“Is it though? Is it really?” he countered, because honestly, he couldn’t imagine much worse than food collapsing in his hands and ending up everywhere. “It’s not that I mind a bit of mess, but food being messy? That’s a different beast entirely. Some things I can handle, sure, but this…” He gestured at the offending taco with an expression of betrayal. “This looks like a culinary bomb went off in the kitchen after they assembled it. Who likes a soggy taco, honestly?”
The suggestion of eating over a bin made his face crumple even further, nearly as bad as when the food first landed in front of him. “Oh, absolutely not. I refuse to hover around a bin like some desperate fly. We'll eat at a table. Like civilized people.” He shook his head, already plotting. “Next time, you’re coming to mine, and I’ll make you proper tacos. The kind that hold together, the kind worth eating. And after that, you’ll never settle for soggy again."
"I never seen anyone so personally offended by tacos before," she had to laugh as Colm continued to go off about the chaos that came with their choice of street food for the evening. "Do you want me to get you something else? I can eat yours too and you never have to look at it again," she added, her voice teetering on laughter the whole time she was addressing him in this state. She had been guiding him over to the tables and away from the truck they'd purchased from, although they'd most definitely caught wind of his little tantrum.
Once they'd settled down at a vacant table, Ingrid had to wipe at her hands with some of the tissues from the mess of sauce that already coated her fingers. "Are you doing okay over there, babe?" she asked, looking up at him as though he was about to explode at any second. "I did not think I'd ever see you so worked up about something but it's certainly entertaining."
