Rico Marquez, 62, retired border patrol K9 handler, had sworn off county fairs three years prior, the day his wife Elena had dragged him out to see their granddaughter’s rabbit show two weeks before her breast cancer took a turn for the worse. He’d only caved this time because his 11-year-old grandniece Lila had showed up on his porch at 7 a.m. holding her 4H goat’s lead, big brown eyes welling, saying her dad had to work an oil rig shift and no one else was going to cheer for her when she showed her goat, Muffin. He’d grumbled, grabbed his faded navy patrol hoodie, and hauled himself out the door.
The October sun beat down hard enough to make the asphalt under his boots soft, the air thick with the smell of fried dough, grilled sausage, and livestock manure. Lila took third place in her category, squealed so loud when they handed her the blue participation ribbon that Rico’s ears rang for ten minutes after. He’d promised her a cherry snow cone after, left her with her grandma by the goat pens, and wandered toward the food stalls to find one that didn’t have a 45-minute line.
He was halfway past the tamale stand when he heard that laugh. Low, smoky, a little rough around the edges, the same laugh he’d heard a hundred times at backyard barbecues when he and his old patrol partner Javi would get home after a 12-hour shift tracking drug mules through the south Texas brush. He froze mid-step, looked up, and there she was. Clara Bennett, Javi’s widow, 58, wiping masa flour off her forearm with a stained dish towel, her dark hair streaked with silver pulled back in a braid held together with a frayed red scrunchie. She was wearing a denim work shirt unbuttoned at the collar, the tiny silver cross Javi had gotten her for their 20th anniversary glinting against her sun-tanned skin. She met his eye, froze for half a second, then grinned so wide the corners of her eyes crinkled.
He should have turned around. Walked the other way. For 20 years, he’d carried a quiet, stupid crush on her, tucked so far down he’d never even admitted it to Elena, let alone Javi. Acting on it now felt like a betrayal of both of them, like he was spitting on the graves of the two people who’d been closest to him for most of his adult life. But his feet didn’t move. He walked up to the counter, nodded at her, like he hadn’t avoided every single one of the annual patrol reunions for the past three years just so he wouldn’t have to see her.
“Thought you hid out in that garage of yours forever,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron before leaning over the counter. She was close enough that he could smell the mix of vanilla perfume, roasted chile powder, and fried lard clinging to her clothes. “Heard you fix up K9 gear for the shelter now. Javi would’ve loved that. He always said you were better with dogs than you were with people.”
He huffed a laugh, scratched the back of his neck. “Keeps me busy. Elena always said I’d go stir crazy if I didn’t have something to take apart and put back together.” When she handed him the plate of pork tamales he hadn’t even ordered, their fingers brushed. He felt the rough callus on her thumb, from rolling thousands of tamales over the years, send a jolt up his arm that settled low in his chest. He tried to ignore it. Tried to tell himself it was just the heat, just the nostalgia hitting him wrong.
He paid her, turned to leave, and she called after him, holding up a styrofoam cup of horchata. “Extra cinnamon, like you used to like. C’mon, sit behind the stand for a minute. My kid’s taking over the counter in five, I’ve been on my feet since 5 a.m.”
He hesitated, then nodded. The folding chair behind the stand was wobbly, the ground under it littered with corn husks and crumpled napkins, but it was out of the sun, and the hum of the deep fryer drowned out most of the crowd noise. They sat in silence for a minute, watching kids run past with cotton candy and giant stuffed bears, before she spoke again.
“Javi knew, you know,” she said, soft enough that he almost didn’t hear her over the whir of the Ferris wheel. He turned to look at her, confused, and she smiled, a little sad. “About your little crush. He thought it was hilarious. Said you were the only guy he ever trusted not to make a move. Told me, if anything ever happened to both him and Elena, I should give you a shot. Said you’d never let me get into trouble.”
Rico’s throat went dry. He’d spent three years feeling guilty for even thinking about her, and here she was, telling him the two people he’d been scared of betraying had basically given him permission. She leaned over then, to brush a piece of pink cotton candy fuzz off his cheek, her palm lingering against his jaw for a beat longer than necessary. Her skin was warm, calloused, and he didn’t pull away.
The sun started to set, painting the sky pink and tangerine, the strings of fairy lights strung across the fairground turning on one by one. The crowd thinned out, the noise of the rides softening to a low hum. She stood up, wiped off her apron, and raised an eyebrow at him.
“You gonna ask me to get one of those terrible fried Oreos with me, or you gonna sit there looking like a deer in headlights all night?” she said, laughing, and he felt the tightness in his chest he’d carried for three years loosen, just a little.
He stood up, grabbed the extra tamale she’d slipped onto his plate while they were talking, tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie. He held out his hand to her, calloused from years of handling dog leashes and fixing nylon harnesses, and she laced her fingers through his, her hand fitting perfectly in his. He held open the gap in the plastic fence surrounding the food stall for her, already mentally mapping the fastest route to the fried Oreo stand at the far end of the fairgrounds.
