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"Quesadillas."
"The Californian version of grilled cheese."
"I think that's avocado toast."
"Where's the cheese?"
"Exactly." He puts a pan on the stove, turns on a burner, gathers ingredients. "I use corn tortillas."
"Authentic."
"Tasty."
True.
"Salsa roja or verde?"
"Verde."
"Excellent choice." He places four tortillas on the pan. "Now, if you'll prepare for dinner." He motions to the table. "Unless this is too much cheese."
"You're in luck. I ate real food for lunch."
"Oh?"
"A salad. With avocado."
"And I'm the California boy?" he asks.
"You have freckles."
"You're a competitive swimmer."
"You live in a loft," I say.
"You go to UCLA."
Hmm. What else do I have? "You have Cold Brew in your fridge."
"You drive a Prius."
Damn.
"And you love the beach."
"Everyone loves the beach."
"Talk to Oliver," he says. "See what response the beach gets."
"Which one is Oliver?"
"You haven't met."
"Oh, Luna's boyfriend? I'm sure he's happy enough to watch her run around in a bikini."
"He is a man."
"See. He likes it in his way," I say.
