“Of course he is,” Georgia answers for me. “No one misses Taco Tuesday. It’s one of the rare nights the entire crew has off.”

Cassidy takes a sip of her vodka cranberry. She sometimes has a drink before going home after an early shift. “I’ll be there.”

“Awesome!” Silas whistles. “See you there. Bring your appetite for some guac.”

“You mean, for queso,” Georgia corrects.

“Jesus. I need to talk to Cohen about how he raised you,” Silas disputes. “Guac is where it’s at.”

The two then start arguing about which is better, their passion as strong as those who argue over politics.

“It’s guac,” I state to Cassidy, out of their conversation. “Definitely guac, but it has to be good guac.”

“Nope.” Cassidy shakes her head while scrunching up her nose. “Queso is delish. Smooth white cheese you dip a tortilla chip in. Mmm. Queso has never let me down. Guac, on the other hand? I’ve had people completely destroy guac.”

“You taste my guac, and I guarantee, you’ll never think about queso again.”

A woman I dated pushed me to take a cooking class with her in Spain, where I learned all the inside tips on making the perfect guacamole.

She raises a brow. “Does that mean you’re making guac tonight?”

“Considering we’re going to a restaurant, it might be rude to crack mine out at the table.”

“Hmm …” She taps her chin. “Looks like you’ll need to make me dinner one night, so I can taste your guac.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Eh, I’ll let you think you’ll think about it, but you’re doing it. Until then, don’t you dare bail on me tonight, or I’m kicking your ass.”

“Hmm …” I tap my chin the same way she did. “I’ll think about it.”

“Like with the guac, there’s no thinking about it. We’re the newbies of the group, so we must stick together.” She pouts. “I like having you around so I don’t feel left out.”

The feeling is mutual.

The group—Archer, Cohen, Finn, Silas, Georgia, Grace, and Lola—has been tight for years. It’s not that they exclude new people; it’s just hard not to feel like the odd one out. You don’t have the history, know the inside jokes or shit that happened years ago, like they do.

“I’ll be there,” I reply.

She claps her hands and squeals. “It’s a date.”

I shake my head. “It’s not a date.”

“Oh, it’s a date, babe.”

Taco Tuesday is being held at La Mesa.

It’s the only taco joint in Anchor Ridge. From a guy who’s wined and dined all over the world, I have to say, La Mesa has some damn good tacos.

Are they the best I’ve tasted? Nah.

Are they better than tacos I’ve paid double for? Hell yeah.