He nodded, and they both assessed the food trucks parked close by.
“Let’s try this one,” Duncan said, pointing to one with the least amount of people in front of it.
“What do they sell?” Retta asked as they both squinted to make out the shabby chalkboard menu.
When they neared the front of the line, the words “deep-fried poutine balls” became clear.
“That sounds vile,” she whispered, looking at him like he’d come up with the idea himself.
“We should at least give it a try. You don’t get deep-fried poutine every—”
The person directly in front of them who’d received his order turned around and took an enormous bite out of the creation. The brown gravy oozed, dripping down his chin and into his beard. Any resemblance to the beloved Québécois dish had been lost in the process of breading and frying it.
“What can I get for you folks?” the attendant asked, peering from the small food truck window above.
“Nothing.”
“We’re good, thank you.”
They spoke simultaneously.
Leaving the line as quickly as possible, they found a truck more in line with their tastes. They received their order of mac ’n’ cheese and pulled pork tacos and located a spare corner to stand and eat. The tangy slaw and the rich pork on the tacos were brightened with fresh avocado and cilantro. The macaroni wasn’t bad either.
However, Duncan couldn’t process what he was tasting once Retta softly grunted. He watched her tongue move across her bottom lip and the mechanics of her jaw and delicate throat. At one point, he stopped eating altogether because she closed her eyes and tipped her head back.
After her display of unintentional eroticism, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and asked, “You said your parents are both teachers?”
Duncan cleared his throat. “Yeah, all that pressure. They knew my teachers personally. Couldn’t get away with shit.”
“Are they still teaching?” Retta asked, smiling.
“My dad retired a few years ago, but my mom’s still going. And, of course, my sister is a teacher as well. I kinda rebelled in that sense.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“I got into boxing in high school, but I ended up training and competing on the side through college. I met Anthony at one of the gyms. I don’t know if I would’ve had the guts to start the business without him.”
“I’m sure your parents are proud,” she said.
“I hope so.”
“Is your dad anxiously waiting for your mom to retire? One of my uncles went back to work because he couldn’t stand being in the house alone.”
Duncan smiled wryly. “Nah, I think he’s good, seeing they’re getting a divorce and everything.”
“Shit.” Retta dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, nabbing the last taco. He didn’t want to dive into that conversation. It was better to quickly move on. “Let’s see what else there’s to eat.”
It was a bona fide skill at this point how Retta could put her foot in her mouth when Duncan was around. She hated that she’d broached that particular subject at a carnival of all places. However, she was determined to not mar their time together by harping on the mistake.
After getting grilled pineapple on sticks, Retta and Duncan walked deeper into the fairgrounds. They passed carnival games whose rules could be summarized by throw or hit a weird shaped object.
“Oh, a punching machine thing,” Retta said, pointing at the contraption.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Duncan said.
“Why? Your massive biceps?”
