Page 21 of A Brambleberry Summer

“There it is. Yay. I’m starving!”

Seven-year-old boys always seemed to be starving. “Are you going to get the usual? A soft chicken taco and a churro?”

“Yes!”

The taco truck was busy, as usual. The food here was fresh and invariably delicious. He and Logan joined the queue and were talking about some of the things they planned to do that weekend when Logan’s face suddenly brightened.

“Look who’s here! Hi, Rosa. Hi, Fiona. Hank, look. It’s your friend Fiona!”

Hank sidled up to greet Fiona with enthusiastic sniffing, as if they hadn’t seen each other for months, while Wyatt tried to calm the ridiculous acceleration of his heartbeat.

He had not been able to stop thinking about Rosa since the night of the storm.

She beamed at his son but avoided meeting his gaze. Was it deliberate or accidental?

“¡Buenas,Logan!¿Cómo estás?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means ‘good evening. How are you?’”

“How do I say I’m good?”

“You can saysoy buenoor justbueno.”

“Bueno,”Logan said, parroting her.“¿Cómo estás?”

She smiled.“Soy buena.”

Wyatt had to again fight the urge to kiss her, right there in front of everyone in line.

“This is our favorite taco truck,” Logan told her. “Do you like tacos, too? Oh, yeah. You probably do because you speak Spanish.”

He winced at his son’s cultural misassumption but Rosa didn’t seem offended. “Except I am from a country called Honduras and these are tacos from Mexico. I like them very much, though. The owner is also my friend.”

They reached the order window at that moment and the owner in question, Jose Herrera, ignored Wyatt for a moment to greet Rosa in Spanish.

Wyatt had taken high-school Spanish and had tried to work on his language skills over the years. Unfortunately, he still understood best when Spanish speakers spoke slowly, which didn’t happen often in general conversation.

He had no idea what the guy said. Whatever it was, it made Rosa laugh. She answered him in rapid-fire Spanish, which sparked a belly laugh in Herrera.

“Go ahead and order,” Wyatt said to her.

“You were here first.”

“We’re still trying to decide,” he lied.

She gave her order then stepped aside for him and Logan to do the same.

“Don’t forget my churro,” Logan instructed.

“How could I?” Wyatt smiled at his son.

When he finished, the three of them moved together to one of the open picnic tables set around the truck that overlooked the beach.

“And how are you, Señor Logan?” Rosa asked.

“Señor means ‘mister.’ We learned that in school.”

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