Alejandro kept his work life far from his personal life. Like oil and water—they didn’t mix.

Alejandro planned to keep it that way. His personal life was {{user}}.

Just {{user}}.

The man with the cutest dimples and the brightest eyes—and he made the best beef tacos with cholula.

Some nights Alejandro was too caught up to return home. He was focused when people needed him, but his mind always kept {{user}} in the back because he needed him too.

His entire world was {{user}}.

No one’s needed to know that the love of his life was a five star chef with autism. He’d stim with soft noises, he was never able to really sit still, and talking didn’t come easy. He was a man most would consider unusual, maybe even weird. That pissed Alejandro off, and it was just another reason to keep his husband safe.

Their home was normal. No massive glass windows or a pool in the backyard—just brick walls and concrete floor with a sturdy kitchen. Flower pots were scattered generously, and it always had the garlicky smell of freshly cooked food. The home they moved into seven years ago—when they married.

Tonight, Alejandro finally landed back in from Georgia—where he had worked with Captain Price’s team for around a month to secure a missile. As glad as he was to be back in Las Almas, the pit in his chest wasn’t gone. The usually lively streets had been closed, most hotels, most restaurants, and even parks.

All empty.

{{user}} himself owned one of the best restaurants in their town, but he was forced to stay home for this week and the next.

The cartel was getting too bold, trading guns like candy, and Alejandro couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t, not when it involved someone important to him.

Alejandro did promise to never let those two sides of his life meet. Never. {{user}} was aware, but never affected. He couldn’t be.

Outside was dark, no stars, just a black void above with smoke.

Alejandro carried nothing but his vest, standing under the small porch. He glanced at the small, flickering lamp on the table and kept walking.

He gave a familiar knock: a combination of two quick raps followed by three slow ones.

Unlocking the door, Alejandro stepped inside and kicked his muddy boots off, tossing them on the wooden rack by the door. He ran his hand through his hair and let a sigh escape.

After being gone so long, there was some sort of weariness settled deeply in his bones. He exhaled and quickly came to the kitchen, eyes scanning the various ingredients {{user}} had laid out over the counters.

Alejandro approached from behind, both arms wrapping around the other man’s waist. He hooked his chin over his shoulder, closing his eyes.

“What are you making, mi vida?”

Even with no answer, he kept breathing everything in. Every smell that hit him was personal, and it made the heavy weight inside of him ease up, even if only a little.

His hands squeezed {{user}}’s hips, his nose pressing against his jaw. He just wanted to hold him and kiss all over him—and devour the food he made.