29 Hayden

29

Hayden

“Why are you making that face?” I asked, swallowing the taco we had received from the old couple who ran a small restaurant. It looked ancient, and we were the only customers here.

It was our own fault. I wanted to buy the most expensive dish for her but it was made from eggplant and she hated eggplants, so we walked somewhere else until our stomachs kept growling. We found the small restaurant on the corner of the road and walked in without thinking, greeted by the old couple who ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed when we mentioned we were there for our honeymoon.

They bought our lie despite our empty ring fingers and even gave us free beer while serving us our orders.

Zara ate the food, forcing herself to swallow it as she thumped her chest, coughing a little and taking a big gulp of beer.

“Was it that bad?” I asked, patting her hand sympathetically.

“It tastes like tears of old people,” she grumbled, pursing her lips at the half-eaten taco.

Holding back my smile, I exchanged my dis