During the time she had been involved with Jaime, Alma had been focused on wine and had even applied and been accepted to a prestigious program to become a sommelier. She passed the exam with flying colors and enjoyed working at restaurants and pairing wines with gourmet dishes. She was on her way to a lucrative career and, though she loved learning everything about grapes, fromplanting them, to watering them, to harvesting them, to all the different varieties of wines, she didn’t feel a deep connection to them or the work.
A pristine prickly pear paloma piqued her interest in tequila, but it wasn’t until she journeyed to Mexico on a girls’ trip that her high school best friend Zoila had arranged for her so she would finally forget about Jaime that she really discovered the new love in her life to get her over her first.
Tequila.
Alma laughed at the saying “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” but it rang true for her. Getting sloshed in Mexico opened her horizons up to a new career.
But it wasn’t just drinking any type of alcohol. It was all about tequila—truly indulging in it. She had taken a wine tour to Valle de Guadalupe and met a vintner who was from Jalisco—the holy land of tequila. But Jalisco was so much more than a tequila state—it was the birthplace of mariachi music, charrerías, the first sombrero, and was even responsible for the beloved Mexican Hat Dance. She loved every fragrant smell that made her mouth water, every brightly colored wall that shone through her sunglasses, and every cobbled street her heels got stuck in. She couldn’t wait to go back, but she had been so busy with her bar that it hadn’t happened yet.
Jalisco was quite simply heaven for Alma. The gentleman offered to take her and her friends on a tour of his hometown. Though she questioned his motivations at first, being leery of any overly friendly stranger in a foreign country, she gave him a chance, since she felt safe and was in a group, and embraced adventure. It took little more than riding a burro through a blue agave patch and watching the workers harvesting the plants for her to get hooked.Not just on tequila, but on Mexico, in particular Jalisco’s capital, Guadalajara. Rediscovering the country her parents grew up in changed her life. Being the daughter of immigrants in Americaalways made her feel like she didn’t belong, but walking through the streets of Guadalajara gave her a sense of pride and an appreciation of where she came from. Her homeland was glorious.
Being there in a place that was on one hand foreign yet simultaneously strangely familiar helped her overcome her grief and anger about Jaime. As much as she was still deeply hurt, Alma understood that there was a huge world to experience for both of them and that he had probably been right when he gazed into her eyes and told her that they were too young to be together forever.
That didn’t mean that she didn’t still miss him.
But she had found a new obsession. Tequila.
Unfortunately, her former lover and current love collided last night—and she wasn’t prepared for that mixture. The smooth spirit was the clear winner in the battle for her heart. Tequila was loyal to her; it would never betray her. Not that she didn’t have people who she loved and trusted blindly. Her parents, her brother, her friends. But all those relationships were safer than romantic love.
She could never trust Jaime again.
And she hoped he wouldn’t return again to disrupt her world.
Speaking of that, the critic never showed up. Her brother thought he saw a man who could possibly be a critic lurking during the Jaime reunion disaster, but he couldn’t be certain. All Alma knew for sure was the man hadn’t made himself known to her.
Alma rolled out of bed, let Tequila outside, did her daily beauty routine—which consisted of too many serums, a huge helping ofmoisturizer, and a copious amount of sunscreen—and got dressed. Lazy mornings were no time for bustiers and tight jeans, so she chose some soft, sage-colored designer sweats and a loose T-shirt.She tied her hair back, leashed up her pup, grabbed her purse, and walked down the street to get some coffee and meet Zoila.
She scrolled through her phone, but a post on Instagram stopped her cold.
Mistress of tequila berates her customers.
Her stomach clenched. Oh no. Oh no!
Her eyes scanned the attached article.
Though I was excited to partake in a night of tequila tasting, it wasn’t to be. Miss Alma Garcia was in a foul mood and was yelling at a man in the bar. I left without so much as a sip.
The critic was there?
Kill me now!
Alma had been so busy fuming at Jaime that she hadn’t even noticed this guy. What a fool! This one bad review could tank her bar! She may never get a chance to impress him again!
Another reason to hate Jaime. Except that wasn’t quite fair. He couldn’t have possibly known that she was expecting a critic, though he shouldn’t have surprised her.
A text came through.
Zoila:Sorry! I’m late.
Alma:No worries. I’m having a shitty morning.
Zoila:Oh no! What’s up?
Alma:I’ll tell you when you get here. What do you want? I’ll order for us both.
Zoila:A vanilla latte and a breakfast burrito. Ty.
Zoila was always late, but getting in and out of Tiburon was no easy feat. Especially on a sunny Saturday, which beckoned all the tourists who would take ferries in from San Francisco or catch one to visit Angel Island. At least tonight would be hopping at the bar.
