“You do that, and I’ll take care of the beers. Have a preference? I brought a bunch of stuff from a brewery we opened a while back. IPAs, wheat beers, blondes…”
She looks at me. Eyes flicking up to my hair. Back to my face.
“I actually prefer brunettes. But a blonde sounds good.”
“Now who’s being shameless?”
“Learned from the best,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads for her bag.
I put the shade up—it’s really hot in the sun when you’re not moving—and crack open a couple cans of the blonde. The sweating aluminum feels deliciously cold in my hands. I turn to see Eva setting up a little picnic on the table at the back of the boat. Putting her beer in front of her—“Thanks!” she says with a smile—I watch her assemble some scrumptious looking tacos.
“Fish?” I ask.
“Yup. My mom actually came up with the idea. She helped me make these corn tortillas from scratch. Aren’t they beautiful?” She sets three small white corn tortillas on each of the paper plates she brought.
“They look amazing. Your mom really did make the best stuff.”
“Still does,” Eva replies, opening a handful of plastic containers. She takes a spoon and spreads what looks like guacamole on the tortillas. “We’ll start with a little avocado mashed up with lime, red onion, and salt.”
I glimpse at the container. “You left the avocado pits in there.”
“A trick my mom taught me. Helps the avocado stay green longer.”
“Genius.”
“Then”—Eva layers blackened filets over the avocado—“I grilled up some tilefish I got from my sister’s local supplier here in town. Kept the seasoning simple. On top of that, let’s try this peach and collard slaw I threw together. Dressed in a simple mayo and lime combo that I thought was pretty delicious. Another squeeze of fresh lime, and that’s it.”
My stomach rumbles audibly.
“Eva, this looks insane.”
“We’ll see. I feel very confident about my meat, but this stuff…” She shrugs, sliding a plate in my direction. “It’s a bit out of my wheelhouse. Here, sit.”
We tap beer cans, toasting the beautiful weather and even more beautiful tacos, and then we go to town on the food.
Well. I go to town. Eva eats slowly, sneaking glimpses at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
I grin, wolfing down my second taco in two enormous bites. The combination of the light fish with the hearty avocado and tangy, sweet slaw, all wrapped in the toothsome tortilla, is out of this world good. No doubt I have avocado all over my face. Dressing drips down my arm. I could care less.
Although I guess I know where Bryce gets her messy eating from.
“You’re nervous,” I say, catching the dressing with a napkin.
Eva chews her bite. Swallows. Grabs a sip of beer. “Well, yeah. I’ve talked to you a lot about my food. But now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever made anything for you. I definitely haven’t eaten my food with you before. Especially this kind of stuff—food that’s not, you know, some form of barbecued meat.”
“Don’t be. Nervous, I mean.” I gather my third taco in my hand. “Eva, this is fucking ridiculous. I’ve had fish tacos before, but never like this. The homemade tortilla, the local fish, the collard slaw—it’s delicious. And different.”
She smiles, her eyes lighting up as she scrunches her nose. “Thanks. I really appreciate that. Not gonna lie, I prepped this recipe thinking I might test it for the new cookbook. The one I can’t start for the life of me. My mom and dad and Alex are trying to help—”
“Please tell your sister I said hi. How is she doing, by the way?” I always got along with Eva’s family. I remember Alex being hilariously inappropriate and always upbeat. She really looked up to her older sister and had a lot of respect for her intelligence. Her ambition, too. I thought that was pretty cool.
Eva’s smile grows. “She’s good. She bitches and moans a lot these days, but that’s because I think she’s in love with one of her clients. But yeah, I’ll definitely tell her you said hello.” She takes another sip of beer. “Anyway. She and my mom seem to think trying some new stuff—out of the box ideas—might jump start my creative muse.”
“What do you think?”
“Me? Tough to say.” She trails the edge of her first finger up her beer can, gathering the condensation in the crook of her knuckle. “I enjoyed making all this. Mostly because I got to do it with Mom and Alex. It was fun to be in my parents’ kitchen with other people instead of standing in front of a smoker alone. But I’m known for being a pit master. I do meat. Smokers. Whole hog shit and beer can chicken on the grill. This—handmade tortillas, fish—it’s not the kind of food people expect from me.”