The girl across the road from his father's shop had Nacho enamored.

She hadn't been working at the little Mom and Pop diner for long - a few weeks maybe - but every time he went in for his father's order he found himself more intrigued with her than he had been at his last visit.

She wasn't anything special by any means - he'd seen women with far more put together than her. She was rather simple, really, never wearing much jewelry or putting on too much makeup. She wore more jeans and a t-shirts than anything else and always had her nails painted a soft pink.

Her skin was looked soft and the freckles that littered her nose and cheeks looked foreign to him, different but not unwelcome. She always had her hair pulled into a ponytail or bun, always off her face, and the little earrings in her ears shone in the dim lights of the diner.

She was beautiful, in an unconventional way, but what he found most alluring about the woman was her soft, melodic voice.

It was like molten chocolate or a babbling brook deep in a forest - gentle and soft. It puddled his senses.

He enjoyed hearing her speak, even if not to him, so when he had time away from is father's shop or his other business he'd go into the diner for coffee, a bagel, anything. He'd sit there and relax. He caught himself listening to her as she laughed with the owners or took another customer's order.

It helped him forget that he was in too deep with the cartel sometimes.

One evening he goes over, his hands slick with grease from working in the garage for a change, and picks up his father's order.

She strolls toward him, wiping her hands on her dark apron. She leans on the counter slightly, a small smile on her face. She recognizes him and quickly asks, "Are you picking up an order?"

Nacho nods. "A burger and fries."

"Varga, right?"

Nacho blinked up at her, his brown eyes boring into her warm, smiling ones. The corners of his mouth curled when he saw the grin she was wearing. "Yeah."

"Okay, it's $6.50," she told him, watching as he pulled out his wallet. He fingered through a number of bills before he pulled out a twenty.

"Keep the change," Nacho offered. "A tip."

"A tip?" The girl chuckled and Nacho felt pride that he'd drawn such a sound from her. "Thank you very much, but… I-I don't know if I can accept this - "

"Nacho," he told her quietly, hoping to learn her name as well. "Ignacio. And I insist."

"Sarah." She returned, her cheeks darkening slightly. She glanced at his hand, still holding the twenty out to her, and chewed her lip. Finally, she grabbed the bill and placed it in the till, placing the change that came from it into her apron. "Thank you, Ignacio."

Sarah grabbed the bag held it out to him. Their fingers brushed momentarily and he wonders briefly how soft her hands would feel in his own calloused grip.

He glanced down at their hands and winced at the dark smudge of grease on her otherwise clean hand. "Sorry about that."

"It's no problem," Sarah assured him, turning slightly to wash her hands in the sink behind the counter. "Have a good day, Ignacio."

"Yeah, you too." Nacho gave her one last quick, tight lipped smile and then ducked out the door.