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He nodded and bid us goodbye.
As we walked to the car, I grabbed Rebecca’s hand and squeezed it. “That was incredible,” I gushed.
“It wasn’t that hard,” she replied.
I laughed. “Yes, it was. Mr. Mead has ignored me for months. Today was the first time he looked me in the eye. When I show up with you as my fiancé, suddenly, he’s interested.”
Becca blushed and looked away, her eyes glimmering with pride. “That’s the perk of having a Cavanaugh on your arm. Now, what do you say we get some real food?”
“You mean the cheeseburger of salads wasn’t enough for you?” I joke.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “No. Not even close. I’m hungover, remember? I need a carb, and preferably meat.”
“Okay, so that narrows it down.” We walked out of the parking lot onto the bustling Boston streets. Rebecca easily dodged the crowds, stopping once she spotted a silver taco truck decorated with spray-painted cartoon tacos and burritos.
“Hi Ramon!” she called with a genuine smile and a wave.
“Becca! What’s up?” A young Latino man beamed and leaned out of the truck's window. He was lanky, probably around Becca’s age. He still had a boyish ease about his movements. He wore a red backward cap and a large grey T-shirt. I studied the laminated menu on the side while he and Rebecca caught up.
“Oh my God, I’m being so rude. Babe, come here,” she yanked me over to the window.
“This is my fiancé, Sebastian,” she said.
Ramon grinned. “Shit, you’re one lucky guy!”
“How do you two know each other?” I asked. It was the first time I saw Rebecca express genuine excitement all day.
“He makes the best burritos in town. What can I say? I’m a regular.”
“And she makes a mean sugar cookie. You’ve gotta ask her to bake for you sometime, man.”
“Best burritos in town, huh?” My stomach rumbled.
“Well then, I’ll have an al pastor burrito and—”
“Chicken Tinga with no sour cream, extra hot salsa,” Rebecca chimed in.
“You didn’t have to tell me,” Ramon joked. “Y’all want chips with that?”
I glanced over at Rebecca and nodded.
“Sure thing, and extra salsa Verde if you have it.”
“You’re in luck; we have exactly one serving left.”
“Ramon, you’re my hero!” Rebecca joked, swooning. The difference between how she acted around her parents and around people she trusted was like night and day.
I went to insert my credit card into the chip reader, and Ramon waved me away.
“It’s on the house; consider it an engagement present.”
A couple of minutes later, Ramon passed two piping hot burritos our way. I peeled the foil wrapper off mine and took a bite. The pork was juicy and smoky, absolutely delicious. The beans were fresh. Rebecca was right. We walked and ate in contented silence.
“Do you know everyone in Boston?” I asked.
“No. But I’ve known Ramon since high school. He used to help out with his dad’s restaurant on 54th Street. Then he started this food truck a couple of years ago. He’s the best.”
“And he said you bake?”
