Page 11 of The No Falling Rule
“My family’s originally from Colombia,” he shares, pride threading through his tone. “My grandfather moved to the US with a small capital and big dreams. Because of him, my family now owns one of the largest resort chains on this side of the globe.”
“Impressive,” I say, scooping up a bite of coconut rice.
“My family’s from Texas—we’ve been there since back when Texas was still part of Mexico.”
He nods, elbows resting on the table, chin balanced on his hands—completely focused on me.
I don’t think anyone has paid this much attention to what I have to say. And it’s not because he wants to get laid. He could have anyone he wanted—that much is obvious. But for whatever reason, right now, he wants to knowme.
“I grew up visiting my grandma all the time,” I say, smiling at the memory. “She taught my sister and me how to cook, how to sew, how to pray.”
Diego chuckles, and something in my chest untangles. He doesn’t look at me like what I’m sharing is silly—he looksinterested.
“I’m proud of my Mexican roots,” I continue, a little shyly, “and I try to keep those traditions alive as much as I can.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t glance away. His gaze stays steady and warm.
Most people don’t know what to do with that part of me. I’ve had guys roll their eyes when I talked about my family—how we can start in English, throw in some Spanish, and then circle right back again. Total deal breaker. If you can’t appreciate where I come from, you’ll never really get who I am.
But Diego’s face lights up like I’ve just said poetry.
“I was born in Massachusetts,” he says, leaning back. “But as I mentioned, my grandfather on my dad’s side was Colombian. I also grew up visiting his house all the time, not just for the big celebrations.”
I grin, the similarities making my heart flutter. Different worlds, same roots.
It’s strange—like meeting a mythical creature I only thought existed in my dreams.
The food keeps coming, and conversation flows as easily as the wine. By the time the waiter returns with a tray full of desserts, I’m so full I can barely breathe.
“I wish I had a bigger stomach,” I groan, patting my belly. “That looks delicious, but if I eat one more bite, they’ll have to roll me out of here.”
Diego laughs as he stands and offers me his hand. “Would you like to take a walk with me? Maybe it’ll open up some room for dessert.”
I close my eyes for a second, torn. I don’t want the night to end, but I’m exhausted.
“I’d love to spend more time with you,” I say, taking his hand. “But I think the weight of the day has finally caught up to me. Between the fall, the spa, and all this food, I’m ready for bed.”
He winces, instantly apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking about how tired you must be after everything.”
He turns to the waiter. “Would you please prepare a tray of assorted desserts and have it delivered to Ms. Martinez’s bungalow?”
The man nods and slips away.
“I’d love to walk you back, if that’s okay?” Diego’s voice is so tender my heart skips a beat.
“I’d be delighted,” I say, with a playful curtsy.
He chuckles and offers his arm again, guiding my hand to rest in the crook of his elbow.
We walk slowly, the sound of the waves filling the silence. The palm trees sway gently in the ocean breeze, and the moonlight casts a soft glow on the path ahead.
Every time our arms brush, I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He carries this quiet confidence—imposing, strong—but there’s something calming about it too.
“I like this,” he blurts suddenly.
I glance up at him, curious.
“This,” he says, gesturing between us with his free hand. “I don’t feel the need to fill the silence. I could walk with you for miles and never get tired of your company.”
