Page 15 of The Christmas Cover Rule
Between his perfect, white teeth, the scruff of his beard, his gorgeous, honey tan, and his polished jade, green eyes, I almost lose my train of thought.
“Do your parents speak Spanish?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Nah, probably not. They probably learned something useless like Latin.”
The woman at the counter calls our number before I can ask more. Jonas takes the bag of food with a smile and drops a more than generous tip into the jar.
“Shall we?” He holds out the bag and leads the way across the sidewalk to the beach. I follow, staring at his retreating back until he stops to unroll a large blanket I hadn’t noticed he had tucked under his arm.
“So, where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I ask, kicking off my chanklas and sitting down beside him.
“You’re pretty impressed by that, huh?” His lips quirk as he unpacks the food.
“Just trying to learn all about my boyfriend.” I bat my eyelashes, smiling sweetly, but don’t tell him that, while yes, I’m impressed, I’m also a little envious.
“My parents were workaholics—still are. I had a nanny growing up, and I saw her more than my own family,” he says, handing me my container. “Anyway, she only spoke to me in Spanish, so I had to learn.”
“Do you still talk with her? Or you just remember from solong ago?”
He continues to squeezing limes over his tacos, completely unfazed by my curiosity. “We keep in touch. Call each other for holidays and birthdays and such, but you remember I told you about Miles and his wife Camila?” he asks before taking a bite of his food.
I bob my head, realizing I haven’t touched mine yet, and wait for him to swallow.
“She keeps me on my toes. It started out as a bit. You know, I thought we could talk shit about Miles in front of him, but he’s been learning more and more over the years.” His laugh is soft, and he shrugs casually before taking down the second half of his taco in one bite.
“What about you?”
I pause. It’s possible he’s just making conversation and returning the question, but I don’t doubt for a second that he’s picked up on the fact that I don’t sound like my mom.
“My mom grew up speaking Spanish but didn’t teach us. I guess she wasn’t around her family as much, and my Irish father didn’t know a lick—although to his credit, he did take quite a few Spanish classes, to woo her.”
Jonas smiles, like he can appreciate the romantic gesture.
“Anyway, there are about ten words that she never learned the English words for, so she used the Spanish words for them. And that’s the extent of my knowledge.”
“But you understood me?”
I smile at the memory of how I learned bits and pieces. “When we were little, my mom used to call my aunts all day long, and when she thought we were playing outside or watching movies, my sisters and I used to eavesdrop on the other phone. I picked up on some things over time, but just never learned to speak it myself. Plus, I don’t sound like them, and I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s embarrassing.” I quickly take a biteof my food, filling my mouth before I can say anything more.
Jonas chews thoughtfully, and when he’s done, I can tell he’s going to ask more, but I cut him off instead. “So, John Jacob Jonas.” I huff a laugh as he quirks his head, his brows pinch together in the middle. “What? I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“Shot and a miss, darling. Shot and a miss.” He smiles that heart-stopping fucking grin of his, and I have to look away, because somehow even the horizon painted in streaks of purple and pink doesn’t have the same effect on me that his smile does.
“So what’s the deal with the destination Christmas? Is this a family tradition?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s relatively new, actually. I was the last to leave home three years ago, and ever since then, my parents have decided to do family trips instead of Christmas at their house. The first year we went to Maui, last year was Costa Rica, and this year.” I look down and draw a heart in the sand with my finger.
“But you wish you were somewhere else?”
I look up and find his full attention on me.
“What?”
“I mean, I know I read people for a living, but I don’t think you need to be Nancy Drew to figure out you’re uncomfortable here.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m pretending to date a complete stranger.”
“Maybe. But the only time you don’t seem uncomfortable is when you’re with me.”
