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“The infamous red shoe,” I reply as I take it in.
Honestly, it probably isn't a place I would have ever seen myself eating. The exterior is a little shabby, could use a coat of paint or twelve, and it looks a little – worn. Left to my own devices, I probably would have passed it by without a second glance and headed for one of the more upscale Mexican places around – or at least one that didn't remind me so much of a food truck made permanent.
Damn. Maybe Emily's right about me after all.
Despite the shabby exterior, I can't deny the aroma wafting out of the place is divine. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the rich and flavorful textures on the breeze. Back in New York, we had great food everywhere from a variety of different cultures. I can't say I ever had Mexican food that smelled this appetizing, though.
“Never judge a book by its cover, huh?” Emily's tone is teasing, though I can't help but hear the serious lesson she's trying to impart.
We walk into the place and she's immediately greeted by an older woman with olive colored skin, a thick midsection, and a head full of snow-white hair. Emily speaks to her in Spanish as fluently as a native, which impresses me. My knowledge of the language is paltry at best – I strained myself to come up with the name of the restaurant in an effort to impress Emily. Clearly, that didn't work out too well for me.
The two women turn to me, the older one giving me a warm and welcoming smile. She steps forward and takes my hand, squeezing it tight between hers.
“Aaron, this is Mrs. Alvarez,” Emily informs me. “She and her husband Luis own the place.”
“It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Alvarez.”
Her smile grows impossibly wide and there's a mischievous glint in her eye. “It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Aaron,” she replies, her voice colored with her accent. “It's nice to see Emily come here with a man for a change.”
Emily's face turns a shade of scarlet that is so bright, it’s almost comical. She averts her gaze once more as Mrs. Alvarez continues to beam at me.
“We're just business colleagues,” I explain.
Emily looks over at me and I swear I see a hint of disappointment flash through her eyes. But, like a fish just beneath the surface of the water, it's there one moment, gone the next.
“I work for him,” Emily clarifies my statement.
Mrs. Alvarez looks from Emily to me and then back again, her smile never wavering – nor does that look of conviction on her face.
“There's something more there between the two of you. I can see it. And myabuelatold me I was gifted with the sight,” she tells us, pointing at her eye. “You two make a beautiful couple, who would make beautiful babies together.”
Emily and I both laugh nervously at the same time and when we look at each other, realizing it, we burst out laughing even harder. Mrs. Alvarez just smiles at us and when another couple comes through the door, she quickly leads us over to a table. We take a seat as our laughter finally fades. There's a slight touch of awkwardness between us – which is probably understandable, given Mrs. Alvarez's statements – but otherwise, things are still pretty loose.
“So, as the resident expert on the place, what do you suggest?” I ask as I peruse the menu.
“Well, their carnitas are always fresh and amazing,” she replies. “So is their carne asada.”
“What do you usually get?”
“My favorite has always been the chicken enchiladas,” she tells me.
I give her a grin. “And here I figured you would have gone with something more exotic.”
Emily shrugs and grins back at me. “We like what we like.”
“True enough.”
Mrs. Alvarez comes by our table with chips and salsa, then takes our drink and meal orders – thankfully without trying to get us to have babies together again. A minute later, a younger woman comes by and drops off our bottles of beer at our table. Once she departs, I turn back to Emily and ask her the question that hasn't left my mind.
“Back in the car – did you mean what you said?”
Emily looks down for a moment as if collecting her thoughts, then looks up at me again, her gaze unflinching. I know that look I see in her eye. You never want to ask Emily anything unless you want the complete and unvarnished truth as she sees it. She's always been direct and blunt about things. It's an admirable and refreshing quality of hers.
“In a way,” she starts. “I didn't mean it to sound so brutal. But yeah, you can be a little snooty and elitist about things sometimes.”
“Huh. Can you give me an example?”
She laughs softly. “I saw your face when we got out of the car here,” she explains. “Your first thought was that you wouldn't eat here if you were being paid.”
