Page 31 of UNAwere

I smile. ‘Depending on how spicy you like your food, you can use mild, medium, or hot.’

He picks up the medium bottle and studies it, frowning. His lip curls slightly, and I stare at the way his mouth shapes into a frown as he concentrates. How it softens when he catches me staring at him, before screwing into a confused glower.

I look away, my stomach fluttering pleasantly.

Our food arrives. The tacos come plain, the toppings in separate bowls – lime, onion, coriander, and salsa verde. I grab one, instructing Briggs to do the same.

‘You take a taco. Hot sauce. Salsa verde. Onion. Lime, if you fancy it. Coriander – a lot, and there’s no other way, thank you. And then…’ I take a bite, the flavour of spiced pulled beef and fresh herbs hitting my tongue, and moan.

Briggs’s mouth screws up as he watches me, and I realise he’s smiling.

He’s smiling.

‘Jeepers,’ I choke out.

His mouth twists back into a frown, and he blinks, his eyes falling to his taco. I laugh, but spare him the teasing and instruct him on how to fill his taco again. He takes a bite, and I watch as he takes in the flavours. He chews, expression thoughtful.

I hold out my hands. ‘See?’

‘You may have had a point,’ he mumbles.

‘Of course I did! You can’t sit there and tell me that eating food like this isn’t an amazing experience. That it doesn’t make you feel something.’

Briggs looks at me again, smoothing his tongue across his lips. The action ends with him pressing them together, his moustache rasping against his bottom lip, and I quickly glance away, utterly confused by how that action makes me feel.

‘Tacos are delicious,’ I say, waving a hand awkwardly. ‘So, it’s really easy to have a good taco.’

‘Are they your favourite?’ he asks.

I glance at him, surprised he’s even asking. ‘Er… I… Yeah. Probably. I do really like hot dogs. And burgers. And fries.’

His mouth twists again. He’s such a stoic, broody individual that even his smile makes him look like he’s angry.

‘Thank you, though,’ I say quietly. ‘This has… made me feel a lot better.’

He nods, the smile disappearing. He wipes his hands on a napkin, lowering his gaze. ‘Good,’ is all he says.

We finish eating in silence, and Briggs is quick to get up when we’re done, ushering me with a jerk of his chin. I don’t fight him. This taco detour has made us off schedule, so I can’t complain.

We’re back in the car and on the highway in ten minutes.

I adjust the seat, using the buttons to push it back and recline it. I start to laugh as it keeps going, until the seat is in a lying position.

‘Hey, Briggsy, look.’

He doesn’t look.

‘It’s like a bed.’

He keeps his eyes on the traffic.

‘Briggsy. Look. It’s a bed. Briggsy.’ I’m laughing. ‘Briggsy. Look, it’s lying back. It’s like I could sleep here. Hey, Briggsy.’

He sighs and glances my way, finally. ‘What are you doing, Red?’

‘It’s like a bed,’ I say again.

‘The seats recline, yes.’