“Same,” I reply. “Work has been ridiculously busy since someone in the universe declared it the start of the holiday season. I think I get asked ten times a day when we’re going to start carrying turkeys.”
A deep chuckle sounds from his throat. “Don’t get me wrong, turkey can be delicious, but why is it the standard for holiday meals? Personally, I’d rather have a Sunday roast with all the fixings.”
“What’s the traditional Christmas meal in Ireland?” I ask, glancing sideways at him.
“Turkey.” He winks at me, which only makes me blush. “What about your family? Do you follow Mexican customs or American?”
I laugh loudly. “Oh, definitely Mexican. Meals in general are a huge deal in our culture, but the holidays are anevent.The amount of food made could feed an entire army, which is about the size of most Mexican family get-togethers. We always make tamales, which may not sound like much, but thewholefamily gets involved. It’s one of the many traditions we don’t skip out on.”
“Don’t laugh,” Teagan starts, “but…what are tamales?”
I stop in my tracks and turn to gape at him in disbelief. “You don’t know what tamales are?”
He shakes his head sheepishly.
A laugh bursts from me, and I quickly cover my mouth with both hands. “I’m sorry. You asked me not to laugh. But really? You’ve never even heard of them.”
“Not from here, remember?” he says, pointing to his chest. “I was raised on a sheep farm. We ate mutton and potatoes.”
“Oh, we’re going to have to fix that,” I state resolutely.
“Yeah?” I can feel his eyes on me. “Are you going to make them for me?”
Hijole. Did I just agree to cook for Teagan?
“Uh…” I begin.
“Or I can just buy some right?” he asks hurriedly. “Surely they can be found in the grocery store, yeah?”
My head snaps up. “You are absolutelynotgoing to eat store-bought tamales for your first tamale experience. I imagine that would be the equivalent of me eating frozen fish sticks and saying I tried fish and chips.”
Teagan grimaces. “Ach, you’re right. So where does that leave us?”
I like being referred to as anus.
“Alright, O’Brien. I’ll make some tamales.”
The grin that spreads across his face is blinding.
“But,” I add, not quite believing what I’m about to say, “you have to help make them.”
“It’s a date,” he answers without hesitation. “Now, tell me what’s in them.”
Turning to resume walking, he motions for me to follow. I’m still trying to process how we went from discussing Christmas traditions to planning a…date.Like an actual date? Why is this so hard for me to wrap my brain around? I’ve dated before. The last one… When was the last one? Definitely before moving to North Carolina, and it hadn’t gone well at all.
“You still with me, lass?” Teagan asks, concern knitting his brow.
“Yes! Sorry, just got lost in a thought,” I admit. “What did you ask again?”
“I wanted to know what’s in tamales,” he says patiently.
“Right. Tamales.”
I begin explaining the process as we stroll past the amphitheater and head towards the library. He’s a great listener, asking questions when he doesn’t understand something and repeating the process back to me, using his hands to mime the actions. By the time we reach our destination, he’s convinced himself that he’s already a professional tamale maker and is going to open up a food truck. My laughter only encourages his antics.
“I’m offended that you think my dreams of opening Teagan’s Traveling Tamale Truck are so funny, love. This has been my life’s work,” he says, scowling playfully.
“Tamal. Just one is tamal. Plural is tamales,” I correct him.
