The first thing I learned about Holden Lewis was that he took his job working at the animal shelter very seriously. His teasing and constant smiles quickly vanished, and after talking me through the feeding routine, he re-explained every single instruction to make sure I wouldn't forget anything. Then—get this—he quizzed me on it. When I got one of the questions wrong, Lewis went over the entire process for a third time before giving me a new quiz. I felt like I was taking some ridiculously strict drivers test and if I got a single point off, I wouldn't receive my license.

When I finally passed, he relaxed enough for us to serve breakfast to the waiting dogs. It was a loud, energetic experience, which was only heightened by Lewis's undeniable affection for the animals. As we delivered bowls of food, he greeted each of the dogs by name as if they were old friends. I had to admit, watching him interact with them melted my heart a little, and made me wonder if Lewis was more than fake charm and cheesy lines.

After that, the rest of the morning sucked. And that was all due to the fact that it featured the return of the dreaded poop scooper. The outdoor play space needed to be mowed, so Lewis and I spent two hours making sure the grass was poop free. It was hot outside and by the time we finished our work, I was covered in a slick layer of sweat.

"Is it lunchtime yet?" I asked and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.

This totally sucks, I grumbled to myself. I should be relaxing by the pool or shopping with Olivia right now. Not smelling like B.O. and procuring nasty tan lines.

"Sure." Lewis used the bottom of his shirt to dry his own face, and I quickly looked away when I caught a glimpse of his flat, hard stomach. "Let me go put on something clean and then we can get outta here."

While he changed, I grabbed my purse from the office and reapplied my deodorant. Then I put on a quick coat of mascara and lip gloss. Although I was glad to have a break, part of me regretted agreeing to lunch with Lewis. It wasn't because I was nervous about hanging out with him, but because I felt gross showing my face in public when it looked like I just worked out. Hopefully Lewis would take me somewhere none of my friends went.

Five minutes later we met by the back door. Lewis had replaced his worn blue shirt with a black v-neck that fit his chest perfectly, and as his lips tugged up into what I was already recognizing as his signature grin, it suddenly hit me just how good-looking he was.

Whelp, if I'm going to be stuck working here, I thought to myself, at least there is some eye candy for me to enjoy.

"You ready?" Lewis asked, swinging a set of keys around his finger. "I'm driving."

I nodded and then glanced around the parking lot. Besides my BMW and Mrs. Lewis's Honda, there was only one other vehicle in the parking lot: a beat up truck that looked like it could break down at any moment. Rust was eating its way up from the wheel well, and once bright red paint job had faded to an ugly orange.

"Please don't tell me that's your pickup."

"Sure is," he told me proudly. "Got a problem with that?"

"Oh, not at all." I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. Of course the southern boy had a truck. Now all he needed was a pair of cowboy boots and hat, and the cliché would be complete.

Both exhausted from working out in the sun, the drive to wherever we were going was quiet. Lewis turned on the radio to fill the silence, and I silently thanked whoever was up above that it wasn't a country station. Ten minutes later we arrived at a local boardwalk where a collection of food trucks were parked. Lewis seemed to know exactly what he wanted, because he led me up to the one named Tacoalypse Now and ordered for the both of us.

"I thought we were getting sandwiches."

"These are sandwiches," he responded. "Mexican ones."

The man working the food truck slid our meals through the open window, and Lewis reached up to grab them. Then he passed me my basket and snagged a handful of napkins.

I shot Lewis a pointed look. "These are tacos."

"I see bread, meat, cheese, and lettuce," he replied, dumping enough hot sauce on his food to melt off his tongue. "How's that any different than a sandwich?"

"It's a tortilla, not a slice of bread," I argued.

"They're both carbs. Same difference."

Shaking my head, I let out an exasperated sigh. I had no clue why I was even bothering with this argument. There was a list of differences between the two foods forming in my head, but I decided against continuing to bicker with him. Instead I found a picnic table for us to sit at and said, "Well, thanks for lunch. It looks delicious."

Lewis didn't answer. When I glanced over, I found him watching me expectantly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeees?"

"Go on," he said in encouragement. "Try it. This is literally my favorite place to eat town."

Okay, so I was lying when I said the tacos looked good. In fact, they were swimming in grease and the meat looked questionable. I was afraid of clogging an artery just by looking at them for too long, but Lewis was still waiting for my approval, so I picked one up and took a small bite. My eyes bulged in surprise.

"Good, huh?" he asked as I chewed the cheesy, spicy goodness. There was a loping grin on his face, one that reminded me of a puppy.

I swallowed and then said, "Best Mexican sandwich I've ever had."

"Score!" he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. His level of enthusiasm was entertaining, and for a moment I thought he was going to pat himself on the back, but he just scooped up a taco and devoured the entire thing in two bites.

"So how'd you find this place?" I asked. There weren't any food trucks on my side of town, and I'd never actually eaten from one before. I'd always thought cheap, greasy food meant bad tasting, but Tacoalypse Now had proved otherwise.

"I used to work in the pizza one over there," he said, pointing to another food truck that was painted to look like a giant slice of pepperoni.

"How come?" I asked. I didn't understand why anyone would want that job.

"Um, because I needed the money?" he said, shaking his head like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing how to respond. His answer never occurred to me because I'd never been in the position where I'd needed money before. Lewis must have realized the disconnect I felt, because he quickly changed the subject.

"You done eating?" he asked and tossed a napkin into his empty food basket. "There's something cool I want to show you."