Page 85 of Tastes Like Summer

What did he say to her? What did he do?

A fire lights within, blazing through my veins. I don’t even know for sure what happened, but I know he’s left, and she’s upset, and that’s enough of a reason for me to want to hunt him down and really teach him a lesson.

I won’t though. Not that way, at least.

I’ve grown since my teens and twenties, and I know better than to fuck around and find out by starting a physical fight with anyone. No matter how much they deserve to have their nose punched in.

“Michael, can we go check out the kitchen? Lexi told us she’d show us around once we were done with dessert.” Emi looks up at me with hope and excitement in her eyes.

I have a strict “No kids allowed in the back while the restaurant is open” rule, but if I don’t get a few seconds alone to find out what that asshole said or did to Diana any time soon, I’m going to lose it. So I put my trust in Lexi, tell the girls to stay clear of the chefs, warn them not to get burnt, and let all three go behind the kitchen doors in search of their next adventure.

“What’s going on?” I ask Diana in a low voice, unsuccessfully keeping the panic out of my voice.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. Just… had to send him home.”

I frown, going stone cold. There’s obviously more to the story. But why isn’t she sharing? “What happened? What did he say? What did he do?” I can hear the frustration in my voice. Just tell me.

“He didn’t do anything. It was just… hard. It’s always hard with him, you know?”

My stomach rolls, blood running cold. “Do you—” I stop. Swallow hard, twice. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

Mercifully, Diana snorts. “God, no.”

“Then…”

She sighs deeply, as if trying to expel every single thing that weighs heavily on her chest. “Just… We talked about some things that were difficult. Things I need to process.”

I groan. “Come on, Diana. You’re being cryptic, and I have no idea why. You’re shutting me out.”

She bites her lower lip and looks away, but I don’t miss the way her eyes sparkle with the sheen of incoming tears.

“What the—” I get up from my chair and take the seat beside her, scooting closer until my face is just inches away. “Diana,” I whisper, taking her hands in mine. “What’s going on? What did that fucker say? I’ll fucking kill him.”

She sniffs and looks back at me—finally—with a half-hearted smile. “Don’t be silly.”

“I would,” I say, my voice gravelly. “I’d do anything for you.”

Her face twists as if in pain at my words, and when a few tears fall down her cheeks, she quickly wipes them away. “Don’t. Don’t say that, please.”

I lean back in my chair, and stare back at her a little in shock. Suddenly, I realize what’s happening here. It isn’t a Diana-and-Rodrigo thing. It’s an us thing. Diana-and-Michael thing.

“I’ll say it if I mean it. And I do.” I tighten my grip on her hands, pull myself closer to her, trying to communicate as best I can that I mean what I say. That I’m not like her loser ex-husband who is going to abandon her and her kids. That I’m going to be there for her and them in more ways than one. I’m here for good, and she needs to get used to it. “I’d do anything for you and the girls.”

But something about mentioning Cami and Emi makes the whole thing worse, because her tears come freely now; she doesn’t even try to hide them anymore.

“Baby,” I whisper, bringing her hands to my lips. “What’s wrong? Why does that upset you?”

She inhales sharply, a little ragged. Diana struggles to look me in the eye and speak at the same time, so I pull her in my arms. Holding her as she cries, I run my fingers through her loose curls, the scent of her hair filling my lungs.

God, how I wish I could bottle it up and smell it all day.

I look around nervously, making sure my restaurant patrons can’t hear us. But when I catch a couple of people glancing our way, I pull Diana up to her feet and lead her into the office I share with Lexi.

“So we can speak privately,” I tell her when I lock the door behind us. The last thing her girls need is to find their mother in tears minutes after Rodrigo’s departure.

I maneuver Diana into a chair and crouch in front of her as she cries—more quietly, now. I place my hands on her smooth thighs to balance myself, but mostly it’s just to connect. The need to feel her, to make sure she’s real, is visceral.

I wait for the tears to stop almost completely, before speaking. “Will you please tell me what’s going on? I know he left, and that’s why you’re crying, but⁠—”