“Come on, I’ll help you out. The first time I came here, I bit into a burrito and launched its contents everywhere. It looked like a baby had taken a crap all over my Armani shirt. We couldn’t stop laughing.”

She looks at me skeptically.

“Rosita taught me the proper way to fold my burrito. There’s a trick to it. I’ll show you.”

She nods and follows me to the table.

We fill our plates with marinated meats, grilled onions, rice, beans, and tortillas. Then we go back for seconds of our favorite dishes. Olivia impresses me with her healthy appetite and adventurous spirit.

After lunch, we mingle and talk with Rosita’s family and friends. Even though Olivia says she’s enjoying the party—and I believe her—she stays locked by my side all afternoon, attempting polite conversation and smiling nervously. Of all the amazing things she is, “social butterfly” isn’t one of them.

I can tell she feels out of place in her six-hundred-dollar sandals, silk blouse, and diamond-encrusted wristwatch. I’m still not sure why she didn’t wear something less formal. Or is this the most casual outfit she has in her closet? Maybe she’s just incapable of dressing down; she’s always manicured from head to toe, the epitome of sophisticated beauty. I certainly won’t complain.

She and I didn’t grow up like this, with casual backyard parties and paper plates and cans of Sauza beer. The high life definitely has its perks, but given the choice between drinking the best Scotch alone and drinking cheap beer amid friendly laughter, I’ll choose this warm sense of family every time.

Later, when the dancing breaks out, I guide Olivia toward the house.

“Now we need some Cuba libres.” I head inside, keeping one hand on her lower back to reassure her that I won’t leave her to fend for herself.

“Isn’t that just rum and Coke?” she asks, skeptical.

“Yes, but it’s Mexican Coke, made with real sugar, not that fake corn syrup shit, and the rum . . . Hell, wait until you taste this.”

I fill two cups with ice and then the rum-and-Coke mixture Rosita has premixed in a large pitcher.

“Mmm.” Olivia moans as she swallows her first fizzy sip.

“Cheers.” I gaze down at her and touch the rim of my glass to hers.

“To?” she asks.

“Us,” I say, my eyes lingering on hers.

“Noah . . .” She chews on her lower lip. “You know this might not even work, right?” Her tone is somber.

“Like hell it won’t. In fact, we really need to get engaged soon.”

Maybe it’s because I’m feeling jovial and slightly buzzed, but I stand my ground, my eyes still lingering on hers. I’ve wondered what kind of proposal I’ll plan—just a matter-of-fact business meeting where we agree on the terms, or a romantic down-on-one-knee affair where I promise to make this the best I can for her.

Olivia looks down at the floor. “I’m just not ready for that yet.”

“I sensed that . . . but you could try.” I lean even closer, letting her feel the heat from my body, my height towering over her.

“Try?”

“Yes, try.”

“And how would you propose I do that?” She’s trying her best to sound confident, but her tone has gone shaky.

Feeling bold, I grin at her. “You pulled away last night. You could kiss me, touch me, open up to me, make love to me.”

“What, right here?” Her voice rises and her brows pinch together.

“I’d settle for a kiss.”

“I’ve done that before, or have you forgotten?”

“Forgotten? Snowflake, I jack off regularly to the memory.”

Her cheeks go bright pink. “Be serious, would you?”

“I am being serious. Does it make you uncomfortable to know that at night, in the dark, I pump my hard cock to thoughts of your sassy attitude, smart mouth, and gorgeous tits?”

Her mouth falls open. Her cheeks are full-on flaming now.

I press on. “One kiss. Hell, you may even end up having fun today.” I’m teasing her because I can tell that even though she was tense and awkward when we arrived, she’s enjoyed herself today. She just needed a little time to feel at home.

Placing one hand on her waist, I pull her a fraction closer.

Her breathing grows shallow and her lips part, whether in surprise or because she’s readying herself for my kiss, I’m not sure.

I lower my mouth to hers, feeling the warmth of her breath ghost over my lips, my cock beginning to swell, when a loud shriek pierces the silence.

“Bee sting. Coming through,” Rosita calls, carrying a crying birthday girl through the kitchen.

Stepping away from Olivia, I clear off a space on the counter. “Set her here.”

Tears leak from Maria’s eyes as quiet sobs rack her chest.

“Shh. I’ll make you good as new, princess,” I tell Maria.

Olivia and Rosita gather first aid supplies while I distract Maria with a story of the time I wandered into a beehive. Olivia watches me work with a quiet, contemplative gaze, and I can’t help but wonder if she would have let me kiss her.

Bringing her here today was no mistake. It goes without saying that people like Rosita and this little girl are one of the main reasons why Olivia and I have to pull this off.

We have to.

Chapter Fourteen

Olivia

Dear God, watching Noah with Rosita, and even more so, with little Maria? It was ovary-melting.