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As Henry comes back with our food, all smiles and happy excitement, I can’t help but think that if people had Patronuses, Henry’s would be a dog. A big, fluffy one.

“Holy crap,” he says. “You were totally right. Everything looks so good. Itsmellsamazing, too.”

Henry sets down a tray with all four of our tacos and a plastic to-go container with his fries. Our tacos look just as good as I remember them being, brimming with juicy, still-smoking meat, onions, pineapple chunks, and chilies.

When he’s settled back in his seat, Henry opens the container of fries and gapes at it. I don’t blame him. The carne asada fries take up the entire to-go container and are topped with avocado and generous layers of cheese and sour cream.

He takes pictures of our food, but after that, he just sits there, like he isn’t sure what to do next. Trying my best not to laugh, I give him a small nudge. “Go ahead. Try the food!”

“How am I supposed to grab the tacos off the plate without everything spilling out?” Henry asks, looking overwhelmed.

“Tacos get messy no matter how hard you try to be neat. It’s fine. It’s not like we’re at a fancy restaurant. We’re literally in the middle of a parking lot!”

“Fair.”

Before he picks up his first taco, Henry sheepishly hands me his phone. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

I don’t even have to ask to know what he means. I focus the camera on him and it’s like he’s a totally different person, suddenly every bit the model I know him to be. Even with the hoodie and glasses, his easy, sexy smile shines through, making him look ridiculously attractive. He looks like he belongs in an actual advertisement for tacos. If I sent El Flamin’ taco truck his picture, they’d probably gladly post it on their Instagram.

“God,” I say as I take the photo.

He frowns slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“How are you so photogenic?”

A startled laugh escapes from Henry’s lips, but he doesn’t say anything as he puts his phone away. He looks pretty embarrassed by how I’ve been scrutinizing him this whole time, so I take out my phone and snap a picture of our food.

“You know what? I rarely post on Instagram, but I’ll post a pic of our tacos, just for you. Consider it a little memento of our meal together.”

A little smile plays on Henry’s lips as he watches me post the picture on Instagram.

“Thanks,” he says, laughing. “I feel honored.”

In the end, Henry chickens out from eating first, so I grab one of my tacos, being careful to keep all of its contents within the tortilla as I take a bite. Henry watches me for a moment and then follows my lead, gingerly lifting one of his tacos to his mouth. At first, I’m worried that he’ll be too preoccupied with not making a mess to enjoy what he’s eating, but fortunately, he loosens up. By the time he’s done with his first taco, he’s reaching for the fries without a second thought, a bright, satisfied smile on his face.

“Feel free to have some of my fries, by the way,” he tells me as he happily digs in.

“Thanks!”

The food is so good that I actually forget how to talk until my plate is empty. Henry is equally preoccupied, so neither ofus say anything until we’re both finished with our tacos.

Henry leans back in his seat. “That was so good. Thanks for suggesting we go here, Skye.”

“Sure, no problem,” I reply. “I’m glad you got to eat something.”

We’re finishing off his fries, taking turns grabbing one long, cheesy stick after another from the container, when Henry asks, “Where are you off to after this?”

“Well,” I say, “normally, I’d go to my mom’s studio, since she works near here. But things haven’t been so great between us since she found out about the competition, so I might just take the metro to Union Station and ride the train home from there.”

“Let me give you a ride home. I’ll ask Steve and Portia. Where do you live?”

“Orange County. But really, you don’t have to. Traffic is probably bad right now.”

“Traffic’s always bad in LA.”

“True.”