It was a busy evening at the restaurant, the sound of laughter and clinking silverware filling the air as you moved through the tables, greeting regulars and helping Jason’s abuela in the kitchen. She’d insisted on showing you every secret family recipe, and now you were practically running the place together. To the customers, it looked like any other warm, family-owned spot. But you knew there was more going on behind the scenes.

In the back, Jason was going over plans with a couple of his trusted contacts, blending seamlessly between the restaurant’s facade and his work. It wasn’t easy, keeping up the illusion of a quiet, rustic eatery while also managing Jason’s other “business” needs, but somehow, it was starting to feel like home.

Jason came through the kitchen door, flashing a grin as he spotted you and his abuela laughing over a dish on the stove. He sidled up next to you, placing a gentle hand on your back. “How’s my favorite chef doing?” he asked, his slight Spanish accent softening his voice as he looked between you and his abuela.

“Better than you ever were in a kitchen,” his abuela teased, nudging him with a knowing smile.

Jason laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Guess that’s why I leave the restaurant in better hands.” He glanced around, his gaze softening when it settled back on you. “You’ve really made this place feel like family, you know?”

He leaned in, dropping his voice so only you could hear, “And I couldn’t do any of this without you.”