Page 16 of Lost Love on 6th Street

We stop in front of a car which I realize is hers when she starts shoveling through her bag for her keys. “It wasn’t too bad, but I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

I gnaw on my lower lip for a moment. “You busy right now?”

Eleanor stops searching and finally looks up at me. “Why?”

“I owe you,” I say. “For being late.”

She smiles, eyes rolling upward. “No, Luke, really, it’s fine. You helped me out with Kenny. You did your part of the deal, so—"

“No, no, no. Kenny made me promise I’d be a gentleman, and I am nothing but,” I say. “Let me buy you lunch.”

Eleanor’s eyes widen through her glasses.

“For the trouble,” I clarify, though if she didn’t mind it being a pass, I’d let it be one. “Besides, I know the best taco joints in the city and if you’re going to be living in Austin, you need to know the right spots for tacos.”

Eleanor glances at her car, then back at me. She smiles. “Okay, fine. I’ll allow it.”

* * *

Eleanor and I sit across from one another at a picnic table, narrowly shaded by an umbrella emblazoned with the Coca-Cola logo. The smell of sizzling meat wafts through the air and is making me salivate.

“Best tacos in Austin are served in a dusty parking lot, huh?”

I glance around the parking lot. “What’s wrong with the parking lot?”

Her lips curl up and she shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I never would have come here on my own.”

“Well, you’re going to love it, I promise,” I say before swigging a sip of my Topo Chico.

Eleanor triangulates her fingers on the tabletop. “So, Bobby Sutton . . .”

“Yeah?” I say.

“Who’s that?”

I take off my hat and place it on the table, running my fingers through my sweaty hair. Summer in Austin doesn’t mean I can’t look put together. I’m built for this kind of weather. “He’s a jazz musician. One of the best in the city and has been for I don’t even know how long.”

“And he owned The Lone Star?”

“He ran it,” I correct. “But even I didn’t know that until I heard it from Kenny.”

She looks off at the line of patrons forming in front of the truck service window. “So, you really do know a lot about this city, huh?”

I smirk. “The music scene at least. Were you questioning that?”

Eleanor shakes her head. “No, I just didn’t know exactly what I was getting into with you inserting yourself into my investigation.”

“Okay, Nancy Drew. Didn’t realize you were going full on sleuth mode here . . .”

Eleanor takes her cup of horchata and sips it, a sneaking smile on her lips.

My mind lingers on that word—“inserting.” “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve forced myself into this, I was just trying to help.”

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” she replies. “I appreciate it. Seriously.”

Our eyes meet for a moment and my heartbeat quickens.

“But I can’t help but wonder why you’re so interested in helping a stranger figure out some details about a photo that has nothing to do with you,” Eleanor says with a shrug of one shoulder.

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