Page 23 of Feel It in the Air

7

MARGEAUX

Cute,sweet Marisela Hernandez chatters on at an Olympic pace, one hand firmly wrapped around her water glass, the other gently draped across the barely noticeable baby bump she’s proudly showing off. If it weren’t for her drawing attention to it, I don’t think I would have noticed. Which is probably why she’s perched herself in such a position on the barstool, facing mostly outward toward the crowd.

She is clearly ready to be the center of attention.

I’m more than happy to let her be. In fact, it’s nice to have a break in the conversation—if you can call the one-sided babbling conversation—with every person who comes to comment on the bump. Especially since my mind is a lot more preoccupied with a much more important topic.

Tacos.

And how they are not the gateway drug to a fun-filled not-a-date kind of evening. Nope, not even close.

Because my plan backfired.

Yes, apparently friends can ask friends for dinner recommendations. Friends can also have long, fun, even borderline flirty text conversations about tacos, their ingredients, and what may or may not be appropriate to eat in polite company. One friend asking the other to join them for tacos is apparently a bridge too far, however.

Who knew.

“So, what did you end up doing last night?" Alex, Marisela’s husband, asks, redirecting the conversation back to where we started twenty minutes ago.

“Oh, umm…tacos,” I answer. See, very single-track mind here.

“Tacos? In Hickory Hills?” Marisela asks.

“No, I drove over to a little place in Merritt?” I think that was the name of the town. Truth be told, I think it was smaller than Hickory Hills, which is saying something. Honest to God, blink and you would have missed this place. But damn, the food was good.

“Jiminez, we know the place. They help with the peaches some summers,” Alex says. “How’d you find them?”

“Oh, they were recommended by⁠—”

“Gus Hayes,” Alex cuts me off.

“Yeah, how’d you⁠—”

“Alex.”

The deep timbre of Gus’s Georgia drawl vibrates through me, sending goose bumps up my skin. I have to stop myself from visibly shivering, not wanting to give away that he has such an effect on me.

Friends, we’re just friends…

“You guys had a pretty slick design this year. Have to admit, didn’t think it was going to work,” Alex says with a wink, tipping his beer in Gus’s direction.

“That’s the beauty of a well-engineered device.”

I look between the two of them, trying to pick up some clue as to what’s going on, but neither one gives me anything. Neither of them breaks from their serious demeanor either. Meaning I’m missing something. Something big.

“Oh, lay off it!” Marisela says, swatting at her husband. Leaning into me, she rolls her eyes. “It’s the pinewood derby.”

The what?!

Both men crack, throwing their heads back laughing. Clinking their glasses together, they salute each other, their broad smiles giving off a welcoming feeling. The pinewood derby. Who would have guessed.

“Really,” Gus continues. “And I’ll never admit this in front of my team, but I think we got a little lucky. When they told me they wanted to make it look like a gorilla, all I could think was ‘well, maybe we’ll win most original this year.’ Keepin’ that thing under five ounces was a challenge.”

“I bet,” Alex comments.

“The big event was last night,” Marisela explains. “The entire fifth grade at Hickory Hills Primary participates. They split the kids into teams of three and then a volunteer from the community acts as their advisor. And despite how these two are talking, neither of them won it.”