“I don’t know,” she groans. “I guess you can never go wrong with pasta?”
“Youguess? Hmhm, that’s not good enough. Back in college, you wereobsessedwith sushi.”
She thinks for a minute, folding her legs against herself, and circling them with her arms. “They’re fine, but I got over it. Oh, wait! I do love some good empanadas. But they’re not really—”
“Empanadas? Have you tried any since you got to Los Angeles?”
“No,” she frowns. “Why? Are they bad?”
“Oh, no,” I reassure her, fumbling with the tripod. “I was asking to know if you already had a favorite place to order them here. But since you don’t, I actually know a really good one.”
I program the timer to snap at random but also with a command on my phone—you never know, I might miss a perfect picture of her if I trust it 100%.
“We’re all set,” I smile, sitting on the blanket, facing her. “Should I order some empanadas, then?
“Are you sure? I mean, I really like them, but it’s kind of a comfort food, not really date food—”
“What do you consider date food?” I ask, leaning backward, using my hands as support.
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Something fancy? Empanadas can get messy.”
“Do you want something fancy?”
“No,” she blurts out. “I—I like empanadas.”
“Good,” I type the order on the app, picking a lot of different ones so she can have choices. I like them all, anyway. “Do you want to drink something?” I ask, standing up to fetch us something from the little fridge in the back of the room.
She seems to consider it for a moment, before she shakes her head, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
“Water is fine.”
“You know water is not the only non-alcoholic beverage that exists, right?”
She glares at me and I duck with a laugh when she throws her white sock at me.
“Hey, I’m just saying! You looked like you were having an internal argument with drunk you, over there. I have a couple of sodas, a bottle of pineapple juice, beers, and… An old bottle of Rum that I’m not sure anyone should drink.”
“Reassuring,” she chortles.
“The sodas, juice, and beers are good. I bought them this morning.”
“Hm… What soda?”
“I have sprite or coke.”
“Sprite, please.”
“Still not trusting your drunk self?” I chuckle, grabbing the cool can and a tall glass.
“Definitely not around you.”
I’m still laughing when I sit back with her and hand her her drink.
“Something wrong?” I ask, my smile dropping when I notice the weird expression on her face.
She sighs, her shoulders slumping a little as she rubs her forehead. “No, it’s just—The camera. It’s uh… I don’t like pictures. We were forced to take family pictures every Christmas, and even now, I have internal freak outs when I’m asked to pose in front of a camera.”
“The whole point here is you don’t have to pose. Come on, let’s talk while we wait for the food.”
