I grin and gesture at her bag. It’s shaped like a taco with all the fixings and has a packet of hot sauce dangling from one end. I’ve never seen anything like it, but it suits her.
Quirky, offbeat, completely original.
“Nice bag, by the way.”
She rolls her eyes and gives herself a good-natured facepalm. “You might be the only man on the planet to notice a woman’s purse.”
“I’m a details guy.” Especially when it comes to Scarlett. Her larger-than-life personality is impossible to ignore.
Two weeks ago, you didn’t even know her name.
And two weeks ago, she hadn’t put me in my place or called me a narcissist. Things change.
“So where are these tacos?” She scans the street as if expecting them to materialize out of thin air.
“It’s a nice night for a walk.” I glance up. The sun has nearly set, the orange and purple hues that bleed across the sky giving way to nightfall. “The Tipsy Taco is just a block over, if you’re up for it.”
“The Tipsy Taco?” She scrunches up her nose. “Never heard of it—and I know all the best places to get tacos.”
I smirk and point north. “Apparently not.”
“We’ll see.” She sets a brisk pace. But I’ve got eight inches—give or take—on her, and easily match her stride.
“Indeed we will,” I drawl, stomach growling as a cool breeze gusts at our backs. “I’ll try not to gloat when you’re salivating over the best damn tacos in the city.”
“Whatever.” She gives me some serious side-eye, and I make a mental note to never come between this woman and a taco.Ever. “There’s no way they’re going to be better than Veracruz tacos. They’re made with love.”
“I’m pretty sure all tacos are made with love.” I shake my head. “Except maybe the ones from Taco Bell.”
She snorts. “Finally. Something we can agree on.”
“It was bound to happen eventually, but I thought when we found common ground, it would be something more…substantial.”
Scarlett freezes and plants a hand on her hip. “What could be more substantial than tacos? Tacos are life.”
I turn to face her, and I honestly can’t tell if she’s being serious right now. If I had to lay odds, I’d say it’s seventy-thirty.
“I like tacos as much as the next guy, but last time I checked, you can’t survive on tacos alone.”
Not for long, anyway.
She marches past me, her mouth screwed up in determination. “You disappoint me, Hart,” she calls over her shoulder. “I didn’t take you for a quitter.”
Laughter bubbles up from the pit of my stomach, and I trail after her, chuckling under my breath.
We walk the rest of the way in silence, and when we arrive at the brightly painted taco truck, her smile is bright enough to light up the whole damn block.
“I also didn’t take you for a food truck kind of guy,” she says, scanning the menu.
I shrug. “You want the best tacos, you go where they’re made.”
I’d choose a food truck over a Michelin star every day of the week. Having money hasn’t changed that fact. It’s just given me a greater appreciation for the simple things in life.
Food. Family. Security.
“What’re you thinking?” I ask, rubbing my hands together in anticipation. “Chicken, beef, fish?”
“All of the above,” she says resolutely, turning to look me in the eye. “If this really is one of the best taco places in the city, I want to try them all.”
