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“Is there any way you could make it decaf?” Becca asked.
Ramon paused in thought. “I don’t have decaf espresso, but I do have regular horchata, and I know Cindy with Dover Doughnuts has iced decaf. You could get some iced decaf, and I could throw some horchata in?” Ramon suggested.
“That sounds lovely!” Becca said.
“I’ll grab it for you so you can finish setting up,” I said.
“Thanks, babe,” Becca beamed, pressing a kiss on my cheek. Usually, PDA made me antsy, but like most things with Becca, the fact that it was her made up for any discomfort.
I walked along the row of stalls, watching vendors haul their own tinfoil trays. Finally, I arrived at Dover Doughnuts.
“Excuse me, do you have any iced decaf coffee?” I asked.
“Sure do. Do you need any room for cream?” The young Black woman working the stall asked.
“I don't think so,” I said. The woman handed me the cup, and I fished a $5 bill out of my pocket.
“Thanks so much. It’s for my wife. She’s pregnant,” I rambled. Again, I was never one to tell strangers I was taken, but with Becca, it was hard to suppress the urge to let every passing townsperson know I was going to be someone’s dad.
“Aw, congratulations! If you’re looking for decaf coffee, we do roast our own beans. Here’s our card,” she handed me a small business card, and I tucked it into my pocket.
“Thanks so much,” I said with a wave.
I returned to our stall and handed Becca the cup of decaf, which she dumped into a half-full cup of horchata. She swirled the two together with a plastic straw and took a sip. “Perfect. Sebastian, you really should try the dirty horchata. It’ll change your life.”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like I have to try it!” I said. Ramon handed me a small cup filled with what looked like milky coffee, but when I took a sip, it was so much more than that. I tasted hints of nutmeg and cinnamon, and the rice milk was bracingly cold and perfect for the already scorching day.
“That’s incredible!” I exclaimed, taking an even bigger sip.
I bit into my breakfast taco, the chorizo was spicy and smoky, and the queso fresco melted in my mouth.
“You two really lucked out being right next to each other,” I noted.
“That’s because I emailed the coordinator and asked to be put next to The Cookie Cove,” Ramon explained.
“And then I emailed the coordinator and asked to be put next to Corazon Tacos,” Becca added.
“Dream team,” Ramon piped up.
“Dream team,” Becca affirmed.
“Speaking of, where’s my free cookie?” Ramon asked.
Becca popped the plastic tops off the three trays on the table, “Okay, these are the new flavors for the week. We’ve got a breakfast cookie with chocolate, peanut butter, shredded coconut, and dried cherries, thanks to Sebastian. Then we’ve got a lemon poppyseed cookie, a sugar cookie with a lemon poppyseed glaze, and a S’mores cookie, a graham cracker cookie mixed with dark chocolate chunks and toasted marshmallows.”
“Oooh, lemme try the S’mores!” Ramon said.
Becca grabbed a napkin and handed Ramon a S’mores cookie. He took a hearty bite and swallowed.
“You never miss,” he said.
“Neither do you! This rules,” I said, taking another bite of my taco.
“It’s the dirty horchata that makes it. I’m surprised you’re not having any, Becca. I’ve seen you shotgun canned cold brew like it’s a beer more than once.”
“I’m laying low on caffeine for a bit. I’m pregnant,” Becca said with a grin.
Ramon slapped the table in surprise. “No way! Congratulations! Do you need someone to cater your baby shower? Do you need anything? Why the hell are you standing?” Ramon whipped around and set a metal folding chair next to our table.
