Page 19 of Tennessee Trouble

Brewer looks at me, the surprise on his face making his eyes lighten. “Forty years? Wow. What’s gonna happen when she decides she doesn’t want to do this anymore?”

“There are some, like my parents, who think that will never happen. That she’d never give up control. But, she’s taught April, my bestie who you met yesterday, everything she knows. April is married to Rosario’s son, and the two of them are really close. I’m of the opinion though that once there are grandbabies, Rosario is going to go into full-on Abuela mode.”

“Muñequita…” Rosario greets me, using the nickname she gave me more than a decade ago and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Without skipping a beat, she looks at Brewer, scanning him up and down, not bothering to hide her judgment. “I do not know you.”

“Hi.” Brewer gives a little wave, clearly feeling the weight of her eyes on him. “I’m…I’m just visiting.”

“Mmmm-hmmm…”

Turning back to me, Rosario brightens again. “Usual?”

“Please.”

Wordlessly, she turns to Brewer, lifting a single brow.

“Ummm…” He picks up the menu for the first time, swallowing hard. Almost as quickly as he grabbed it, he puts it back down, turning on his bright, charming smile as he looks up at the woman who holds our breakfast fate in her hands. “You know what, surprise me. Chef’s choice.”

“You like spicy?”

“I do.”

Rosario thinks for a moment, then nods, letting a smile peek through. “Okay then. I will send Darren over with the coffee.”

I wait until she’s out of ear shot, then turn to Brewer, trying to hold back a laugh. “That’s brave.”

“You said that she’s a good cook, so she’s going to know what’s best.” He shrugs, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Fair. But I don’t know that I could ever trust someone I didn’t know, in a town I didn’t know, with choosing for me. I like control too much. Not that I’m about to admit that.

“Muñequita?” he asks, not letting the conversation stumble.

“It means doll in Spanish.” I pull my lips into my teeth, a little embarrassed to admit to this story. But what does it matter? I won’t ever see this man again. “When we were younger, Rosario couldn’t remember my name, so she referred to me as Muñequita, since I looked like a Barbie doll in her mind, with the blonde hair. And the nickname stuck.”

“Only in a small town.”

“Exactly.”

The front door opens, sending a whoosh of cool air rushing inside, hitting us easily without other customers to block us from it. I flick my eyes over to see who it is, catching the quick wave from a couple of the guys from our packing plant. I return the gesture, making sure to be only as polite as I need to, and return my attention to where it needs to be. The sexy man sitting across from me.

“Know them?”

I nod. “Small town, everyone knows everyone. At least those of us who live here. Taco ’Bout Trouble is kinda a locals’ place. Not to say that tourists and visitors don’t make it in here, but since it’s not on High Street, which is the main drag through town, it doesn’t get as much foot traffic as some of the other places. The Hidden Barrel, Secluded Still, Final Cask—those are the places that visitors flock to. They’re part of the whole Trouble experience. Us locals keep it real with our hot spots.”

“Keep it real?” Brewer sits back, looking at me like he thinks I’m pulling his chain. “How so?”

“Well, Taco ’Bout Trouble for one. And we don’t hit up Holler House when we want a drink. We go to the Post.”

“The Post?”

“The General Post,” I clarify, using the establishment’s real name. “It’s hidden down this back alley off High Street, but the entrance is hard to find unless you know where it is on the backside of the old General Store and Post Office. The front of the building now serves as a gift shop, while the back is a speakeasy, same as it was during Prohibition.”

“You mean, there was moonshine and whiskey in this town prior to 1932?” Brewer fakes a gasp, his pretend surprised face barely cutting it.

“Shhhhhh…” I return the jest. “Miners had to do something to pass the time.”

Rosario appears again, with two large, brightly colored plates in hand. She slides one in front of me, my bacon and chorizo tacos standing perfectly in the metal holder positioned in the middle of the plate, surrounded by a sea of pico de gallo. Perfection.

“Darren did not bring the coffee.” It’s a statement, not a question. I shake my head, earning an exasperated huff. Turning to Brewer, she slides the other plate in front of him, winking. “Enjoy.”