“I would never purposefully hurt her,” I say.
“Good, now what was it you said you wanted?”
“Al pastor,” I say, rolling the ‘r’ like Lola had. Paco smiles approvingly at me.
“And two Coronas,” Lola adds.
Paco nods and goes back inside the truck to make our order.
When our tacos and beers are in front of us, I watch as Lola devours her food. “So you’re friends with the taco truck guy?”
She smiles around her taco, waits to swallow, then laughs. “Pro tip—always make friends with thetaqueroin your town.”
I laugh. This woman is amazing.
Not wanting to look like a total creep staring at her as she eats, I finally take a bite of my taco. The medley of spices, pineapple, and pork, seasoned with onion and a spicy salsa verde, bursts over my tastebuds. I’ve never eaten anything so delicious. I just spent hundreds at a three-Michelin star restaurant, and don’t get me wrong, the food was excellent. But it does not compare to the tacos that Lola has insisted on buying.
When she pulled out the rolled-up, crumpled bills from her Versace purse, I was stunned.
I don’t remember the last time anyone has treated me to so much as a cup of coffee. The free swag I get in the mail from companies in hopes of free promotion doesn’t count because it isn’t selfless. Not the way her buying me dinner was.
She spent less than twenty dollars, including beers, but the gesture was worth billions to my jaded heart.
When we finish eating, I stand to get us more beers. I rejoin Lola at our table, and we keep sipping beers into the night.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
Her little nose is rosy from the alcohol, and heat creeps up to her cheeks in a matching shade. She nods.
“Thank you. Really, Karl. This has been the best date of my life.”
There’s an enormous speaker outside Paco’s truck now, and he is playing a slow song in Spanish I don’t recognize. Then, a scattering of lights turn on above us, the string of bulbs connected to the roof of each food truck. I glance over at Paco, and he gives me a thumbs up with a huge smile, and I tip my chin in appreciation. Paco and I could be good friends.
I stand and hold out my hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
Her nose scrunches up. “I have a hard timewalkingin these shoes. I don’t think I candance.”
“Just the slow songs. I won’t let you fall,” I say, my hand still waiting for her to take it. “I promise.”
She drains her beer and finally takes my hand. I wrap both arms around her, the side of her face nestling between my pecs as we sway gently. “Mmm,” she moans against my shirt. “You’re warm.”
I chuckle. “Thank you for dinner, Lola. You don’t know how much that meant to me.”
“Next time, pick somewhere with fully-grown-human portions, please.”
We both laugh and fall silent for a while. The song changes to another slow song in Spanish, and she looks up at me. “I love this song.”
“What’s it about?”
“The title in English means traitorous butterfly. He’s singing about a girl he loves, but she’s too free for him. She’s always flying away, and he wants her to feel his pain, so he tells her this time, he won’t come back to her.”
“That’s sad,” I say. “They’re both doomed to sadness.”
“Yeah. But he still loves her. He always will.”
Our eyes lock, and the air becomes thick around us as I breathe it in with effort. I brush a strand of hair away from her cheek with my thumb and tuck it behind her ear. Her eyes fall to my lips at the same time she lets go of her arms around me to instead take my collar in her fists, so she can pull me down to her level.
And I let her. I don’t want to keep fighting this. And more importantly, Ican’tkeep fighting this.