Page 18 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)
SANTINO
A brisk ten-minute walk later I arrive at Hummingbirds. Strolling through the entry way I’m immediately met with my brother’s voice booming through the empty bar as he stands behind the bartop, polishing some glasses.
I sit down on the first barstool my hand latches onto, realizing as I seat myself that this was the stool Lorena’s fine ass was sitting on last night.
All of the barstools at Hummingbirds are made of metal, with the exception of the one I’m on right now, that’s made of wood.
Dante and our late brother, his twin, Emilio, made it together as a Mother’s Day gift for our mom.
Sadly, since neither Emilio nor our mom are still here, Dante thought it’d be fitting to have it at the bar as a memento.
“To what do I owe the pleasure? Long time no see,” Dante jokes, tossing a bar towel over his shoulders as he squares them in my direction, laying both hands flat on the bartop between us.
“Oh please, you act like you didn’t just see me here last night.”
Dante shifts to his elbows, leveling his gaze with mine. He may be three years younger than me, but he’d have anyone fooled with the way he’s constantly acting like my older brother. Always ready to reprimand me like one. “Oh, I know, with Lorena. How could I miss that?”
“And Tomás,” I add.
“Yep, our best friend.” I want to roll my eyes at the reminder, and the way Dante is saying it, but I opt to go right over it. It’s not even eleven in the morning, and I already feel like I’ve had the longest day ever. I don’t need him adding to it.
“I’m here so I can place an order with the liquor distributor. You’re putting in your weekly order tomorrow, correct?”
Dante nods.
“Good, I have the judge from the foundation coming in next week for a tasting as part of the judging process, and I want that limited batch mezcal. It’ll pair nicely with what I’m making.”
“That’s right, for the James Beard Award.”
“Correct.”
“I’m fucking proud of you, bro. That’s a big deal.”
“Yep,” I say tensely. It’s not lost on me how unenthused I sound right now.
Of course, I’m excited about the potential to receive a James Beard Award.
As a self-taught chef from the Bronx who specializes in blending Puerto Rican and Italian cuisine, elevating both into a modern style, to be nominated is an honor all in of itself.
However, I’m having a difficult time focusing on that right now.
Between having to navigate living and working with Lorena, as well as the conversation I had with Tomás on the way here, my mood and nerves feel shot.
Turns out the property I’ve been in a bidding war for near where we all grew up in Co-op City, that I’ve been wanting to open a second restaurant in, has reached a head.
Tomás got a call from the real estate agent, and the asshole investor I’ve been going back and forth with for weeks, put in his final bid.
Tomás strongly advised me to forfeit, since it’s nearly quadruple what my budget can withstand.
Technically, I can swing it, but it would make things financially strained for me, until I can recoup the money.
Plus, the location has been abandoned for years and is in major need of repair.
It’s a money pit. Even with how handy Dante is, and I occasionally am, it’d still cost a lot to repair.
It’s not a smart business decision. Right now, that’s what I have to do.
Make smart choices. In business and in my personal life.
“Earth to Tino.” Dante waves his hands in front of my face. “What’s wrong?” He asks as he walks around the bar and comes to the stool next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Nothing, it’s just been a day.”
He laughs, nudging his head to the clock hanging above the open bar shelving.
“Dude, the day has just begun, so either you’re being dramatic as fuck…
” He squeezes my shoulder, kneading it in his palm, to prove his point more.
“Or, things haven’t been going the way you had hoped, and you need to let it out. ”
I know he’s referring to Lorena, with it being her first day on the job.
In that case, he’s not wrong at all, since the untapped chemistry that lingers between us, is definitely contributing to my mood.
But right now I’m equally as pissed off about this real estate deal.
And since Dante is a cut to the chase, no bullshit kind of guy, who I know the second that I start to talk about Lorena, will shut me up and tell me to shut it down, I opt to talk about the bid I’m going to have to decline.
“You remember that bakery Ma and Pops used to take us to after dragging us to church?”
A nostalgic sigh filters through Dante’s mouth. “Ah, yeah, the one on Boller Ave.”
