Alright, well, that smile can jump off a cliff, frankly, and Alejandro has to look away with an almost exasperated expression to cover up his own in response. This guy knows he's married, which is an interesting note-- then again, about that whole 'who knows how much of what reputation anybody's learned' factor: it is entirely find-out-able with the right kind of digging that Sr y Sra Olin, shall we say, get around. Could be that. Or he could just be brazen or-- fuck, Alejandro could be imagining shit for about the millionth time when it comes to men who smile dazzlingly at him, because he is a heartsick idiot at the center of it all.

"I wouldn't know what to pick, hermano, I've never been to Portland before," Alejandro calls after him, almost lazily sing-songing. And then he adds: "No Mexican food!" He can't take it this far from the border and/or east coast Puerto Rican communities. He just can't.

Feeling a little restless, he pushes to his feet, flipping through his phone as he paces over to a window. What are you doing to yourself now, Ale? Internal sigh.