And now, here she was, three years later, the owner of the hottest tequila bar in Marin.
She couldn’t be prouder.
And her bar was a couple of places down from Sam’s, where the idea first took hold. Why couldn’t she be more than just a worker in this community? Start her own place?
Now, they shared the views of Angel Island, Alcatraz, and San Francisco.
Her own slice of heaven.
She even owned a condo down the street. An oceanfront condo. Who was she? Sometimes she couldn’t even believe her success.
Even so, she still sometimes felt out of place amongst the exorbitant wealth.
She had that same feeling years ago—when she had dated Jaime Montez, heir to the Taco King empire, in college.
It was a name she didn’t allow herself to think of often. But as she got ready for the evening, preparing to be judged by yet another critic, Alma suddenly couldn’t help but wonder where Jaime wasnow.
Chapter Three
Jaime stared at the words on his phone.
Mezcal…ifornia?
He quickly typedMezcaliforniain the search bar.
It was located in Tiburon, Marin County—one of California’s wealthiest zip codes. Jaime had often accompanied Alma to her hometown, where people considered her a hero. Raised in nearby San Rafael, specifically the Canal, which was the most segregated part in the Bay Area, she had defied the odds and become not only the first person in her family to attend college but also the first Mexican-American female sommelier.
But why would she switch from wine to tequila? Was it something as simple as being Mexican and feeling a bond with alcohol that was cultivated in her country of origin?
She loved wine. Used to bore him to death about all the different types of grapes and varieties. The taste of a good merlot used to bring her to tears. What a shame to let all that knowledge go to waste.
Jaime gulped. She adored teaching him everything about wine. And he had been so in love with her that he would just listen to hergo on and on for hours as he stroked her hair and rubbed her always-pedicured toes.
And now she owned a tequila bar with a name he had to admit was cool as fuck.
Was it a sign that the thought of starting a tequila brand had just occurred to him, then he reminisced about his ex and found out she was now running a tequila bar? Had he manifested this? Damn, Enrique’s new age woo-woo bullshit had rubbed off on Jaime.
He flipped through the bar’s Instagram. Wow, it was nice—the bar, not the social media feed. He definitely could make it better. In one particular shot, there were rows of hand-painted tequila bottles stacked on the shelves. The vibrant colors were in sharp contrast to Alma, who was leaning over the counter, wearing a black bustier and a sexy smirk.
Damn, she was finer than ever.
Her lips were painted red, and her breasts burst out of her top. How he would love to suck on her titties just one more time. Fine, a million more times.
But he knew he would never kiss Alma again. His soul couldn’t take it.
Maybe, however, it was time for a college reunion.
He dialed Santi, who answered on the first ring.
“Jaime, my man! What’s up, bro?”
“Nothing, dude. How’s Marin?” Santi was a tech bro who lived in Bolinas, which was a beach town in Marin, and developed some app. Jaime had no idea what it did, only that it made Santi a millionaire. Make that multimillionaire. On his own, with no family help.
“Foggy. Just did a hike on Mt. Tam today. Nothing beats that view.”
“I remember.” Jaime closed his eyes, and a flashback overtook him. Alma loved hiking and had dragged him up there. Everyone in Marin seemed to be an outdoor fanatic. Walks in Muir Woods, surfing at Stinson Beach. One time on a hike at Mt. Tamalpais he’d pulled her to a secret clearing, and they had made love under the stars. That was also the first time he told her he loved her.
The only girl he had ever said those words to.
