Page 73 of Mr. Aster
“So long as you admit to yourself that you’re only holding my hand because you’re a chicken shit who thinks he’s gonna get kidnapped,” she said. I could see her eyes fill with reproach even though she wore dark sunglasses to shield them from me and the sun.
“Okay, I’m the chicken shit,” I smiled. “Now, take me to where they have homemade tortillas. That sounds delicious.”
“Already missing Ines, eh?” she questioned with a laugh.
“You’re not wrong,” I said, not realizing that’s probably what made me crave them. Ines made the most delicious tortillas I’d ever eaten; they practically melted in your mouth.
“Well, we’re not getting homemade tortillas because we can eat that at home any time that we want,” she said. “It’s the tlacoyos that you want to pig out on while you’re in Mexico. They’re my absolute fav. Antonio rarely makes them, which is fine because it gives me something to look forward to when I visit.”
“What are they?” I asked as we walked through the vendors.
“They’re these oval-shaped masa cakes,” she pulled her hand from mine to make an oval shape, using that as an excuse to stop holding my hand. “They’re stuffed with beans, cheese, or even pork rinds. Then they’re topped with cactus, salsa, and more cheese.”
I smiled warmly, finding her so damn cute, and then snatched her hand back into mine. “Nice try, gorgeous,” I said. “But you forget that I’m?—”
“Scared, I know,” she cut me off, answering me dryly.
“Are they that good? I’ve never had cactus before, but the idea of eating one might be more terrifying than getting kidnapped.”
“Don’t worry, they take the needles out of the cactus first,” she teased.
After a while, I began to chill out about not having security with us, and it made it much easier to enjoy this enjoyabledatewe’d found ourselves on. My favorite part was seeing a new side of Darcy. Her eyes and expression seemed to brighten to match the bold colors of all the handcrafted items each booth had for sale.
Darcy seemed as at home in Mexico as she was in California. She was comfortable, happy, and more fun than I expected her to be. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone so happy. It brought to mind the day I surprised Melissa with her brand-new yacht. I thought no woman could’ve ever been happier than my wife that day until I saw Darcy’s reaction to being at astreet market.
Darcy smiled from ear to ear, bouncing joyfully around and examining each vendor’s wares. She smelled all the candles, sampled creams and lotions, tried on jewelry, and examined various leather goods, all while talking and laughing with the people in the booths. Her effortless, casual way of being warm, open, and friendly was intoxicating. She was like a happy butterfly, flitting weightlessly around, and I’d never seen anyone seem so…joyful.
I was fascinated that something as simple as her environment had made Darcy come alive so vibrantly, and it made me want to know so much more about her.
Chapter Thirty
Darcy
“Do you love it?” I asked Sebastian, covering my food-filled mouth, trying not to choke from the combination of food and laughter.
“That shit is so disgustingly good,” he laughed after swallowing his bite.
“Isn’t it?” I reached for my Cantarito—a cocktail served in a personal-sized pot I’d already consumed two of since sitting at this taco hut. “Now you’ve officially been welcomed to Mexico the right way. Bottoms up, baby,” I said, raising my cocktail, laughing, half drunk, and thoroughly enjoying watching Sebastian taste thefinerfoods to initiate him into a trip to Mexico with me.
He raised his pot to mine, tipped it back once it reached his lips, and downed half the glass in one shot.
“I’m not shitting you. It’s delicious, but knowing what’s in it is the disgusting part,” he laughed and raised his hand to thebartender to bring us two more Cantaritos. “I have to say, this drink is quite refreshing and delicious as well.”
“I think the clay pots enhance the flavor of the lime juice, tequila, and Jarritos,” I said.
“And the ant larvae I just ate? Do tell me, what is used to enhancethoseflavors, Little Miss Mexico?”
I laughed at the nickname he’d given me since being out here and walking through the street fair. “It’s calledescamoles,” I reminded him. “Maybe if you call it by its Spanish name, it’ll be just delicious and not deliciouslydisgusting?”
“Yeah, no,” he said, offering me that shy smile I found utterly irresistible, especially when intoxicated on tequila and larvae. “Nothing will make thisnotdisgusting.”
“Well, now that you’ve indulged in what is known as Mexican caviar, you have to try this,” I said, moving the tiny sampler plate back to him. “Chapulines and?—”
“I’m not eating dehydrated grasshoppers, and I’m most certainly not trying corn fungus,” his forehead wrinkled in humor, and I couldn’t resist finding this man so incredibly handsome as he laughed uninhibitedly, appearing to have the time of his life.
“Why not?” I said, reaching for a chapuline and popping it in my mouth like a tortilla chip, laughing as I watched Sebastian’s expression change at the sound of the crunch it made.
His nose scrunched up, his cute little shy smirk grew wider, and he softly laughed while studying me, most likely waiting for me to gag.
