Page 84 of Triggered By Love
“I caught you looking through my sketchbook,” she said. “I knew you’d be nosy.”
Since he was caught, he grinned and poked her shoulder with his index finger.
She swatted his hand aside. “Did you know porcupine quills are barbed so they pierce easily but are hard to withdraw?”
“At your peril,” he answered. “I poke and don’t withdraw.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Popo’s might bea tiny hole in the wall, but it has a big heart,” Jason said to Avery as he found a parking spot not far from Ivanna’s neighborhood.
“How does one measure the heart of a restaurant?” She made an exaggerated smirk to counter his know-it-all-ness. How mortifying was it to have him know she’d been doodling him right before he’d come over? Prickly pear or prickly peril that he was.
Why was he always the expert making judgments, as if he were the authority? Then again, the way Jason steered her body toward the storefront lodged between two larger buildings was firm and protective in a way she craved.
Inherently, he cared about her safety. He always put his body between her and the curb or any stranger walking by.
“You’re an artist; you should know.” He opened a brightly painted but dented and dinged turquoise door.
“Explosions of color.” Avery gasped at the clashes of fire-engine red, rich-cobalt blue, school-bus yellow, and jungle-parrot green of the gaily painted benches, chairs, and tables over a patchwork tile floor. The walls were spray-tan orange and decorated with indigenous fabrics and capes. Each picnic-style table sported a large jar of fresh flowers.
“Señor Jason!” A wizened-faced woman with thin wispy strands of gray hair sticking out from her pink bandana appeared from the kitchen. “Do you have a tip for Popo?”
“A tip and a hug.” Jason enfolded the older woman into his arms. “Brought my best girl for you to stuff full.”
“Your only girl.” Popo giggled and turned her gap-toothed smile at Avery. “My, but you are a beauty. Are you a suspect in one of those crimes he’s always investigating?”
“Popo!” Jason exclaimed in mock indignation. “Avery Cockburn is my girl. Nothing to do with any crimes.”
“Oh, and here I thought she stole your big heart.” Popo held out her hands for a hug. “Nice to meet you, Avery.”
“Pleased to meet you, too,” Avery said. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
Popo propped her ear close to Avery so she could whisper.
“He keeps that heart of his too well-guarded for a common thief.”
“Aye, but you’re no common thief.” Popo’s smile glinted knowingly. She picked up a pair of raggedy menus and led them to a corner table. “Jason’s favorite perch.”
“Where I can watch everyone coming and going,” Jason said, taking Avery’s hand and giving it a squeeze. He didn’t seem taken aback by her accusation of his imprisoned or bank-vaulted heart.
For the next hour, Avery and Jason quaffed horchata, a sweet, milky, non-dairy drink made of ground rice and ground morro seeds while sampling the various pupusas Popo put in front of them.
Balls of dough, made of masa, or ground corn flour, were stuffed with pureed beans, cheese, pork, or chicken. The ball was closed up in the back and flattened by hand into cakes. The pupusas were grilled, resulting in a delicious mixture of flavors melted together on the inside and crunchy on the outside.
“Each one is made with love,” Popo said, hovering over their shoulders. The pupusas were served with a crunchy slaw of cabbage, carrot, and onion dressed with spices and cider vinegar.
“Try them all,” Jason urged, smiling at Avery like he was a proud papa of a daring child.
“They’re all so good.” Avery licked her fingers and hummed long and low at the bite of chicharron and plantain filled pupusa. “I’ve never tasted something that goes together so well. Savory and sweet with a touch of spice.”
“Just like the two of you,” Popo said, evidently intent on being a matchmaker. “And from the sounds you’re making, I’m betting there’s more than enough heat for the night.”
She winked and nudged Jason who at least had the grace to blush.
“Avery’s a real professional, er, I mean, a professional fashion designer.” Jason stumbled over his words. “We’re going to look over the choreography of her upcoming show.”
“The Manhattan Fashion Week?” Popo put down the pitcher of horchata she was pouring and clasped her hands together. “It’s the grandest show on earth. All those colors and styles. I love fashion shows. Do you think you can get me a pass, Jasonlito?”
