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Good grief. If Pancho Two even thinks about touching her…
“Rushing over now,” I say and end the call.
I don’t want to admit how many traffic laws I break getting to the restaurant. I skid my car up to the front door and run inside. Bernadette greets me right away.
“Where is he?”
She gives me a bewildered look. “I’m sorry. We tried to keep him here.”
“He left?”
Freaking A. What was his game, coming in here after what he did? And he couldn’t wait five minutes for me? He’s up to something.
“I got his phone number, though. Or rather, Olive did.”
“She didn’t give her number to him, did she?”
“I don’t think so. He seemed to take a liking to her, though.”
I don’t like the idea of Pancho Two occupying the same room as Olive, let alone talking to her. I do a quick scan of the restaurant.
“Don’t see her.”
“Last I saw her, she was talking to some guy.”
Some guy? What guy? Something sharp lodges in my throat.
I walk past the front dining area around a wall of booths I’ve been meaning to knock down to create an open floor plan. As I round the corner, there’s Olive, and she’s talking to none other than Aaron, her cheating ex. My blood churns hot in my veins. What the blazes is he doing here? Trying to get her back? He saw me kiss her and what… has been thinking about what he’s missing ever since? What a prick.
I don’t know what it is, but the caveman in me takes over my steps and I launch myself to Olive’s side, wrapping her in a hug.
“I’ve missed you, babe.”
In the corner of my eye, I see Aaron’s eyes turn down and lips press in a line. He is so jealous.
I give Olive a gentle peck on the lips and meet her gaze, hoping she’ll understand my silent communication.
Are you okay?
I am now.
Do you want me to kick this guy’s ass?
Maybe later.
“Ignacio, this is Aaron Lipshitz. Aaron, this is my… boyfriend, Ignacio.”
Aaron’s lip shitz, alright. Everything about this guy shitz. I can tell he’s sizing me up, maybe thinking of ways to bludgeon me in my sleep. But that forced smile on his face becomes prominent and he stretches out his hand.
“Heeey, nice to meet you.”
I don’t want to shake his clammy hands. Who knows where they’ve been? But Olive looks at me expectantly, and I suppose I should be the bigger man—even though I’m seconds away from kicking him out of my restaurant. I kinda wish I had one of those ‘we reserve the right to turn away customers’ signs right about now. I always thought those signs were petty. Now I know why they exist.
I nod my head—because it really is nice to meet me, isn’t it?—and shake the sleazemonger’s hand. Just as I suspected—clammy.
“I came by to offer an—excuse my poor choice of pun—olive branch. I just want to say there are no hard feelings.”
I cross my arms over my chest and straighten my back, stretching to my full height.
