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“If you’re all in a race for who can find it first, wouldn’t it make more sense to split up?” my poor, naive partner-in-crime asks.
“But then we’d be split up.” Madden’s voice holds a giantduhin it.
“But you can’t all win, surely.”
“We can’t, but I don’t think any of us ever have before so”—I shrug—“we don’t do it to win.”
“But you just flew out of the house like your arse was on fire.”
“We give it a solid go,” Gabe explains. “And wewantto win. Someday. But, like, that’s not the point of it.”
“So what is the point?”
It’s lucky Madden has pulled up to the light because the four of us turn confused looks on Émile.
“To … to hang out,” I explain, wondering how the fuck that wasn’t obvious. “Something to do.”
Émile’s hazel gaze slides from me to where Gabe and Madden have turned around in the front, and he hurries to hold up his hands. “My mistake. I guess I’m not used to people doing something just … to do it. All the people I know are only out to win.”
Gabe wrinkles his nose. “But winning is so … temporary.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, so we get the free tacos, then what? We eat, the month ends, we forget about it in a year. It’s the same with any award or sports or—”
“Notsports,” Madden cuts in.
“Oh yeah? So where are all your Little League trophies?”
Madden’s jaw clenches and I whack the back of Gabe’s head. “Low move.”
“What? It proves my point. Mads got hurt, and that was it. The sport moved on. His parents either threw his trophies in storage or dumped them. Either way he’ll never see them again. They’re only …things.” He looks out his window. “Who cares about things?”
I could face palm if it wasn’t so obvious. Welcome, Émile, to the hot mess that is my life and my loved ones. For someone with his shit together, I have no idea how he views our dysfunctional communal living, but I refuse to think about it too carefully. He’sstuck marrying me and then once that’s over, the rest of it won’t matter. His opinion, like Madden’s trophies, will be gone.
“We could check beneath the overpass near Madison,” Émile says, and it thankfully breaks the tension that’s fallen around us.
“Good thinking.” Madden takes a sharp left, sending me into Émile who takes advantage of the closeness to rest his hand on my thigh.
His warm breath tickles my ear as he says, “You’re sexy when you’re being all sweet and sentimental.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I return to my own side, but Émile doesn’t let go of my leg. The casual affection hits right in the center of my chest, and I cover his hand with mine, trying not to feel too smug that I get to have this. There might be a limit, but being with him is giving me all of the first-date jitters.
We check the overpass and by the lake, down near Gas Works Park, through some residential streets. Seven, Rush, and Xander—minus his heart attack—all join us at one point as well, and when it hits midday and we get the first clue from Tac’obout Tacos, Émile deciphers it. In our neighborhood, only a few streets away from home is the Trailer Park Markets and there, parked around back, is our Taco Truck.
We’re not the first ones here, but Xander is still beside himself as he squeals and points. “We found it, we found it!” I ruffle his hair on my way past to join the line and Seven slings a heavy, tattooed arm around Xander and steers him after us.
Émile treats us all and we find a picnic table to sit at and eat. Shielded by the trailers, there’s no breeze, and the sun is directly overheard, warming me to my core.
“So, how’s the show going?” Seven asks.
“Yeah, awesome. Didn’t fuck up once last night.”
“It’s a fulluping miracle.”
“Fulluping?” Émile echoes.
