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"How is yours so smooth and together already?" I asked, looking down at the dry, crumbling mess in my bowl.

She glanced over at my dough and then up at me, and smirked. "Are you threatened by my tortilla dough?"

"No. I'm noticing how yours looks better than mine and I want to know how." I said. "I did what I was supposed to do."

"Well, I used the recommended amounts of water and flour. I see that you still have water left. Give the flour a drink, puck boy."

"Puck boy?"

Marco laughed. "Listen to the lady. The flour needs a drink."

"See?" Lillah said, bumping her hip against mine. "Give the flour a drink."

When it came time to press our tortillas, Lillah's tortilla came out better than any of mine. None of hers got stuck or cracked, like mine.

"Say it," I said, glancing at her as I pressed the last one.

"What? I wasn't going to say anything." She said, covering her mouth as she laughed when my last tortilla got stuck.

"Maybe you weren't, but I know you're thinking it."

"I'm thinking your tortillas have character." She burst out laughing the moment she finished, her whole face lighting up. "So much character."

I picked up one of my tortillas and tossed it at her, which only made her laugh harder.

She threw it back at me, aiming it right for my chest. I ducked, but I wasn't fast enough, and it hit me right in the neck.

"Hey you two, please don't destroy my kitchen." Paulo laughed.

"Truce?" I said, holding up the now broken tortilla.

She placed her hand on mine and smiled. "Truce."

Once we'd made the guacamole and the tacos were done, Paulo went into the back to clean up the dishes, leaving the two of us at a table out front to enjoy the meal we'd made. Lillah sat across from me and we both dove into the dishes. As I watched her take a bite, I realized tonight had been the best date I'd ever been on. The kind of date that would make a good story at a party, and best of all it was the two of us, being ourselves. She was laughing and had let her guard down, and she was looking at me like I was the only person in the room. For the first time in my life, I wasn't thinking about hockey.

"Tell me about your family." I asked.

She took a bite of her taco after adding more guacamole. "Well, I'm an only child and grew up in a small house on the east side of Texas. I lived with my mom, my father left when I was seven."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. My mom worked hard, two jobs, and she gave me everything I needed and more. She taught during the day and served three nights a week in a small diner close to our house. I learned a lot from her about strength and what it takes to get what you want and need. With her working so much, I spent a lot of time with my grandmother."

"Is your mom still there?"

"She is. She teaches elementary school full-time now. Sixth grade. She loves it. I keep telling her she needs to retire, but it keeps her busy and, as I say, she loves what she does. She was the one who told me I could do anything I put my mind to. Even when everything was telling me I couldn't."

"She sounds amazing." I said.

"She is."

"Do you see her often?"

"Unfortunately no. Once I left, I vowed not to go back. So, I am hoping my mom may come up for Christmas or maybe next summer."

"How come you won't go back?" I questioned.

She looked at me, uncertainty in her eyes, but I set my fork down and waited for her to answer.