Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3) by T. Torrest Page B

from the sombreros hanging on the wall, to the piñatas suspended from the high ceiling, to the mariachi band playing on the small stage along the far wall.
       I absolutely loved it.
       Trip gauged the expression on my face, and it made a wide grin split his features. He took my hand as the hostess led us through the dining room, but when she started to put the menus down at a booth near the stage, Trip whispered something to her I couldn’t hear as he slipped a bill in her hand. She changed direction and led us to a private table in a darkened corner instead.
       Once we were alone, I said, “ Hey. Henry Hill. How come we didn’t come in through the kitchen?”
       He got my Goodfellas reference and started to chuckle. “What am I, a clown? Do I amuse you?”
       Before I could tell him what a funny guy he was, he said, “I’ve learned it’s best to tip beforehand . You get better service that way.”
       “Fair enough, Mr. Wiley.”
       He looked at me then, frozen in the act of placing his napkin across his lap. “You know, you’ve only called me that once before.”
       I took a sip of my water. “What? Mr. Wiley?”
       “Yeah. During our interview. You said that exact same thing to me. You never… You never call me by that name.”
       “Because it’s not your name.”
       “Yeah. But even people who knew me growing up can accept that I changed it.”
       “Not legally, though, right?”
       He leaned back in his seat and shot me a sham dirty look. “No. Not legally. What’s your point?”
       “That it’s just… all for show. Trip Wiley is all just smoke and mirrors. Trip Wilmington ’s the guy I fell in love with.”
       I’d never seen him smile quite so big. “And that’s why you’ll always be my rosebud.”
       That was a new one. “Well, you’ll always be my… tulip… Dear .”
       He cracked up at that. “Not my rosebud. My Rosebud . Citizen Kane, remember? You’re my happy thing before the fame, before the money.”
       How adorable was that? I gave him a shy smile, touched that he thought of me in such an endearing way. I was sure, however, that he was just talking about who I used to be for him. After the past few days, I hoped I was coming to mean even more to him now than I did then .
       Our waiter came over with some chips and salsa, asking if we’d like something to drink. I was thinking that I should probably just order a soda and was startled when Trip ordered a bottle of house wine instead. But I waited for our server to leave before making a stink about it.
       I had just opened my mouth to question him when Trip put a hand up. “It’s for you, not me. You had that look.”
       “What look?”
       “That look like you didn’t know whether or not to order a drink. That look like you didn’t know whether or not to even ask me about it. For future reference—and trust me, you’ll encounter plenty of recovering alcoholics out here—you don’t need to curb your drinking just because we can’t control ours.”
       “Is that the general consensus?”
       “Pretty much. One of the first things you learn is that you can’t control other people’s behavior. You can only control your own. Even some guys at the treatment center were classified as problem drinkers , not alcoholics. They take their recovery hats off on the weekends and think just because they’re only having a few beers means they’re handling the situation. They’re not. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
       “There’s a difference between the two? Which one are you?”
       “ For me personally, it doesn’t matter. The way I see it, a problem’s a problem. If I felt like I could drink, but still had to constantly moderate every drop, I figure I shouldn’t be drinking at all, you know? Believe me. I’ve done lots of trial and error over the years. I’m not about to tempt fate. It’s easier just to avoid all of it.”
       I accepted his