Page 38 of Red Flag, Green Light

So much for life insurance.

Mars

I’m in love. Again. More. Double love. Triple? I don’t know. Whatever love I was in previously, exponentially multiply it by infinity.

“Having a set Taco Bell order does a disservice to all the new items that are constantly coming out. Could we mourn the 7-layer? Yes.Orwe could memorize what a 7-layer is and take full advantage of the Taco Bell app, which provides total customization.” Ceres takes a bite out of her Beefy 5-layer and sips her Cinnabon Delight Iced Coffee. “My meal today was five dollars and thirty-four cents. This?” She points at her unopened Cheesy Gordita Crunch. “Free. Normally, five seventy-nine.” Her hazel eyes narrow. “This single free item costs as much as everything else I’ve ordered. And you know what? This box won’t be here in a few months. Something else will appear. And I’ll play the game again.Favorite order.” She scoffs, ridiculing what I had assumed was a standard Taco Bell small talk question. “Don’t be disrespectful. I might not leave my house these days, but once upon a time, my blood was ninety-five percent Mild Sauce and five percent whatever blood actually is. I put mild sauce on my cereal once, just to see what the world was missing. Nothing, mind you. But nowIknow.”

I have been educated. My life is changed, forever. I’ve been naive, ignorant, oblivious! So, in my delusion, I say what I’m thinking without first filtering my thoughts througha cheesecloth ofhaha, that is not actually socially acceptable, Mars.“What’s your opinion on Taco Bell weddings?”

Ceres lifts a brow, taking a long drag from her drink. “Like, catered? The burritos will get cold.”

My head shakes as I finish one of my Spicy Potato Soft Tacos. “Not catered. As a location.”

“The Taco Bell building. As a location. For a wedding?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s much more sensible than catering. Then the food can be made fresh and warm on-site after the vows, or whatever happens at a wedding. If you’re rich enough for it, make it an open bar, but it’s Taco Bell, not alcohol.”

If I hadn’t just put a nacho in my mouth, I would be asking Ceres to marry me. I don’t know how someone so perfect for me could even exist. I thought soulmates only appeared in fantasy books, but here she is. Mine. Opening her third item from Taco Bell as though she could consume her entire order all over again.

I want to write sonnets in her honor.

I want to order one of everything on the menu for her.

I want her. Badly.

She should always be happy and comfortable. Always safe. Always spoiled.

I wonder if I should open a trust fund in her name or take out a second life insurance policy for her. Then Jovey and Ceres can get millions if I perish unexpectedly.

My unexpected demise isn’t impossible, after all. My inability to marry this woman within a reasonable timeframe—yesterday—might just kill me.

It’s very good to be prepared.

While I’ve blacked out to plan both a future together and a future without me, she has stopped talking. Eating one of her own nachos, she scrolls on her phone and hums. Referencing the schedule I emailed to her, she says, “Permits and venue are upfirst. That makes sense. Do you have a location in mind?”

“There’s my old school gym or the fairgrounds.”

“With a gym, we wouldn’t have to worry about weather, but the parking is better at the fairgrounds, and you do also want rides.”

I dip another of my nachos. “Rides are great. The fairgrounds also have the auditorium, so if the weather sucks, we can make a backup plan so vendors won’t be impaired.”

“The cost is something to consider.”

It would be, if I left Jove with access to all our funds. The man burns money like he’s allergic to the stuff. Which is why I do not provide him full access to our accounts, or explain the repercussions of my life insurance policy, or delineate the result of any investments I make. “Money isn’t a concern.”

“Are we going to advertise this event beyond Bandera to ensure we make a profit?”

“Profit isn’t the concern.”

Ceres lifts her attention off her phone.

“This is a passion project,” I clarify. A passion project for Jove, if she’ll recall, but I don’t want to mention him right now, or in front of her, ever again.

She blinks. “Ah. A passion project.” She lowers her gaze. “Like mail.”

Like…mail? My eye twitches, and I set thought of my food aside in order to lean in. “Little goddess?”

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