Two Masked Hearts - ✓ #WattysShorts

Five

I wore cute jean shorts and a floral cold-shoulder top. Despite it being well into September, I still felt warm walking from my jeep to the restaurant under the quickly setting sun. My phone said I had arrived, and sure enough, I saw Miles standing in a t-shirt and jeans under a large sign that said, "LETTUCE ON THE BOTTOM."

I giggled a little at the name. "What is this place?" I asked as I approached him, standing a safe six feet away with my sunflower mask on. I wondered if it was new because I'd never been here before.

"It's only the best taco place in all of northern North Carolina."

"We're getting tacos?" I asked, feeling a rush of excitement.

"Yeah, is that okay? I didn't even ask if you like tacos."

"I love tacos," I assured him.

This seemed to relax him a little, and I noticed him smile. I saw it in his eyes, but I also saw the way one of his ears lifted a little. "Good. Do you also like flowers?" he asked, his eyes glancing at my shirt.

I felt a little heat rush to my cheeks. This was one of my favorite things about masks: even though it was a lot less comfortable to breathe, it hid all of your facial expressions. And your secrets. "Yeah, I guess so."

"It's just the only thing I've ever seen you in is flowers. Your dress, your mask, and now your shirt."

I felt another rush of excitement at him noticing my outfit in my stomach. But then I remembered this was friendly and that who knows, maybe he was gay. "I like sunflowers," I told him.

"I like peonies."

I was taken a back, a little. I guess I forgot that guys could like flowers, too. "Those are pretty," I agreed.

"My mom used to get them and put them out in the kitchen for us to admire. Peonies are the symbol for good fortune. She hoped it would bring us that, too."

I was amazed by his ability to be an open book. I struggled not to laugh at that analogy, being that he worked at a bookstore. "That's an incredible story. I just like the way the sunflowers look," I admitted sheepishly.

"Not everything has to have a reason to explain something. Some things just are." Before I could search for any hidden meanings or clues to what made Miles this person, he exclaimed, "I'm famished! You ready to eat?"

I nodded eagerly. "Yes please."

* * *

We walked the tacos down past the grocery store to sit on rocks by the water. We sat four big rocks apart, which gave us plenty of room to take off our masks. I could see where the land curved around a ways away into beach, where I thought I could see a tiny speck of our beach house.

I held two huge tacos in my hand. I had insisted I could eat three, but Miles assured me that they were enormous. He did not lie, that was for certain. I unwrapped one of them, being sure to use hand sanitizer first, and admired the beautiful taco. Golden cheese was melted over the meat, decorated with tomatoes, and tucked under that was a row of bright green lettuce.

Over the water hitting the rocks, Miles said loudly, "They put the lettuce on the bottom. That way it's so much less messy." Suddenly, the weird name made sense to me.

"That's so smart!" I shouted, amazed by the revelation.

"Isn't it?" he agreed. I inspected the taco in total awe. "Eat it. You'll be even more amazed."

I put the taco in my mouth, the shell crunching a little, but only a few pieces of meat falling out. "Oh my God," I mumbled then said louder, "this is amazing!" I took another big bite.

"Like I said, best tacos in northern North Carolina. Maybe the east coast."

"There's one back home in Virginia that I go to all the time." I looked over at Miles to see him looking at me, listening intently, his taco still whole in his hand. From the distance, I couldn't really make out his face, but he seemed nice. No, he was nice, I decided. "It's crazy good. But this is better. Maybe it's the water, or the size—"

"Or the company," he added.

I laughed. "Definitely that," I smiled at him, and though we were joking, I meant every word of what I said.

We stopped talking for a while to finish our tacos. I got pretty full by the end, but I was sure to finish every single bite. I admired the view for a while, the lighthouse off to our right, the sun now well below the horizon. I got a rush of chills and realized how cold it had gotten.

"Cold?"

I looked over to Miles, who must have been watching me. Now he had on an unzipped sweater. "Yeah, a little."

"I'd give you my jacket, but that probably wouldn't be very safe."

"Probably not," I agreed. "It's okay, I have one in my car."

"I'll walk you there." I smiled to thank him for the gesture, then wondered if he could even see it through the night. The lighthouse had turned on, and that gave us a faint glow along with the moon high in the sky, but the darkness still swallowed us, giving me an unnerved feeling.

I put on my mask as Miles walked over to me, reaching out to take my trash. "So what's your story?" I asked him.

"My story?" he asked, maybe not understanding my question.

"Yeah, like are you from here? How long have you been here? When did you start at the bookstore?"

"I've lived here pretty much all my life. My mom grew up in a town not too far from Scuppernong. Neither of them went to college. My dad actually grew up here. He was a fisherman." I swallowed at his use of the past tense. "He passed away when I was fourteen."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." I hated myself for not knowing what to do when someone tells you their father died.

"Thanks. He was a good man. He did his best to provide for us." He scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk. "Anyway, my mom owns the bookstore, and I help pick up shifts when she needs it."

He couldn't see it, but my jaw dropped. "Your mom owns the bookstore?"

"Mhm." He nodded.

"I've been going there for years. I beg my parents to go every time we come here. That's crazy. I can't believe we've never met before."

"Yeah. I don't really work there very often. When I'm not in school, I spend a lot of my time at the harbor helping fishermen unload."

"Because of your father?" I asked. "This is me, by the way." I pointed to my jeep.

"Yeah," Miles said, stopping next to the car. I opened the passenger door and reached for my sweatshirt. It was a Mary Washington sweatshirt, one of the many spirited items for a school I wouldn't be attending for another year. I pulled it over my head, quickly brushing down my now messy hair with my hands. "MaryWash?" he asked, reading my sweatshirt.

"University of Mary Washington. I'm gonna go there next year. Where do you go?"

"Community college. I'm a sophomore. It's not too far, and I save a lot of money living at home. I use what I make at the harbor to pay for it, plus my mom gives me whatever extra she has."

Part of me was surprised by his answer. I grew up comfortably, by comparison. My parents never struggled to have enough money, and college was always a given. They let me pick to go anywhere, and I chose the one that would take me and that I liked. Community college certainly wasn't ever in the picture. "Wow," was all I could say. I suddenly felt uncomfortable with my flashy rich girl car. At least, that's how I assumed he saw me.

"Do you want to go to the beach?" Miles asked. I was grateful to him for changing the subject.

"Sure," I responded, locked my car, and we walked back toward the water.