7-Tastes Like We Need To Talk

Camila~

"I need you to be on your best behavior, Caleb." He was tall, nearly taller than me now, but I didn't let myself be intimidated by his height. He was still my son. I slapped his shoulder. "Hey, look at me, I'm talking to you!"

Caleb lazily turned to face me.

"I'm sorry, okay? But this is our reality right now." My voice was low as I tried to talk some sense into him.

"You didn't have to leave Dad on such terms. Besides, he owes you alimony. You should have behaved so the money increases."

"Behaved?" The word tasted bitter in my mouth no matter how I repeated it. "He cheated on me... he should have behaved."

"He made a mistake. It's your job to forgive him. Think about me. Now you want me to suffer because of your foolish pride?"

By this time, it felt like my blood was boiling. "You're not making any sense right now. Why am I arguing with a dumb fourteen-year-old child?"

"You sure are very proud for someone who is now poor. Why drag me into this too?"

Smacking my lips, I shook my head. No way would I let him make me lose my shit. Nope, not tonight, devil. "Better behave yourself here. This is what we're stuck with for now. He kicked you out. Your own father—"

"—he was angry at me. Once he's calm, he'll come back to get me."

The door opened before I could utter another word. I had even forgotten I'd hit the doorbell earlier. I forced myself to smile.

Mike was still the same. He was a rich kid back then, so he always looked good. Even in a casual top and jeans, he was still handsome. A smile appeared on his face. "So good to see you. Come in." He looked genuinely happy to see us. Dimples crinkled as he smiled, letting us in. His brown hair was neatly styled, and his bright eyes shone with excitement as he led us in.

"Caleb, hi," he said. Both men shook hands, and I smiled. Look at Caleb acting like a grown-up.

Why was I expecting him to frown or look mad when we arrived?

I stepped in, expecting it to be just us three, only to find two extra people in the living room. The first one was so lost in whatever the hell he was saying—handsome as well, with dark curly hair and a darker skin tone.

But I froze at the other person seated beside him.

Brown, piercing eyes gazed at me. No... they were lost in mine. Or was I lost in his? I remembered how mesmerizing they'd been earlier at the bar. He had this air of mystery around him. He almost didn't feel real—like something straight out of a fiction novel... like a demigod, or even a god.

Mike cleared his throat. "Uh, these are my friends. Mike... sorry—uh, I mean, I'm Mike. What I mean to say is, uh, this is Shawn."

The one with the darker skin slapped his friend on the back, and they both got it. The slap seemed to wake him up. I straightened my posture, trying not to embarrass myself. I would not hear the end of it with Caleb mocking me for drooling over some dude—especially after my own husband just kicked me out.

Shawn was smiling. "Mi lady. Nice to meet you." He gave a low bow.

What was this? He was teasing me? Did he see me gawking over his friend?

I frowned, trying to appear more serious. His friend was taller, dark hair that hung loose, giving him a rogue appearance.

"Nico," Mike called.

That was his name, huh...

I realized I'd been staring too hard.

"Shawn Anderson!"

His voice shook me out of it. My son rushed over to him, smiling so brightly like some excited puppy. If he had a tail, he would have been wagging it. "Can I have your autograph? Or a picture. Or both!"

I tried to stop stealing glances at... Nico.

"Garlic, hi," he said.

Wait... garlic?

I blinked in surprise. "The name is Camila."

"You said I had garlic breath."

"That's because you did."

"The pineapple worked. I had a pineapple drink. I left the bar. I didn't talk to anyone... also, the mint gum helped too."

I felt my cheeks warm. Everyone had gone quiet and were now staring at us. "You're welcome, then."

"You two know each other?" Mike frowned, glancing between us. "Oh... it's..."

"It's what?" I forced my gaze away from Nico and back to Mike. Shawn and Caleb were taking selfies now, muttering loudly, though I couldn't make out what they were saying.

"You know what? I'm so sorry," Mike said. "Let me show you to your room first. You need to—wait, let me help with the box—"

"No, no, it's all good. Caleb, over here." It was just two boxes anyway. "We can manage. Please."

"Uh, sure. Just upstairs, first room on your right. There's another room opposite if Caleb wants to stay there."

"Oh Mike, you're too kind. Thank you. So much." I smiled back. I needed to show my appreciation, even if it meant forcing my lips into an unnatural smile.

Taking one last glimpse at Nico, I realized his eyes might have never left me. I quickly looked away and headed for the stairs. Why was he trying to undress me with his eyes? That creep...

Behind me, I heard Nico's voice. "I need to talk to her. It's urgent."

"Tomorrow," Mike cut him off. "They need their rest. You two can stay, but mind your business and let them rest!"

"Nico, cook for us, Mr. Chef."

"I was going to cook dinner," Mike said.

They were arguing loudly. I slowed my steps, listening in. Why did Nico want to talk to me?

Once upstairs, I opened the room and dropped the box inside. "I'll be right back."

I couldn't wait.

By the time I got downstairs, everyone had mysteriously disappeared. "Okay... I should just—okay..."

"Camila."

The sound of his voice wrapped around my name—low, smooth, dangerously intimate.

I turned.

And there he was.

Nico stood just a few steps away, effortlessly commanding the space like he belonged in it. Up close, he was worse—no, better. Sharper. Dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead. His jaw was sculpted, clean and firm, and his lips... slightly parted, like he had something to say but was holding back.

But it was his eyes.

Those deep, burning brown eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel heavier, like it had thickened just for us. There was something unreadable in them—something bold, and it made my chest tighten.

My heart betrayed me instantly.

A soft, unsteady flutter.

"Where are the—"

"—kitchen," he said, his gaze never breaking from mine.

"Great... so..." My voice came out softer than I intended. "You wanted to talk to me?"