My throat tightens, the same way it always does when memories are spoken out loud. Yet, somehow, as much as it hurts, it would hurt more to not reminisce.
“Emilio would always run as fast as he could from church down the block to the bakery. Purposely stopping right in front of the doors, whining that he needed a water bottle, and couldn’t wait until we walked the two blocks more it took to get to our apartment.
” Dante reminisces with a steadiness to his voice that I’m rarely capable of having when the topic of Mom or Emilio comes up.
Since what I really want to do every time they are mentioned is cry, but I won’t allow myself to.
Not again. I’ve shed too many tears. I don’t want to go back to feeling that way, so instead I’ll briefly indulge in the nostalgia with my brother, and then do what I always do with my feelings in one way or another, bottle them up.
“Yeah, and Ma could never say no to him, and Pops could never say no to her, so in we would go.”
“That place was the best. They always had the best tiramisu and guava pastelillos. It kind of reminds me of the bakery version of Cielo + Cibo, blending the two cuisines together.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely played a part in my cooking style, incorporating both of the cultures Ma and Pops raised us with.”
A long-winded sigh is shared between the two of us, followed by a silence that weighs heavy on both our hearts.
There’s so much more we both want to say, and as much as strolling down memory lane can be a comfort, it only takes a few sentences of reminiscing for the pain to creep up.
Losing mom was heartbreaking but losing our brother somehow felt even more painful.
Gut wrenching. He was so young, only twenty-seven, when he passed.
He’s missed so much, with the most heartbreaking of all being him missing out on seeing his daughter, Luci, grow up.
The air feels heavy. I feel it. Dante feels it, and neither of us say anything for a few minutes, until Dante breaks the silence. “So, Lorena…”
My stomach twists.
“What about her?”
Dante clicks his tongue, seeming amused.
“Santino, you can fool everyone around us. Including her oblivious brother, who somehow is smart enough to be top of his law class, but can’t pick up on how badly one of his best friends wants his sister.
But you can’t fool me. Not one damn bit.
So, let me rephrase, and circle back to what I texted you yesterday that you conveniently ignored. Are you behaving yourself around her?”
Purposely choosing my words, I opt for the easiest, and shortest, response I can. “Yep.”
“Santino,” Dante drags my name, half-playful, half-scolding.
I twist in the barstool to face him. “I’m fine. She’s fine.” She’s fine alright, as fucking hell. Goddamn, even just thinking about her is creating a visceral reaction within me.
“Keep it that way, please.”
Suddenly, the thought of Lorena on her knees, looking up at me, begging to have my cock in her mouth, floods my mind.
Torturing me. I swallow, thickly, fully aware how hard my body is working to suppress the image I saw, and the sensation I denied myself.
All in the name of friendship, like an idiot. A loyal idiot, but one, nonetheless.
“I will.” I’ll try.
Dante studies my face for a second. He has always picked up on how I feel about Lorena.
Same way that he’s always reminding me that Tomás is more than a friend to us.
Him, Lorena, and their mom are like family.
Me pursuing Lorena or doing anything with her would complicate things, and we know more than anyone else how painful a fracturing of family, in any sense, feels.
We’re lucky to have a friendship that feels like family.
I need to remind myself of that and not do what I tend to do best… fuck things up.
Thankfully, he leaves it at that and gets up to go grab the liquor list I came for.
“While you’re at it, you got some of the pitorro?” I ask, needing the burn of alcohol immediately.
A mischievous grin spreads on his face just as he lifts a finger to his lips. “Ssh.” He reaches under the bar and comes over with a glass pitcher and two shot glasses.
“Here.” Dante hands me the liquor inventory list to go over while he pours us our shots of pitorro de coco, basically Puerto Rican moonshine that my mom used to make, that me and my brothers always used to sneak when we were way too young to be doing so.
I read over the list, making sure I check off enough for the restaurant, as well as what I need to make the custom cocktail to pair with what I’ll be serving the James Beard judge.
Once the shots are poured, Dante says a quick toast before our glasses clink together, and we lift them up to the ceiling, down on the bar top and then to our mouths.