Page 82 of Better Late Than Never

Connor turned his menu over, and he sighed with obvious relief. “Oh, fuck yes.”

“What?” I turned my own menu over and immediately understood his reaction: the text was in English. “Oh, sweet.”

“I thought you knew their menu.”

“Not by heart, no.” I skimmed over the options. “Last time I was here, I got the steak. That was great. They have really good wine, too.”

He nodded as I spoke, furrowing his brow at the menu. “Damn. I must be hungry becauseeverythingsounds good.”

“Yeah, it does.”

In the end, we both ordered steak, and the decision wasn’t a difficult one. While we’d been hemming and hawing over all the amazing things on offer, the server brought two steaks to the couple at the table next to ours, and the smell was absolutely irresistible.

After she’d taken our order, Connor sat back in his chair, glass in hand. “Okay, so that was easy, but still—thank God for English menus.”

“I know, right? My Spanish is decent enough to get by, but an English menu isalwaysa relief.”

“Seriously.” He sipped his drink. “My Spanish is getting better, especially in restaurants. But I’m always afraid I’m going to order something weird by accident. Or just pronounce something the wrong way and insult someone.”

“There is that. My first year in Spain, I worked with a corpsman who couldn’t understand why her gardener gave her a weird look when she commented that it was hot out.” I laughed, shaking my head. “Our chief had to gently explain to her that in Spain, you don’t use ‘caliente’ to describe the weather. Or the heat of your food.”

Connor furrowed his brow. “Wait. How do youuseit?”

I thought about it, aware there were other people within earshot who might understand English. Lowering my voice, I said, “You’d use it to describe the things we did before we left for dinner.”

“Before we—ooh.” He burst out laughing. “Oh God. Did she basically tell her gardener she was horny?”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

“Oh, man. I woulddie.”

“She almost did.” I laughed. “She couldn’t look the poor guy in the eye for the rest of the time she was stationed here.”

“I don’t blame her. I’m surprised I haven’t made some horrible gaffe, but I’ve only been here a few months, so…” He half-shrugged.

“Give it time. You’ll get there. Or you’ll end up ordering the fried cuttlefish like I did.”

He shuddered and made the most hilariously disgusted face. After another drink, he asked, “So what other things should I try? Spanish food, I mean?”

“You can’t go wrong with most of it, honestly, especially if you like seafood.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He paused, then wrinkled his nose again. “Though I did try a place out on the beach in Rota that… Ugh. I don’t know what they did to those chicken thighs, but…” He shuddered again. “Never again.”

“I think I know the place you’re talking about. I ate there once, and it didn’t taste right. And another corpsman told me she’d seen three different people come in with food poisoning from that place.”

“OhGod.” Connor looked horrified. “And it’s still open?”

“We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Well, they won’t be getting any more of my money, that’s for sure.”

“Same. As far as things you should try…” I gazed out at the thin crowd and the orange trees in front of the restaurant. “Oh, there’s a place out in Cádiz, in the plaza in front of the cathedral where there’s a bunch of cafés. One of them—I’ll look up the name and text it to you later—they have this dish called patatas aliñadas.” I couldn’t help groaning. “God, it’samazing.”

Connor’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? What is it?”

“It’s kind of a potato salad, I guess? I know, I know, it doesn’t sound all that exciting. But it’s so good. They make it with olive oil and lemon juice, and then just some onions. That’s really all there is to it.” I blew out a breath as I reached for my drink. “Any time I go over to Cádiz, I have to put in an extra half hour or so at the gym just to make up for how much I stuff my damn face with potatoes.”

Connor snorted. “Okay, now I’m intrigued. It sounds really simple, but hey, some of the best dishes are.”

---