“Two egg and chorizo, one potato, extra salsa,” she told the man inside.
“You didn’t ask what I wanted.”
“You’re a beginner. I’m responsible for your safety.”
“Does this extend to breakfast?”
“Especially breakfast.”
We stood beneath the shade while we waited.
Across the street, a woman raised her phone.
My body reacted instantly.
Shoulders tight.
Chin lowered.
Face turned away.
Then I saw she was photographing the ocean behind us.
Not me.
The ocean.
Ellie watched me.
“You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Check where phones are pointing.”
My pulse gave one hard beat.
“I don’t like appearing in strangers’ vacation pictures.”
“That’s fair. I once ended up in the background of a bachelor-party photo wearing one fin and holding a dead phone charger.”
“What happened to the other fin?”
“We don’t talk about that.”
The tacos arrived wrapped in foil.
Ellie handed me one and leaned against the truck.
“To not becoming soup.”
I touched my taco to hers.
“To emotionally complicated fish.”
She took a bite and smiled around it.
For a few minutes, everything was easy.
