“Aha! I remember now! It’s a mix of Greek yogurt, gooseberries, and Halloumi cheese. I shall soldier on and find what I need!”
“Tell him, ‘Thank you, good sir,’” I instruct.
Patrick clearly suppresses a sigh. “Thank you, good sir!”
“Tell him to have a blessed day,” I add.
“Have a blessed day!” He takes a few steps away and mutters to me, “And fuck you. Ablessed fucking day, Diana? Really?”
“I love you,” I say with a laugh.
“Love you back,” he concedes. “And satisfied? There is no fainting-goat food, just for your information, okay? That’s not a thing. So, don’t go adopting fainting goats and asking around for special food.”
“But you made a good effort.” I give him a big smile.
“Okay, you drunk goofs. I’m off.” Patrick waves a finger at us before he ends the call. “I like you two. Keep those Mai Tais going. It’s working for you.”
I don’t disagree.
Dave doesn’t either. “I’m digging it here in Puerto Rico. Even with the mace spray to the eyes.”
“Again, it wasn’t mace.” I giggle as I curl on my side and slug down the rest of my drink through the straw.
“I like that Patrick person,” he says.
“I like him too. This wasn’t my dream vacation,” I confess.
“No?” Dave turns to meet my eyes.
“It was given to me. All paid for. I was hoping for Lisbon, or Prague, or something besides a typical tropical trip. But now that I’m here? Relaxing and being lazy in the lap of luxury is pretty fun. Maybe this was needed. The rooms are damn nice, huh?”
He looks at me so cutely. “The rooms are indeed damn nice.” Dave scoots up a bit in his lounge chair. “Know what else is nice? The menu. Have you had Puerto Rican crab?”
I shake my head.
He gently beckons over a server and places an order. “Want to eat our way through the rest of this menu?” he asks.
“Yes, I do, New Friend Dave. Yes, I do.”
And we do just that until both of us are satiated and nearing collapsing—a little bit drunk on alcohol, but mostly annihilated from the food.
“By the way, why are you on this trip alone? You said this is your tourist season. You must be missing out on big food truck sales.”
For a second, Dave looks away, just a tad uncomfortable. “I take this week or two off every year, just to get a break from the chaos. It’s basically just me working the truck, and I don’t want to get burned out. I have an assistant, Eric, and he can handle things when I’m gone, but I’m around people plenty, so a little quiet time is good. Solo time is good.”
I’m hesitant. “You sure I’m not interfering in that solo time?”
“Not in the least. Meet up here tomorrow night?” he asks as he licks his fingers. “Tomorrow night, I’m all yours. How about I take you out of this resort and we visit some off-the-beaten-path stuff? The food at this hotel is pretty sick, but I think you’d appreciate the real stuff.”
“Street food?” I ask.
“Of course. Hole-in-the wall spots.”
Ah, my love language.
When I’m Twenty-Five
This bizarre life and career I’ve wandered into is so unexpected, and it never would have occurred to me that I’d be making wild money each month just for posting stuff that I liked. Yes, my socials are almost all about restaurants, but I occasionally share other stuff I love, like travel spots and such.
