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“He’s a sweet kid and obviously adores you,” he says.
We walk through the park with the booths and I can hear a band beginning to play. The event is free to the public, and I can tell it’s going to be packed today.
Arran and I chat as we look at the different booths, and I notice one of my smaller paintings has sold as we walk by.
“I love how involved our community is with local artists,” he muses. “Most people don’t get to coexist with so much beauty. Did you hear that we’re getting a new bookstore?”
“I didn’t. We need one,” I admit. “I think that’s one of the only things we’re missing.”
“Are you hungry? I can’t tell you the last time I ate something. Magnus got drunk a few months ago and massacred his body with a terrible fucking tattoo. His cover up piece was a beast.”
“I could eat.” I had a snack before I left, but the walking is making me hungry.
“How do you feel about tacos?” he asks, making me grin. He leads me to a taco truck, glancing at me as if wondering why I’m smiling.
“I love tacos. It was my favorite food while pregnant with Zayn and one of the only things I could eat.”
“Mmm. Tacos are life. It’s not a bad pregnancy fixation food,” he says. I check the line, glad it’s moving quickly.
The two of us order, and Arran pays for it.
“Magnus is a friend of yours. It sounds like he knows you well,” I say as we wait.
“Ugh. Fucking Magnus. I grew up with him. We ended up living very different lives as we got older, but he’s good people. I couldn’t live his life though,” he says.
“He mentioned that he scares people. Sometimes those are the best people to have in your life,” I say without thinking.
“Oh? Do you know scary people, Isla?”
“Have you seen my family?” I laugh.
“I’ve seen you with different people and wondered if one of them was your boyfriend,” Arran admits, picking up the baskets of food. “Let’s walk to the picnic tables, love. Tacos are too messy to eat standing up.”
I’m happy enough to sit and walk with him to where there is an empty table.
“Single mom means single,” I tease him.
“I know that,” he groans, sitting across from me. “I didn’t when you first walked into my tattoo parlor looking to pierce your cute little ears though.”
“Is that why you only started asking me out eight months ago?” I ask, taking a bite of my taco with a happy sound.
He stares at me for a long moment before getting up quickly.
“I need to get you water,” he mumbles.
Did I do something?
Arran returns with a bottle of water, despite the fact that I have one in my bag and sits down with a deep breath.
“The sounds you make when you eat should be illegal, Isla. I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman.”
“Tacos bring it out of me,” I shrug, kind of amused that he’s struggling. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been in a position where I felt comfortable while being able to be playful with a man before.
“I‘ll remember that,” he growls, beginning to eat.
My toes wiggle in my shoes in my rendition of a happy dance as I take my last bite, and my stomach stops complaining that it’s hungry. The only downside to eating is that I’ll need to be more careful about my energy levels.
It’s as if my body will go into hibernation as all the blood goes to my stomach to digest. This is when I trip easier and sometimes my fingers go numb. The symptoms change from meal to meal.
