Smitten with Tacos - Smitten with Travel #7

She’s all color and chaos. He’s spreadsheets and structure. Falling in love was definitely not on the project plan in this sweet, slow-burn romantic comedy set in Mexico.

Billie moved to Guanajuato with one goal: to make it as a full-time artist. She didn’t plan on working with Memo, a straight-laced process improvement manager who treats life like a spreadsheet—and thinks rulers belong in the kitchen.

She’s messy, creative, and allergic to structure. He’s meticulous, reserved, and convinced that vegetables should always be diced into perfect cubes.

The only thing they have in common? A shared obsession with tacos . . . and the fact that everything is riding on the same high-stakes art exhibit that could make or break their futures.

Forced to collaborate, Billie and Memo butt heads over everything from brushstrokes to spreadsheets. But as the long days turn into late-night taco runs, the tension between them starts to shift into something softer—and a whole lot more complicated.

Can two total opposites learn to meet in the middle—and maybe even fall in love along the way?

Filled with heart and humor, this sweet romantic comedy is perfect for fans of quirky banter, creative chaos, and happy endings.

Chapter 1 - Zero Personality Detected

Do you think it’s possible to fail a personality test? Does anyone ever get their results back and instead of being told, “Congratulations, you have a Tiger temperament,” or “Your type can be summed up into the following four letters,” or “You’ve scored seventy-five percent Diamante Driver, fifteen percent Iridescent Inventor, and ten percent Sparkling Sociability,” their report is blank. Zero personality detected.

’Cause that’s what I think happened to the guy standing in front of me.

No, not the tall man on my left with the mop of curly red hair. That’s Ed. He’s got tons of personality. An infectious smile, good-natured, friendly, has the ability to converse in a pleasant manner . . . you get the picture.

I’m talking about Ed’s colleague, the man on my right. Sure, at first glance, he looks like a tasty snack with those dark brown eyes and hair, cleft chin, and broad shoulders. But spend more than thirty seconds with him, and you realize snacks need to be more than tasty. They need personality.

The tasty snack’s name is Memo, by the way, and it’s the only interesting thing about him.
Anyway, the big multinational company Memo works for made him take a personality test as part of some sort of team building program or leadership development initiative or whatever. But when Memo scored zero on every scale, his manager said something like, “That explains why no one on the team likes the dude.” The HR department was puzzled. What do you do with an employee you can’t categorize?

People pointed fingers. Who hired this guy? Oh, wait, he’s related to one of the board directors and we can’t fire him. Crap. Now what do we do?

So they shipped him off on an international assignment to Guanajuato, Mexico, hoping he’d develop a personality over the course of the next six months.

Okay, to be fair, this might not be exactly what happened. Consider me clueless when it comes to what they do in corporate offices. My last job was teaching art at an elementary school in Portland, Oregon. But Memo and Ed had dropped some conversational clues earlier, which makes me think my assumptions are spot on.

“HR is punishing me,” is how Memo had explained why he was in Mexico.

“What did you do to piss them off?” I had asked.

He narrowed his eyes. “Be good at my job.”

Ed grinned, then made a light-hearted joke about nepotism.

Memo shot his colleague a withering look. “I got to where I am in my career due to talent, not nepotism.”

Despite the fact that I had just met Memo, I couldn’t help needling him. “But if you’re so talented, why is the HR department punishing you?”

That look Memo had fixed on Ed? It was all mine now. Except it had ratcheted up a few notches. Good thing I had slathered sunscreen on this morning, because the scorching disdain emanating from his eyes and my pale skin was a bad combo.

“Because they waste their time on personality assessments instead of taking into account business results,” Memo seethed through gritted teeth.

I mentally rolled my eyes. Well, maybe I actually rolled them. Not that it would have mattered. Memo was clearly tired of the conversation, turning to stare at his phone, oblivious to me and any expression I might have on my face.

All of this happened twenty minutes earlier when I first got in line at the International Cervantino Festival box office, hoping to get tickets to events at the premier arts and cultural event in Latin America. I was there with Linda, a seventy-something family friend who got tired of the constant rain and gray skies in winter in the Pacific Northwest and was now living her best expat life in sunny Mexico. When I recklessly decided to quit my teaching job and pursue my dream of becoming a full-time artist, Linda suggested I come stay with her in Guanajuato where my savings would stretch a little further.

My mom and stepdad generously bought me a plane ticket, and I landed in Mexico a couple of days ago with two suitcases—one full of clothes and Oreo cookies, the other containing art supplies.

