Page 12 of Just Can't Fall for the Enemy

Mack returned with two heaping trays of chips and a bowl of salsa just in time to hear Tanner’s question. He scowled. “Not a good subject for Sophita,muchacho.”

As Mack set the food down and strode away, Tanner’s mouth rounded into an O. “I’m sorry. It was clumsy of me to ask such personal questions.”

“It’s not a big deal. I just don’t like talking about my parents.”

“Then let’s talk about anything else.” He adjusted the phone sitting on the table, which I now saw recorded my every word. “Local birds? I’m guessing you don’t have many flamingos here.”

His joke made my frown quirk upward a bit, but the damage was done. “Not exactly. Let’s talk about you. Why Costa Rica? I don’t remember seeing an episode about your time there.”

“It was the first place I ever traveled without my family, fresh out of high school. I spent the summer there with a friend and fell in love with thePura Vida. After that, I couldn’t stop exploring the world. I hopped from there to Nicaragua to Honduras to Guatemala and then Belize. Most Americans know about Cancun in Mexico, but there’s so much to see and experience in those other countries. It’s really remarkable how much history and culture exist that we live entire lifetimes knowing nothing about.”

His words stirred something in my heart, an ache I’d buried long ago—a longing to explore the world and experience different cultures, different languages. Different perspectives and ways of thinking. Above all, seeing all the animals of the world and defending them in a way I couldn’t do from a Forest Agency booth.

But my city-folk parents had converted to small-town life in a big way. When I came along, this entire town became my instant family. Each time I expressed a desire to go on vacation like my friends and see the world, Mom said exactly the opposite of what Tanner said—people lived entire lifetimes without truly exploring their homes and the people who lived nearby. That it was quality and depth, not quantity and breadth, that mattered. That we needed to see and appreciate every inch of this beautiful countryside before setting our sights elsewhere. It wasn’t until I was seventeen that I realized her objections were rooted in fear and grief.

Then they’d decided to risk flying back to Manhattan to celebrate their twentieth anniversary—and never returned.

“Books can do the same thing, you know,” I said softly.“Immerse you in other cultures.”

“So does YouTube, except it’s more accessible to youth. That’s exactly why I’m here—to educate people who wouldn’t know about any of this otherwise. My maternal grandparents were French, and my dad is second generation Italian-American, so my brother and I grew up surrounded by international culture.” He shrugged. “I think I was always meant to travel. It’s in my blood.”

Then travel right on out of here,I wanted to say, but instead, I bit my lip. “That love of travel comes across in your videos. No wonder your subscribers like you.”

He shoveled salsa onto a chip, took a bite, and nodded approvingly. “I do love my job. I don’t love the trolls online, though. And I’ve had a few stalkers over the years. One woman guessed which city I was in, called all the hotels, and pretended to be my assistant so they’d give her my room number. She showed up at my door and said she was meant to be my cohost. Something about destiny.”

I chuckled. “Let me guess—you didn’t take her up on that incredible offer.”

“Not exactly. She didn’t like my answer. She actually went to the police and said I was stalkingher.That was a fun week, let me tell you. I didn’t end up doing a show there, and I hope to never go back.”

So that’s what it would take.Guilt stung me. I wanted him gone, but I would never stoop to such horrible tactics. “I had a homeless patron propose to me once. He tried to live high up in a tree. Built a treehouse and everything. Since it’s federal land, we had to evict him and tear the treehouse down, which is a shame because it was pretty cool. I hear he’s living in a shelter now.”

“That’s good. I’m guessing you didn’t take him up on his offer either?”

“Sadly, no. Although I do have a thing for scraggly beards.”

We laughed and fell into conversation about the ridiculous comments he’d gotten online and funny park tourist stories. This felt normal. Comfortable. Not as formal and uptight as a date but like two friends chatting. By the time Mack returned with our food, I’d almost forgotten about my plan.

The plate full of orange sauce brought that purpose front and center. My shoulders tensed as Tanner looked at his food and took a video of it with his fancy camera, which hung around his neck. I didn’t even notice him bring it in. Then he brought a fork of chimichanga to his mouth. He closed his lips around it, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.

I gripped my fork and knife like they were about to save my life.Did Mack decide not to help me after all because he liked the guy? Maybe Tanner was used to hot food since he’d lived in South America for so long, and none of this would even matter.

But a second later, his eyes bulged. He swallowed again, his face turning red, and he grasped for his drink. I flinched as he gulped several swallows before choking and launching into a coughing fit.I reached out as if to help, then withdrew my hand.

“You okay,muchacho?” Mack asked. He hadn’t left after delivering our food. Maybe he wanted to see the stranger’s reaction to the hottest sauce and spiciest drink in town. Or maybe he felt protective of the poor guy. Mack snapped his fingers and said, “Be right back” before trotting away.

The entire restaurant watched us now. Tanner’s face turned beet red, borderline purple, and he couldn’t stop coughing. I wanted to pound the guy on the back, but would that embarrass him further? He was a grown man, after all.

Moments later, Mack returned with a glass of milk and a plate of flour tortillas. “Try this. Bread is best, but I don’t have.”

Tanner waved a grateful hand, downed the milk, and shoved half a tortilla into his mouth. Then his shoulders slumped in relief. “Gracias,amigo.”

“My pleasure.” Mack gave me a stern look before stalking out.

“Not a fan of heat, eh?” I said weakly.

“Nah, I love heat.” He coughed one more time and grabbed another tortilla. “Just not heat the size of Mount Everest. Man, that sauce would burn the hair right off a bear.”

“Fur,” I corrected. “Bears have fur.”

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