HARPER

I can't enjoy my amazing tacos when Asher looks like someone just peed on his. The meat falls from the end of his shell as he forgets about it momentarily and watches his ex walk away. I know it's childish, but I can't help it. "If it makes you feel any better, she's going to get blisters," I tell him.

"What?" he asks in a fog. It takes a second for my words to click then he looks at me.

"Those shoes are ridiculous." I glance out the window at the heels Jess has paired with her sundress. It's hot, and her feet have to be sweaty. Asher won't know the struggle, but I do. "I know your heart is hurting and it's not the same, but if it makes you feel any better, she's for sure going to be in some pain tonight."

Asher stares at me a bit shocked as if he can't believe the way my mind works. Sorry, it's just me. I reach across the table and gently tip his taco back upright so he doesn't lose any more meat.

Finally, he laughs. "Does it make me a bad person that it does make me feel a little better?" he asks.

"Maybe a little bit," I answer honestly. I shove the rest of my taco into my mouth very unlady-like. Then I talk around it in an attempt to lighten the mood. "She's making all kinds of bad choices," I try to say but it comes out garbled.

Asher nods and then shoves an entire taco into his mouth. "Fuck it," he says. "I'm over it."

I know he's not really. It's just something he's telling himself right now so he doesn't let the grief take hold. I like his style.

"Right," I say, wiping my face with a napkin from the end of the table. "No one is ever having a better time than someone who is eating tacos. You're already nailing this trip."

He laughs and holds up his next taco. I pause for a second unsure of his intentions, but then it hits me. I tap my next taco to his in a sad, but delicious toast. "To tacos," he says.

"To sweaty feet in fancy heels," I counter.

"To being old enough to drink," he replies, our tacos still connected across the center of the table.

"To you doing you!" I shout.

With that we both shove our small tacos into our mouths and try not to laugh as we drip salsa and attempt to breathe and keep the food inside. Next, we tap our cokes together just before washing down the tacos. His eyes are still sad, but he's not watching her anymore. I think sometimes it's better not to watch the person you love walking away from you. It's easier to imagine they're still close that way.

"What's next?" he asks, leaning back in his chair to stretch his stomach out.

"We can't swim. I'll puke," I answer.

He laughs and nods. "OK. So wander for a bit?"

"Sounds good."

The town is busy with tourists and locals as we step outside into the sunshine. I slip my sunglasses back on and point in the opposite direction I saw Jess going. Best to keep our distance.

"It feels so crazy to be in a different country," he says as he looks in the window of a store selling sunglasses and other beach-y items.

"I know. I can't believe my parents allowed me to come." They almost hadn't, but I'd promised to stay with Ezra, and they trusted us together. They would be in a full panic right now if they knew the new situation.

"My parents don't care," he says dismissively. "They are too busy fighting over the assets," he adds.

"Your parents are divorced?" I ask.

"Well, they are getting a divorce. No one really knows though. I think they're worried about what people would think."

"Won't people just think they didn't want to be married anymore?" I try for levity.

"Ha," he says dryly. "You know how it is. As soon as people hear about it, there will be all kinds of rumors."

"Yep. People never mind their own business."

We stop in front of a window full of crazy hats and t-shirts. "We should get one," he says, pointing to a straw hat that screams 'tourist.'

I'm not really sure what I'll do with it after the trip, but he looks so happy as he takes my hand and tugs me inside the tight store. There are so many hats stacked on top of each other and hanging from racks. You can smell the dried straw they are made from. I grab a delicate one that has a dark black ribbon tied around the brim. It won't fit over my hair while it's up, so I pull the band from the knot on my head and let my hair fall around my shoulders.

Asher turns to me and watches as I place the hat on my head and do my best old-time Hollywood saunter toward him. His eyes move from the hat to my face, then down further. I feel it warmer than the sunshine outside.

"You should get it," he says, reaching up to tap the brim. "It looks good on you."

"OK," I say, having already decided that the second I saw him watching me. "You should get this one." I take a masculine style hat and turn to him. It's a cross between a cowboy hat and maybe a special ops hat.

I lift up on my toes and set it on his head. He watches me as I run my fingers along the thin straps that hang near his face. As I look into his eyes, I slip the bead up beneath his chin so the hat is secure. We must look ridiculous.

"There you go," I practically whisper, my throat tightening with our close proximity.

"Thank you," he says. We stay toe-to-toe for a moment. Just when I start to feel myself leaning towards him, he says in a very serious tone, "Does it make me look fat?" 

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