Felix and I drove back to Hartwell with the windows down, the September air warm enough to make the AC feel like overkill. He'd successfully force-fed me three tacos, which my stomach appreciated even if my dignity didn't. The al pastor had been good. Really good. The kind of good that made you forget about failed tests and blocked phone numbers for approximately fifteen minutes.
"You coming to the festival setup thing?" Felix asked, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching into a bag of chips he'd produced from literally nowhere. "Harlow's been texting me nonstop about fog machine placement."
"Yeah. Told her I'd help."
"Cool. I'm on backdrop duty. Apparently painting cardboard coffins is my destiny now." He crunched through a chip. "Also, between you and me? Marin's been asking about you."
"Marin Tanigawa?"