Linda got me set up in the little casita on her property, gave me a tour of the city, and told me the timing of my visit was perfect. Having arrived in the first week of September meant that not only would I be there for the Cervantino when it kicked off in October, I’d also get to experience Day of the Dead, or Día de los Muertos as it’s called in Spanish, at the end of the month and early November.
Some people would say that I’m outgoing, but I’m nothing compared to Linda. She’ll talk to anyone, even grumpy, personality-impaired Memo. Starting conversations with strangers is her specialty. That’s how this all started. She tapped Ed on his shoulder and asked the guys if they wanted a cough drop.
Linda loves cough drops. In her mind, you don’t need to have an actual cough to enjoy a menthol-flavored lozenge. They’re a delightful treat anytime of the day, no matter whether you’re sick or not.

Ed happily took one of the cough drops. Memo arched an eyebrow, then shook his head. We got to talking about a wide range of subjects, like the aforementioned personality test failure that landed Memo in Guanajuato and where the best place to get margaritas was in town.

Now, Linda and I are waiting our turn in line after Ed and Memo were waved over to an available ticket agent.

Linda nudges me and asks in a stage whisper, “So, which one do you like, Billie?”
Not sure why she’s whispering, I ask, “You mean which event? I’m hoping we can get tickets to that group from Senegal. I tried to see them when they were in Portland, but it was a sold-out show.”

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, but a lot of events sold out months ago when tickets first went on sale.” Linda shakes her head. “We’ll have to settle for what’s left.”

“I’m sure whatever we see will be great,” I reassure her. “I had a look at the program online this morning. It’s amazing.”

“Yes, it is,” Linda agrees, then reverts back to her stage whisper. Gesturing at Ed and Memo, she asks, “But what I meant was, which one of them do you like? Do you prefer the one with the dark hair? Or how about the tall redhead? You and he both have the same hair color.”

The problem with stage whispering is that, unlike actual whispering, everyone can hear what you say. Which is probably why Ed turns around and gives us a quick wave. Memo studiously ignores us, keeping his attention focused on the ticket agent.

I hold up my hands at Ed as if to say, “Don’t mind what Linda says. She’s high on cough drops.” He shrugs and turns back around.

“First of all,” I say to Linda in a low voice, demonstrating how whispering is meant to work, “my hair is auburn. Ed’s is bright red. Second, this isn’t a game show where you pick whether you want what’s behind door number one or door number two. Third, Ed already has a girlfriend.”

“Why do you say that?” Linda asked, still using that highly audible stage whisper. No wonder she was always popping cough drops. Talking like that has to be hard on your throat.

“He told us about the girl he’s dating back home,” I remind her.

Linda considers this for a moment. “Okay, so Memo it is.”

“I don’t remember you being such a matchmaker,” I say, biting back a smile.

“It’s something new.” She shrugs. “Remember my friend, Celeste?”

“Sure. Didn’t she lose her husband recently and now she’s traveling around the world?”

“That’s the one. Poor thing. She was devastated when Ernie passed away. And having lost my own husband, Celeste really leaned on me for a while. I think it helps, having been through the same pain. Unless you’ve lost your spouse, you can’t really know what it’s like.” Linda stares off into the distance for a moment, then says, her voice artificially bright, “Anyway, when I retired, she suggested I take up a hobby.”

“So, instead of mah-jongg or knitting, you spend your spare time fixing people up?” I tease.

“Oh, I’m part of a mah-jongg group. Knitting I can live without.” Linda unwraps a cough drop and pops it in her mouth. “Matchmaking is new.”

“Let me guess, the start of your new hobby just happens to coincide with my arrival in Mexico.” I shake my head. “What exactly did my mom say to you?”

“Nothing,” Linda says innocently.

“Um, I’m not really buying that.” Before Linda can interject, I add, “I’m here to focus on my art, not finding a guy to go out with.”

“But—”

I shake my head while pointing in Memo’s direction. No longer bothering to whisper, I say, “And, even if I was looking to meet someone, Mr. No Personality would be the last person I’d consider.”

“If you say so.” Linda’s tone is light, but the glint in her eyes tells me she’s not giving up on her newest hobby so easily. “Guanajuato is a small place. You’re bound to run into him again, though.”

“Not if I can help it,” I say firmly.

Noticing one of the ticket agents is free, I motion for Linda to follow me. But when I get to the ticket window, Linda has disappeared. Looking around, I spot her having an animated conversation with Ed while Memo looks bored.

When Linda rejoins me, I give her a suspicious look. “What are you up to?”
Her only response is a mischievous smile before turning to the ticket agent. While she has a rapid-fire discussion in a mix of Spanish and English, I’m left wondering if I’m going to regret having come to Mexico.