Page 58 of Just a Stranger

No sleepovers. No dates in public. No future.

Clean and simple. The perfect rebound relationship, or so I kept telling myself. After ten years with Matthew, Atley and I were a palate cleanser.

“Yes, Elena’s tacos are transcendent.” Gabriel wove between a few of the funky painted picnic tables that were scattered under the trees in the center of the ring of food trucks. He led us toward a purple one painted with enormous flowers, very psychedelic.

“Will us doing burgers step on any Elmer toes?” The burger looked spectacular on the Burger-licious Instagram page. They scratch-made the buns. Insane.

“That’s the chef who said they’d make them with our beef, right?”

“Yes.”

“Burgers with our beef aren’t really competing, and frankly, I feel like the burger game in Elmer is weak. I miss In-N-Out.” He sighed wistfully.

“For a Frenchman, you have a lot of passion for a California fast-food chain.” And a surprising grasp of American slang. I wondered how long he’d been in the states.

He shrugged and carefully put down the wine and food containers.

The table sat dead center in the South Austin food park. Around us, people of every race and age laughed and ate.The park attracted all kinds, from people who lived in the old craftsman-style houses in the neighborhood to adventurous eaters from the heart of the city. It was an eclectic crowd that reminded me a bit of some parts of Chicago.

“Let’s get this pairing organized.” With a flourish, Gabriel unpacked the first bottle and a corkscrew. He got to work popping the corks. I laid out the food. Each lid I opened released better and better smells. I was practically drooling.

It had been a hellishly long day. My feet hurt and my head was still spinning at all we’d accomplished. The granola bars and coffee we’d eaten between stores wore off hours ago. Gabriel and I had busted our asses today, and we deserved every bite of this food. And more wine than we could responsibly drink and drive back to Elmer.

Before I could ask about how we wanted to go about the pairing, Gabriel took over. He filled small plastic wine glasses with half pours of each type of wine and set them next to the dish he thought they complimented best. Then he started moving around the containers. He stepped back and considered his work, muttered a curse in French, and started over.

I left him to it while I looked at the food trucks. All were in good repair and brightly painted, and I could imagine any of them parked at Blue Star with people lined up to order. The food park manager and I had talked a few times on the phone. He had great connections to the funkier side of Austin’s culinary scene and saw an opportunity to promote his park with rotating food trucks at the winery. I saw one less moving part for me to oversee. Plus, it would get Blue Star some of the hottest food trucks in Austin.

It was a win-win. I’d drink to that as long as the food was good.

“Fini.” Gabriel waved his hands over the table.

“So start with…” I looked at the array of choices. The burger screamed,pick me firstto my empty stomach.

“Seafood, of course.”

“Of course.” With a laugh, I picked up the lobster roll and sunk my teeth into the overstuffed sandwich.

“Oh, sweet Trident of Neptune, that is better than Jason Momoa’s abs!” I mumbled around my bite as I passed Gabriel the roll that overflowed with buttery lobster cooked to perfection and dressed in the lightest tangy lemon mayo.

I took a sip of Blue Star’s chardonnay. The slight acid of the unoaked white wine cut the mayo on the shellfish beautifully. A great pairing and one of the best lobster rolls I’d ever had.

Gabriel took up his glass and drank. Head cocked, he considered the mix of flavors and nodded in approval.

“That’s a yes from me.” I wiped my lips with a paper napkin from the dispenser on the picnic table.

“You’re easy. I think seafood in the Texas summer heat might make me nervous from a food safety standpoint.”

“Valid consideration.” I mentally made a note to ask the food truck guy about the issue and get the health department inspections for any truck invited to the soft open or The Stomp.

“Cuban next.” Gabriel had an excited smile on his face as he moved the food container and wine glass in front of me. “It’s paired with the Viognier that we won an award for at last year’s Texas Wine Association competition.”

I dug my plastic fork into a steaming pile of rice and beans. The smell of cumin and oregano filled my nose. I had my fork poised to take my first bite when a familiar bark turned my head.

Rice, beans, and my fork clattered to the tabletop. Hyperventilating didn’t explain the thing happening to my lungs. I pointed because words were no longer an option.

It was…

What the…

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