I throw my head back, laughing as I remind Levi of the time he tried to make me breakfast in bed for my 15th birthday and nearly burned down the kitchen.
“Remember how the smoke alarm went off and you were running around like a headless chicken, trying to air out the house before I woke up?” I tease him, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes.
He shakes his head, chuckling as he takes a sip of his Coke. “Yeah, well, I never said I was a f*****g chef,” he retorts, a grin playing on his lips.
On a picnic table, we sit side by side, in the parking lot of a food truck lot. The remnants of our taco feast lay scattered on the white paper plates before us, the scent of cilantro and lime lingering in the air. It’s all too familiar, a reminiscence of the countless nights we spent together, j
