OLIVIA
I was freaking out. Like, full-on stomach-twisting, palm-sweating, heartbeat-in-my-throat freaking out.
Jordan had texted me earlier that morning. The message was casual, simple, like it wasn’t the most life-altering message of my existence.
“Do you like tacos?”
Did I like tacos? Of course I did. Who didn’t? They were cheesy, messy, and dangerously good. But my parents thought tacos were “street food,” aka not fit for a Carter. So yeah, technically, tacos were off-limits in the Carter household.
But this wasn’t about tacos.
It was about Jordan.
Even if I hated tacos, even if they gave me food poisoning, I would’ve still said yes. Because when the guy who makes your heart skip half a beat asks if you like tacos, you say yes, enthusiastically, immediately, no questions a
