“I’ll tell you one of my dating horror stories if you tell me one of yours.” The words tumble out quickly, and my voice sounds silly with my nostrils pinched up tight.
His other eyebrow joins the one raised, and a smile is back on his lips. “A dating disaster with tacos, huh?”
“Swear to me you’ll tell me a disastrous dating story, too,” I say, extending my pinky finger from the hand that isn’t pinching my nose.
Now his lips curve into a larger smile, revealing his dimples. He twists his pinky around mine. “I swear.”
I let go of my nose, feeling it readjust to my face. “Okay. I went on a date a few years ago with a guy named Roy.”
“Roy boy, huh?”
I tilt my chin downward and glare at him. “Let me continue.”
“Fine.” He puts his hands up, surrendering.
“We had tacos, and obviously very different expectations for how a first date plays out. My idea of a first date is good food followed by conversation that makes you feel all warm and tingly inside, and then if all goes well, the light brushing of a man’s lips on my cheek. Sweet, easy, promising toward a second date.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I must interrupt. Do you not think a kiss, lips on lips, is okay for the first date?”
“I’m not against kissing, Evan. I’m aromancewriter,” I grumble. “Do you want to hear about my dating disaster with tacos or not?”
“Carry on.”
“Thank you. Now, as I was saying, a light brushing of a man’s lips on my cheek. Lingering even. As if he doesn’t want to pull away but he wants to imagine what that first kiss will be like a little longer. Dream about it. Make himself crazy over what my lips will taste like.”
“Okay, fair enough. I take back my earlier complaint and question.”
“You’re still interrupting,” I scold. He smiles, even larger this time. “Okay, well, Roy did not have this same expectation. In fact, I’m pretty sure dear ole Roy hadn’t had much practice kissing women who enjoyed kissing for the butterflies and not just to check it off a to-do list. We had tacos, which were great. I, under normal circumstances and before this awful event in my history, love tacos. Good food, check. Then we talked for a while. The tingly feeling was there, although I couldn’t tell if it was from the questionable meat from the taco truck or an actual indication of how I was feeling toward him as we made small talk about our jobs and families. So, good conversation, possibly check. And then, the moment came where I’m expecting to feel butterflies flutter as his lips graze my cheek, but instead it’s his tongue pushing against my lips, trying to break into my mouth.”
Evan’s face is glowing, and it almost makes the horrible memory worth having.
Actually, it does. It really does make it worth it.
“And well, chili powder reminds me of Roy and his tongue that made my lips have to act like goalies that were defending their home team,” I add to end my story.
“How long has it been since you’ve had tacos?” he questions.
“Almost three years, thanks for asking,” I reply curtly. “It was a big loss, in case you’re wondering. A massive, big loss. I loved cheap tacos. I didn’t know that swiping right on a man named Roy, who looked so boyish and fun in his profile, would cause me to give up tacos forever, or I would have never gone on that fateful date.”
“Maybe we can redeem that tonight? Is a life without tacos worth living?” His dimples deepen, and it makes me think that maybe, just maybe, Evan can help me get over my aversion to tacos.
At least, I’ll let him try.
Chapter 30
Evan
Iordereveryoptionof taco, which is twenty-six. The taco truck really knows how to deliver.
“Okay, what about this one?” I unwrap a taco and hold it up.
The aroma that bursts from the paper is more lime than chili powder. Rachel takes the taco from me, assessing it as if there is something sinister hiding in the shell.
“Seems suspicious,” she comments. “As if it’s trying to be a taco but isn’t.”
I feel my lips twitch into a smirk, something I can’t stop doing tonight. Her wild antics, loud voice, and expressive nature is endearing, like she’s a cartoon come to life and meant to make you remember everything good about your childhood. I guess for me, that means the childhood I didn’t have, and maybe that’s why it doesn’t just feel sentimental to me, it feels…sacred. Like somehow, in this moment with her grin daring me to laugh, I’m reclaiming something I missed.
And she’s adorable. I don’t even think she knows she’s adorable. She’s dressed as if she should be somewhere more important than surrounded by people of all kinds eating cheap tacos and sipping Cokes in glass bottles, and yet, she fits perfectly. She’s ditched her sandals and is barefoot, sitting in a metal chair. Her hair hasabsorbed the humidity, doubling in size, and currently, there’s an expression of uncertainty pulling at her nose and her eyes as she inspects a taco more thoroughly than a detective inspects a crime scene.
