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The barbacoa is even better until I add the red salsa. Heat spreads across my tongue and into the back of my throat so fast that I stop chewing.

Laura notices immediately. “Too hot?”

“No.”

It is extremely hot.

I take another bite.

She starts laughing. “Why are you eating more?”

“Because I like it.”

“You look like you’re suffering.”

“I’m not.”

“You are absolutely suffering.”

I drink the horchata. The cold sweetness helps immediately.

“That is good too.”

Laura shakes her head, still smiling, and goes back to her own food. The teenage boy from the other table approaches while I’m deciding whether the green salsa is hotter than the red. He stops a few feet away, uncertain enough that I wait for him to speak first.

“Are you Locke?”

“No.”

His face changes immediately. “Sorry. I knew you weren’t. I’ve seen him online. You don’t really look like him.”

“My name is Kell.”

“Right. Kell.”

He glances back at his mother. She gives him a small motion that seems to mean he’s allowed to keep talking, so he turns back to me.

“Are you guys brothers?”

“No.”

“But you’re both…” He hesitates.

“Wicker Men?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” He waits as though I should change my answer.

“That doesn’t make us brothers.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “Yeah. I guess not.” I take another bite of my taco, but he stays beside the table.

“Was there something else?”

He pulls out his phone. “Can I get a picture with you?”

Laura grows quiet beside me. The boy already has the phone in his hand, but he keeps it down near his leg. He could have raised it before asking. He doesn’t. The phone stays at his side. He asked before pointing it at me, and now he is waiting for my answer. “Yes.”