The 101 freeway was directly to our right, but it was elevated above the road, so as long as we weren’t looking at it, we could be on a remote stretch of the coast. Steph pulled into a little parking area facing the water and turned off the engine. The low roar of the freeway sounded almost like the ocean.

I handed over her lunch and opened my own, and for a while we were busy with the food. The burgers and fries came in paper trays, into which I squeezed my packets of ketchup. I had a sudden memory of dipping fries into a paper ketchup cup, sitting at a hard red-and-white plastic booth inside In-N-Out. Dad had been the one who taught me to order my burger animal style, and now as I picked mine up, I remembered the taste just before I bit in: the tangy pickles mixed with minced grilled onions, the toasted bun, the slice of tomato that always wanted to slide out and escape. This was the second burger I’d eaten with Steph this summer.

“I always forget how good this is,” I said between bites. “I wish there was an In-N-Out where I live.”

“There is, for this summer.” She took a sip of her drink.

“I guess we’ll have to come back.” I said we without thinking, and I saw her eyes brighten when she heard it. I felt a warmth in me that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

It was a surprisingly intimate experience to be sitting beside her, the ancient vinyl seats creaking whenever we moved. We didn’t say much because we were eating, and I was excruciatingly aware of the movements of my mouth. The crispy-soft texture of the meat as I bit into it, the creamy-vinegary taste of the sauce, the saliva in my mouth, the flavor on my lips. I saw her right hand reaching for her drink, lifting it from the cup holder, her fingers shiny with french fry oil. I didn’t intend to finish my fries but of course I did, and afterward I licked the salt from my fingers.

We stuffed the cheeseburger wrappers into the paper sacks, crumpling up the trays and fitting them inside, too. “Here, I’ll take it,” Steph said, gesturing to the trash can at the edge of the tiny parking lot.

I handed my bag to her, and she opened the door and walked over to the trash. Beyond her the water tossed off light like diamonds. She came back to the truck and got in, and we sat there in silence. It felt like a good silence. I could say something, but I didn’t have to. She leaned her head against the headrest. Her eyelashes were dark and thick.

After a while she turned to look at me and said, “I have to get back to work.”

“I know.”