Easton first, then me.
“Roberto, this is Hadley.”Easton’s hand finds the small of my back.“The missus.”
Surprise moves through Roberto’s expression first, then something I can’t name.He looks between us once, quickly, then takes my hand in both of his.
“Welcome.”He says it as though I’m his daughter-in-law.“Come, come.”
He entwines my arm through his and leads us through the restaurant, weaving between tables, past the bar where two bartenders are shaking margaritas aggressively, past an older lady pressing handmade tortillas, past the kitchen where I catch a glimpse of flames, and then through a narrow hallway to a small corner table half hidden by a painted screen and a hanging curtain of dried flowers.
The table is for two.The noise from the main part of the restaurant is dampened slightly.
“Enjoy.”Roberto squeezes my hand, then pulls out my chair.
Easton sits across from me as Roberto leaves us alone.Our eyes meet across the table, the small tealight in a red vase leaving us in shadows.
“Is this where you take all your dates?”My question comes out before I realize that I don’t want the answer.I don’t want to picture him at this table with anyone else.
He doesn’t hesitate.“Decker isn’t much of a conversationalist, but…”
I pick up my menu, feeling the need to cut off our connection, but his finger pulls my menu back down.
“You know you’re the only woman I’ve ever gone on dates with, right?”
I don’t answer, and he releases the menu.I don’t know what to say, because him bringing me, sharing this place with me, I think it means something to him.
Chips arrive before we order.A basket of them, still hot and salty, with a bowl of salsa that Roberto sets down without a word, walking away.I dip the homemade chip into the salsa and crunch down on it, sinking back in my chair, my eyes closing briefly to savor the taste.
Easton grins.“Right?”
“You’ve ruined me for all other tortilla chips now.”
“Deck gets them to go.”He scoops his own chip into the salsa and pops it into his mouth.
We order tacos, more than we’ll ever finish, and two margaritas that arrive in glasses so large I have to hold mine with both hands.Easton leans back in his chair as though he’s as relaxed as ever, and the music from the trio drifts back to us through the curtain of dried flowers.
For the first time in recent memory, I feel the particular easiness of an impromptu night where there are no expectations.The same as when I would first arrive in a new city.
I smile across the table at Easton.“This place is great.”
“Tell me somewhere,” he says.
“Somewhere?”
“You’ve been everywhere.Tell me somewhere that beats this.”
I give it real thought.Not the obvious answers, not the classic tourist places people expect you to say, like Rome, Paris, or Sydney.“There’s a restaurant in Oaxaca.No sign on the door—actually pretty similar to this one.Family-run, grandmother does all the cooking, grandkids are the servers.There’s this beautiful courtyard with iron tables, and the sun filters through the wooden-slatted pergola.”
I wrap my hands around my glass.“The food takes a while to come out, but you don’t care because the music and impromptu dances of the dad pulling his wife or daughters into it keep you entertained.”I pause, smiling as I remember it.“I ate there four nights in a row.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
He watches me carefully.“Do you ever get lonely?”
