Page 43 of Broken Deal

Are you, though? Or are you simply ignoring this hole in your heart you’ve been feeling more often lately?

Blame it on sexual frustration. I haven’t slept withanyone in a while, and my brain is spinning with all these delirious thoughts.

As I’m deep in thought, Sophia walks out wearing a simple, short yellow summer dress that makes her skin glow. My gaze drifts down to her legs, smooth and flawless, but I quickly look away, trying to push back the urge to run my hands all over them and remind myself how good they must feel.

“I feel extremely underdressed, and it’s all your fault.”

I frown. “How is it my fault?”

She glares at me. “You should have told me our destination so I could have planned accordingly.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Says the guy with a perfect outfit.”

I nod in understanding, biting my bottom lip momentarily before replying. “I’ll rectify that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I rise from the stairs where I was sitting and start walking. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you always this cryptic?”

I shrug without bothering with a reply.

She lets out a small, frustrated groan that makes me laugh as she quickly strides to catch up. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a perfect little restaurant around the corner that has, hands down, the bestRopa Viejayou’ll ever try.”

To be honest, every time I come here that’s the only thing I eat, because I’m dying to figure out every single ingredient and make it myself. I could ask, but that takes away the fun. I like to explore the flavors and play with ingredients until I can nail them. It’s the best part of being in the kitchen. There are endless possibilities and creations you can do until you find the perfect one.

“Ropawhat?” she asks, confused.

I laugh as I open the door of the restaurant, placing my hand on her lower back and guiding her inside. “The English translation is old clothes. I know the name doesn’t make it sound like the best, but I promise you it’s good.”

She scrunches her nose in the cutest way possible. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”

I roll my eyes at her comment. Of course, she argues with me. I don’t know why I expected any less.

The restaurant is tiny, and soft, overhead yellow lights adorn the ceiling, giving the space a peaceful and romantic vibe. The brick walls are adorned with bright-colored paintings and small Panamanian flags all around. From the research I did while scouting for the perfect restaurant location, I found Boca del Toro is one of the most touristic places honeymooners visit. And every restaurant has this local but romantic feel.

It’s fairly late, but the place is still bustling with activity. I request outdoor sitting, because I never tire of the view, the light breeze, and the smell of fresh ocean air. After a few minutes, they sit us on a corner table by the veranda with a perfect view.

While Sophia browses the menu, my eyes focus on her face. I hold back a laugh every time she furrows her brows when she can’t understand a word. I mentally slap myself, trying to get my shit together and not reach out to trace her lip with my thumb every time she unconsciously bites her bottom lip in concentration.

“I give up.” She drops the menu on the table. “I don’t know what I want. You choose.”

I purse my lips, holding back a chuckle. “Wise choice.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and resting them on the table, slightly leaning forward. “Don’t make meregret it. You’re surprisingly very knowledgeable when it comes to food. So let’s put that knowledge to the test.”

“I mean, I’m not trying to sound cocky or anything, but did you forget I own hundreds of restaurants?”

“That doesn’t mean you’re an expert, now, does it?”

I raise an eyebrow, contemplating how to reply. No one knows the passion I have for cooking. It’s not something I like to share. What’s the point? I’m a businessman. My job is to take care of payroll, investments, and all the boring administrative shit that brings me billions of dollars every year. Sharing my love for cooking will pique Sophia’s interest. I’m not here to be honest. I never claimed I was going to tell her the truth. The world thinks of me a certain way, and I prefer to keep it that way.

“Is that your question of the day?” I ask, threading my fingers through my hair.

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