The deli, Nico's Deli, was reassuring. It was clean and well-maintained, and the people in there looked like a good mix: young and old, with California diversity, and mostly looking like they were enjoying themselves. The menu had familiar offerings like BLTs, ham and swiss, and grilled cheese, and some combinations she wouldn't have thought to put together: roast beef with fig compote and caramelized onions; baked apples, cheddar, and maple bacon on brioche. The prices weren't as bad as she'd been afraid they would be, but she was still glad her daughter had given her a gift card.
She looked at the boy behind the counter: college-age, probably, and maybe working here between classes. But the door behind him swung open, and another man stepped out. Her eyes were caught immediately.
The man was gorgeous. Forearms and hands that looked like he could rip telephone books in half, though at the moment they were just toweling flour off his skin. Shoulders broad enough to frame well in a doorway, hips narrow enough to get an arm around. His skin was tanned a golden bronze, and his clean-shaven face was chiseled. His features were sharp and compelling. His eyes were brown, but bronze around the edges of the iris.
And those bronze-ringed eyes were staring right back into hers.
She colored. He looked straight out of Hollywood, or maybe a telenovela. And she was... well, her. She thought even the boy at the counter looked better than she did.
But before she could look away, the man tucked his towel into his belt. "I'm Nicolas Roja," he said, holding out one strong hand. His voice was warm and velvety and his words were gilded with a faint Spanish accent, but he spoke with assurance, fluency. "Are you visiting Los Cazadores? Moving here? Newly arrived?"
"I," she stammered. "Visiting. I needed a vacation." My daughter thought I needed a vacation. Her blush deepened, even though she knew she should be glad to have a successful daughter who could send her across the country. And she was, most of the time. But with this beautiful man looking at her, all her insecurities rose to the surface.
"Well," Nicolas Roja said, and the word was rich as chocolate in his voice. "Welcome to my little deli. If there's anything I can do for you..."
"Your deli?" Mandy asked, and then the penny dropped. Nico's Deli. Nicolas Roja. "Oh! This... it's a lovely little restaurant." And then she almost dropped her jaw in mortification. "I mean, not that it's little."
But Nicolas only chuckled. "It is," he agreed, and his eyes flicked off hers for the barest of moments. There were seven small tables inside, all small circles that could seat four people if they were very good friends. A board and a line of short stools outside which could seat another seven. She guessed that it wasn't the kind of place which catered to swarms of tourists. "I wanted a place that was... intimate."
Is he flirting with me? Mandy wondered. Surely not. Or, if he was, it was because he was the sort of man to flirt with everyone. He could pull it off. She swallowed and tore her eyes off his face and back to the menu. "Um. What do you recommend?"
He leaned forward over the counter, and Mandy couldn't help glancing down. He wore a flour-dusted T-shirt with no apron, and the glimpse of skin would have started her blushing if she hadn't been blushing already. But as she was already rosy, she could let herself savor the curve of muscle through his collar.
"Well," he said. "I wouldn't let anything onto my menu if I couldn't recommend it." He flashed her a grin, broad and sharp. "What's your taste?"
Whatever I can afford, Many could have said. There had been months when she'd fed herself and Aimée pasta and canned pasta sauce and frozen veggies every night, because her dollars would only stretch so far. She didn't even know what some of the words up on the menu meant. What the heck was a calamondin coulis?
"I... I don't know," she admitted. She had to be so far outside of his usual customers. Just some bumbling tourist with no culture. A gift card full of cash didn't make her a new person.
Nicolas's eyes gleamed. For an instant, Mandy thought they flashed emerald as he turned his head. "Then," he said, "let me prepare you a tasting flight. A little sample of our best-sellers."
"Oh," Mandy said. She glanced up to the menu. "That would be wonderful. Thank you."
Nicolas gave her a little bow – he actually bowed! – and retreated into the kitchen. And even if he did probably treat all his customers this way, Mandy still felt charmed. He hadn't mocked her, or made her feel like she was wasting his time or beneath his consideration.
The tasting flight wasn't on the menu. She looked down to the boy at the register, who looked bemused by the whole exchange. "How much do I owe you?"
"Uh," the boy said. He poked a few buttons on the register screen. Then he twisted around to look at the menu posted above him. "I don't know," he said. "He's never done that before."