8 Chapter 8

Mari wheels into a parking lot near the lake and throws the shifter into park.

“Where’s the restaurant?” I ask.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Mari opens her door and I do the same. We walk along side by side toward the blue of the lake in the distance. The breeze off the water is cool and the sun glinting off the ripples on its surface is making me squint.

Smells of cooking are wafting through the air, but from where I do not know. But soon we round a small bend and there it is, tucked under the shade of a big mature oak, a little food truck with a crowd of about a dozen people lined up beside it.

“Looks pretty busy today,” Mari remarks as we take our place at the end. “If you don’t have the time…”

“That’s okay. It’s authentic, right?” I scooch up beside her and lean my head on her shoulder. I have no idea what possesses me to get so friendly, but Mari doesn’t seem inclined to move away so I just go with it. “I’ve always got time for authentic.”