Page 43 of Bulletproof

“Listen—”

“Sir,” Jorge cut Hayes off and used his hands to present—ta-da—the waiting area.

“I really need you to⁠—”

“Is Blanca here?” I cut in.

Both the manager and Hayes turned to me. I smiled.

“Yes,” Jorge told me. “Mrs. Saluda, the owner, is here. And you are?”

“Could you tell her that Jory’s here?” I said, smiling at him. “I’d love to see her.”

He squinted at me, but he left.

Hayes stepped around in front of me. “How do you know the owner of Toreador?”

I loved Toreador. It was one of my favorite places to go, and more importantly, it was one of Dane’s.

“Jory!”

I turned, and there was Blanca—gorgeous, stunning model, fashionista, and owner of the fine establishment I was in. She was also—crucially, at that moment—a very good client of an architect I shared a last name with. Always, from the first time I’d ever met her to now, she reminded me of a young Sophia Loren.

“My darling, how are you?”

I lifted my arms, and she came and filled them, hugging me tight, kissing both cheeks—and they were real kisses, no air-kissing for Mrs. Saluda—before finally stepping back to look at me.

“You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“Rightbackatcha,” I said with a grin, taking the hand she offered me.

“How is Dane?”

The million-dollar question. “He’s good. And you? How’s Marco?”

“Excellent. He’s in Milan, buying fixtures for the roof lounge of Dicha. We should open on time in the fall. Did you receive your invitation?”

“I did, yes. Thank you.”

She smiled, squeezing my hand. “But why are you here? Dinner? Dessert?”

“Dessert, please.”

“And where⁠—”

“In the kitchen, with you, of course.”

Her smile, really, it was like watching chocolate melt, just perfect. The way she lit up was really something.

“This is my friend, Hayes Fisher,” I said, introducing him to her. “He wants to watch you make the flan too.”

She was charmed, and he didn’t have to say a word.

I could tell the man was touched. He sat in the bustling kitchen beside me at a table that most people never saw, which was reserved for the most important patrons of Blanca’s restaurant. She loved to cook, but no one but her family ever asked her. For Dane, she had shared that private part of herself, and because I was with him, she had shared it with me as well. So, I knew her secret, knew she loved to do for others, and her establishment was an extension of that.

We laughed. We had coffee with cocoa in it and cinnamon with our flan. And she gave us tiramisu with red pepper flakes, which was amazing as well. It was sweet and hot, and between Blanca smiling, me offering him a bite from my spoon, and the servers coming in and out, talking to us and taking swipes off our plates, I could tell Hayes was having a great time.

“Is it always like this?” he asked me.