Page 75 of The Plus-One List

“Am I allowed to eat now?” I ask wryly.

He’s already taken a massive bite of his taco, moaning as his eyes roll back in his head. I dig in.

Oh, the explosion of joy that erupts in my mouth. How can food taste this good? The salsa gives off just the right amount of heat, and the crunch of lettuce contrasts with the firm juicy shrimp. I quickly devour the whole thing then turn my attention to the others.

The pork loin! The tender meat has been marinated in some kind of rich spicy sauce, then shredded. The sharp bite of red onion and the creamy slice of avocado create a panorama of flavors and textures. The squash blossom is really interesting, with an earthy heartiness, topped with more avocado plus strands of salty, shredded Oaxaca cheese.

When our plates are clean and our glasses empty, Agustín leans back in his chair. “Want to try a couple more?” he asks.

“Si,” I say, and he chuckles. The light through the awning dusts his hair with patches of reddish gold. I can’t help the way my eyes greedily trace the line of his arm as he raises a hand to signal Dolores. Maybe it’s the food, or the mezcal, or the pleasant ambiance of the restaurant, but I’m feeling very relaxed. My knee still hovers a mere inch away from Agustín’s. I watch him as he talks to Dolores, the sharp curve of his jaw, the width of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose. He’d make a beautiful subject for painting.

I laugh at myself because I sound like an idiot. But I also kind of don’t really care. Maybe it’s okay to sound like an idiot sometimes. I’m just feeling however I feel.

It’s almost like I have permission here, so far away from everything I’ve ever known. There are no ghosts haunting me, no routines to keep. I’m completely untethered and rather than scary, it’s kind of … freeing.

“What?” Agustín asks as Dolores bustles away.

“Nothing,” I say. My phone pings, and it’s a text from Miriam on the Pack thread. She’s sent a photo of Pip, peeing on one of the sparkly poufs while making direct eye contact with the camera.

Miriam: This motherfucker.

“Oh no,” I gasp, as Agustín laughs.

“This does not surprise me,” he says.

But the Wheels has started to spin, click-click-clicking in my chest until it lands on They’re Probably Mad at You, because Miriam must be so, so mad at me. I should never have asked her to take Pip, he’s terrorizing her cats and destroying her furniture, what was I thinking—

My phone pings again.

Miriam: But I love him. And so does Checkers!

Another photo appears of the two of them, orange tabby and black chihuahua, curled up together in that enormous circular chair by the window.

Suddenly, Gretchen chimes in with a pic of her own.

Gretchen: We took Charleston to the park today

The photo shows Charleston in a stroller, tongue lolling out, Begonia holding up a fallen, orange-gold leaf for him to smell. The Wheel slows. No one is mad at me. And look at how happy Charleston is. Agustín slings his arm around the back of my chair as he leans forward to get a better look. Several things happen at once.

His fingers brush against my back.

His hair flops into his eyes, sending a wave of his scent toward me.

His knee crosses that inch of space between us and presses into mine.

EEEEEEEEEEEP!

That’s not a slice on the Wheel, and it’s not a reaction I’ve felt before. The Wheel feels oddly distant in this moment, in fact. There’s a faint ringing in my ears. I’m acutely aware of each unique beat of my heart.

Our knees are touching.

OUR KNEES ARE TOUCHING.

It’s like my knee has sprouted a thousand new nerve endings, every one of them focused on that gentle pressure between us.

His face is so close to mine. My gaze skims over his mouth again, as it curves into a smile. My fingers ache to brush his hair back, to feel it, thick and sun-warmed, against my knuckles.

Dolores returns with more food and two bottles of beer. And while Agustín chats with her, and Cilantro gives my wrist a quick lick, we don’t break apart. We stay knee-connected. Even as we eat. I try these thick oblong tortillas that Agustín tells me are called tlacoyos.