Understanding my hesitation, Dominic requests one that starts with an r and ends with my panties disintegrating. He pronounces it like he’s speaking another language, and I wonder if he’s bilingual.
And I’m too distracted staring at his mouth to even hear what he orders for himself.
“That okay?” Dominic asks, his attention back on me.
I bite my lip as I nod, then blurt out, “Do you speak Spanish?”
“To my grandfather’s complete sadness, I’m sure, I do not.” He shakes his head with a self-deprecating huff. “Just enough to get by.”
“Like ordering drinks?”
Dom tips his head. “Like that.”
“So your grandfather…” I trail off, unsure if I should be asking this. And unsure if I really want to open the discussion of family because there’s only so much I want to share about my own.
But Dom doesn’t look offended or upset at my question. He looks pleased. “I don’t remember him much. He passed away when I was little. But my grandmother, his wife, was around a lot longer, and based on the stories she told me, I think he would’ve liked you.”
“Me?” My brows shoot up.
Dominic has never shied away from saying whatever he feels, but this feels extra… personal. Something you might say when your significant other finally meets your family.
“Yeah, Shorty. You.”
“Why?” I can’t help asking.
“Because you’re sweet. And just the right amount of feisty.”
“Your grandfather would like me because I’m feisty?” I laugh.
Dom nods. “A good woman can change your life. Or so he used to say.”
I feel the warmth of that statement in my chest. “He must’ve really loved your grandmother.”
“He did.” Dom lets out a deep breath. “He grew up in Colombia, in a little town. But he came here, to Chicago, when he was twenty-two. It was supposed to be a short visit. Two weeks. But then he met a woman. A nice girl from the suburbs, from a respectable family, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“He just stayed?”
“He stayed.” Dom’s blue eyes don’t waver. “Because a good woman can change your life.”
I swallow. “I like that story.”
“Me, too.” The edges of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “So did my grandmother. Which is why she told it about a thousand times.”
“Can’t blame her.” I think about our past conversations. “So that big family you have, did your grandfather’s relatives move here too?”
Dominic shakes his head. “They disowned him.”
I gasp. “What? Why?”
“They viewed it as betrayal. Abandoning his history and some other bullshit. But my grandfather stood by the fact that love is stronger than obligation. So, to make up for the lack of family on his side, they decided to have a fuck ton of kids.”
I snort at his description. “What’s a fuck ton of kids?”
“Nine.”
I grimace at the thought of giving birth nine times. “Okay, yeah. That’s a lot.”
“My father was the oldest, and I was the first grandchild. But with eight sets of uncles and aunts just on that side, and with all of them having a minimum of three kids, with the exception of my parents who only had me”—he shakes his head—“there’s still a fuck ton.”
“Is your dad…？” I hate to ask, but since we’re talking about family.
“Passed away about twenty years back.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, feeling bad about asking and tempted to tell him that mine died about that long ago, too, but my family story is much more depressing, and I don’t really want to go there.
“Basically, a lifetime ago. But pretty sure he’d like your feistiness, too.”
I bite my lip, trying to picture what one of Dom’s big, happy family gatherings might look like when the server returns with our drinks.
Realizing I haven’t even looked at the menu, I quickly pick it up and skim over the items. But the second I spot pad Thai as an option, I set my menu back down.
“That mean you know what you want, Angel?” Dom is giving me that small smile, the one that means he finds something funny.
I lift a brow, daring him to laugh. “It does.”
“Ladies first.” Dom gestures for me to start.
I order my chicken pad Thai, and Dom asks for spring rolls and then a different noodle dish for himself.