“Dios,” Rafe said under his breath. A small missile hurtled into his knees. When I looked down, I saw a toddler-sized person with gorgeous brown skin and curly black hair. Rafe leaned over and scooped the child off the floor.
“Wafe,” it said.
“Hey, Gael,” Rafe said. “Where is your mami? There are a lot of people who are trying to pay.”
“No sé,” the child said.
Rafe carried him around the end of the counter to where the cash register was. “Sorry for the wait,” he said to the couple who was first in line. “Did you need to check out?”
The couple handed him their check and a credit card, and Rafe handled the transaction, while his very small relative poked him in the cheekbone.
“None of that,” Rafe said, grabbing one little arm in his hand and tucking the kid farther back onto his hip. “Your hands are sticky, little man. Did you get into the dulce de leche?”
Rafe cashed out three couples before he was even able to mouth “I’m sorry” in my direction.
A young woman came skidding on high heels to the front of the restaurant. “Rafael!” she cried. “Lo siento. I got caught up helping untangle a delivery order.” She grabbed the child out of his arms.
“His hands are sticky,” Rafe warned. He skirted the woman to come back to my side.
“You look handsome tonight, señor.” She grinned. I saw her eyes flick toward me. “And aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Cara, this is Bella, who has not had dinner yet. Bella, this is my aunt Cara. Now we’re grabbing that two top before somebody else does.” Rafe put a hand on my lower back and guided me towards a little table by the window.
I sat down, but then Rafe made an irritated noise. “Ay, the table.” He disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a cloth to wipe it off. Then he put two rolls of silverware down before finally collapsing into the seat across from me. “Nothing is easy tonight.”
“So true,” I agreed. But privately, I was soaking it all in. The music playing in the restaurant had a sexy Latin beat. Tipico had a relaxed, neighborly vibe that was a hell of a lot less stressful than the other place we’d been tonight.
And watching Rafe step behind the counter of his family’s business with a toddler on his hip had a strange effect on me. He’d looked so comfortable there. I’m sure Rafe wasn’t intending to use his Harkness degree to make change for restaurant customers. But he already had a place in the world where he knew exactly what he was doing. Where he fit in. Where he was needed. I’d never had that. And with each passing month, it seemed increasingly likely that I never would.
A teenage girl bounced over to our table and let out a little squeal. “Rafael! What are you doing sitting in my section?”
“Florecita, what do people usually want when they sit in your section? We’re hungry.”
She put her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling back and forth between us. “Is this your girlfriend?”
“Subtle, Flori. This is my friend Bella. Bella, this is Flori, my nosy cousin.”
“Hi,” I said, trying not to smile.
“She must be your girlfriend,” Flori declared. “You’re all dressed up.”
“If I lied and said she was, could we get some food?”
“You are no fun at all, you know that?” But her expression said the opposite. She looked at Rafe with hero worship in her eyes.
“Flori, bring us a couple of beers, and leave your order pad.” To make his point, Rafe grabbed the pad out of her apron pocket and then gave her a little shove toward the back.
She sighed, taking the pencil from behind her ear and dropping it on the table. “Fine. But I’m telling everyone in the kitchen that you’re here with your girlfriend.” Then she flounced away.
Rafe looked at me wearily. “I thought this would be a quick way to score some food. But I may have miscalculated.”
“I think she’s hysterical.”
“That’s one word for it.” He took the pencil and began scribbling on the pad. “I’m going to get a little of everything, okay? You can pick out the dishes that appeal to you.”
“You’re going to tip me, right?” Flori had reappeared. She held on to the beers for collateral, waiting for Rafe’s answer.
He raised one dark eyebrow. “You think I’d stiff you? Really?”
She put the bottles down. “You never sit at a table, so how do I know? Papi says he’ll comp your food but not the beer.”