Page 53 of The Problem with Dating

I slipped back into my chair and shook off the anxiety dripping all over my body. “Keep the sangria coming.”

“You got it.”

He turned to walk away and I called out to him. “Alex?”

“Yes?”

“Do you always serve each table your guests sit at?”

“No. Just yours.”

Just mine.

I didn’t know why, but that idea twisted my thoughts into flurries.

As he walked off, I dove into my tapas, not wanting to allow Cole to completely ruin my life the way he seemed so determined to do. If anything, I would not be okay with a good meal in front of me.

It turned out Alex’s balls had the perfect amount of saltiness.Just how I liked them.

CHAPTER16

Alex

Yara was the last one standing in my restaurant that night and the drunkest of them all. After the second to last table left, I found Yara at her table, full of tapas and sangria, singing three blind mice. Why that song? Who knew. She was plastered. Drunk people did a lot of weird things that didn’t make sense.

“Poor angel,” Tatiana said as she straightened up the hostess stand. “I should figure out a way to get her home.”

“I can walk her home,” I told Tatiana. “We live in the same building. Can you make sure everyone finishes off their tasks for the night and can you lock up?”

“Of course, Alex, and thank you,” she said, touching my arm. “For making sure she makes it home safely.”

“Sure.”

Tatiana kept her hand on my arm and looked toward Yara. “Even though she’s a little tipsy, she’s radiant, isn’t she?”

“She is,” I said without thought. The words rolled off my tongue as if they were automatically produced from the idea that Yara was stunning. It was true, though. She didn’t have a bad angle, and for some reason, I’d taken in every single one of hers. Yara Kingsley made it hard to look away. Even when I was trying my hardest to dislike her.

When I stopped looking at Yara, I turned to find Tatiana smiling up toward me with the biggest goofy grin.

“Stop it,” I ordered, dropping my mouth into a grimace. I knew exactly what that look she was giving me meant.

“You like her!” Tatiana whispered, smacking my arm.

“You’re being annoying, Tatiana.”

“Annoyingly right,” she countered.

“Good night.”

She kept her silly smile plastered to her face before she patted my hand in hers. Just. Like. Teresa. Tatiana did that a lot—little mannerisms that reminded me of my great-aunt. She didn’t even have a clue she was doing the actions, but the comfort that raced through my body every time was remarkable. Each time she did it, I silently thanked her for the greatest memories being brought to the forefront of my mind.

Who knew a hand tap could mean so much?

“You’re a great boy, mi amor,” Teresa would say every night when she came into my room to tuck me in for bed. I felt a bit weird being tucked in by my great-aunt into my late teen years. Once, I told her I was too old to be tucked in, to which she replied, “But not too old to be loved. Love shows up in many ways. Being tucked in each night is just one form of love.” She’d then pat my hand within hers, as she did every evening, kiss my forehead, and say good night.

My chest tightened a little at the memory of Teresa. It was funny how a memory could give both comfort and cause ache all at once. The complexities of human experience.

After Tatiana wandered off, I headed to my office to get my keys. Once I gathered my items, I headed over to Yara’s table and gave her a halfway smile. “Your ride home is here.”

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