Page 78 of Miss Trust

Tory

This wasn’t a date, yet it felt like one. Especially given the way Chance was holding my hand over the center console of the Rover on our way into LA.

“Do you have a favorite restaurant? A place you haven’t been in a while?” he asked.

As if there weren’t enough ways to highlight the difference between our worlds. He was asking me to pick a sit-down restaurant when I could count on one hand the number of times I’d ever been to one.

“I don’t have a preference, so long as it isn’t fancy. Please.” I wasn’t dressed for it, not to mention I didn’t have the first clue about fine dining etiquette.

I was surprised when he drove into the garage next to his club.

He supplied, “The restaurant is across the street.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant we walked into. The place was so casual I instantly relaxed and even smiled when a man came out of the kitchen to greet us.

“Hola, Mr. Maxwell. You here for takeout?”

“We’d prefer a table here if you have one.”

“We have the perfect spot for you and your beautiful lady friend.” He led us to a booth in the back.

We both thanked him and took our seats. He quickly brought menus, a basket of chips, bowl of salsa, and two glasses of water.

Chance smirked at me across the beat-up table. “So, lady friend, what are you in the mood for?”

It took me a quick moment to scan the menu. “I’m getting the enchilada, taco, and tamale platter. How about you?”

“Mm, good choice. The tamales are my favorite. You should get a margarita. I hear they’re quite good.”

“You don’t do margaritas?”

“Tequila and I broke up about twelve years ago.”

My laughter was instant as I pictured a much younger and not-so-smooth Chance barfing up too many tequila shots. Getting these little tidbits made me crave more. “Let me guess. Spring break in Cabo?”

“Cancun, but same difference.”

Once the orders were taken, I dug into the warm tortilla chips, dipping one into the salsa. I found his eyes tracking my movements. “What?”

“Nothing. I just enjoy looking at you.”

Goose bumps from flowery words shouldn’t be a thing. “I’d say take a picture, but you already did. Do I get to see it, by the way?”

“If you’d like.”

Yet he made no move to retrieve his phone. Just as well. I was always too critical about the way I looked in photos. I took out my phone and laid it on the table in case I got a text message. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to know if Daisy calls or texts.”

“You’re not rude. You’re a mom. It’s understandable. It’s weird for you to be away from her, isn’t it?”

I sighed, finding it difficult to explain. “It’s good for her and for me, but ever since the diagnosis, I have this constant worry. Do you know I incessantly check her forehead for fever?”

“We could get the food to go if you’d like.” There was no judgment or disappointment in his voice, just the option for me to take the out.

“Thank you, but I’m good. Daisy is great with her.”

“How long have you two been friends?”

“A little over a year. We met when she moved into my building. I don’t know why she chose South LA, of all places, to live, but I’m lucky to have her in my life.”