Page 27 of Across the Boards

The line moves forward, and I find myself stepping slightly closer to her than strictly necessary. Not touching, just... nearby. Close enough to catch the scent of her perfume.

“What are you getting?” I ask, nodding toward the menu board.

“The fish tacos, obviously. That’s the whole point of this operation.”

“Just checking. Some people panic in the moment and order chicken burritos instead.”

“Who does that?”

“Tommy. Every time. Says he’s going to branch out, then panics and gets the same thing he always gets.”

She laughs. “Sarah’s the same with Chinese food. Swears she’s going to try something new, then always orders kung pao chicken.”

“Food compatibility. Very important in a relationship.”

“Is that why you and Tommy work so well together on the ice? Mutual burrito appreciation?”

“That, and he can’t shoot to save his life, so he has to pass to people who can.”

“Harsh,” she says, laughing. “Does he know you feel that way?”

“It was literally in my toast at his bachelor party. ‘To Tommy, who always knows when to pass the puck because he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.’”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”

We reach the front of the line, and Manuel greets me with a wide smile. “Brody Carter! You’re back in Phoenix!”

“Manuel! Good to see you, man.” I shake his hand warmly. “Still making the best fish tacos in the desert?”

“You know it.” His eyes shift to Elliot. “And you brought a beautiful woman! Your taste has improved since last time.”

I wince slightly, aware of how that might sound to Elliot. “Manuel, this is Elliot. My neighbor.”

“Ah, ‘neighbor,’” Manuel says with exaggerated air quotes. “Of course. What can I get for you and your... neighbor?”

Elliot smothers a laugh. “I’ll have three fish tacos with extra mango salsa, please.”

“Three?” I raise an eyebrow. “Ambitious.”

“I’m hungry,” she says with a shrug.

“Make that six total,” I tell Manuel. “And two waters.”

“Coming right up,” Manuel says with a knowing wink.

We settle at one of the picnic tables spread around the parking lot.

“So,” I ask, taking a bite of my second fish taco, “verdict on Manuel’s famous mango salsa?”

“Life-changing, as promised.”

I gesture toward the corner of her mouth, “But messy.” And watch with amusement as she dabs at it with a napkin.

“Hazard of proper taco enjoyment.”

“I disagree.” His voice dropped slightly, eyes never leaving mine. “The salsa on your lip was working for you.”

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