meeting Jordan

La Tapatia is crowded and alive, the air thick with the scent of grilled peppers and lime. You pause by the entrance, scanning the tables. Then you spot him.

Jordan rises easily from a booth near the window, lifting a hand in greeting. Even from a distance, he seems larger than life — not just tall, but solid, grounded. Broad shoulders and extremely chiseled muscles rippling under his shirt. You feel so small compared to him, being a relatively petite woman. When he smiles, it’s a full, unguarded thing that erases every trace of your nerves.

“You made it,” he says, his tone both cheerful and sure, as if there had never been a chance you wouldn’t.

You laugh, brushing a stray hair from your face. “I wasn’t going to turn down tacos.”

“Good answer.” He gestures to the booth. “Sit. They’ve got the best pastor in the city, I promise.”

You slide in across from him, feeling oddly at ease despite how new this all is. Jordan talks as though you’re old friends catching up — about the neighborhood, the music he’s been listening to, the community project he’s running. His voice carries warmth even when he jokes, a steady rhythm that makes it easy to forget you’re supposed to be observing.

“Sorry if I talk too much,” he says after a moment, laughing softly. “I’ve been told I can get carried away.”

“No, I like it,” you say, realizing it’s true. “You’ve got this way of making things sound… hopeful.”

“Hope’s all I’ve got,” he replies with a grin. “Well, that and tacos.”

He leans back, studying you in a way that feels kind rather than intrusive. “You seem like someone who’s got a story or two yourself.”

You shrug, smiling. “Maybe someday.”

He laughs again, and the sound carries over the hum of conversation. You find yourself mirroring his ease, answering questions more openly than you intended — about moving to a new city, about trying to find your footing.

The tacos arrive on metal trays lined with paper, the smell of grilled meat and cilantro cutting through the hum of the lunch crowd. For a few minutes, you both eat in companionable silence — the kind that only comes when neither person feels the need to fill it.

Jordan’s the first to break it. “You ever notice how people only ask where you’re from when they don’t know what else to say?”

You smile. “All the time. I’m still getting used to saying ‘Kansas City.’”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Chicago. About a month ago. My husband and I—” you stop yourself just short, the old habit almost slipping through, “—I needed a change. Thought I’d find one here.”

He nods, thoughtful. “Change is good. Even when it’s rough.”

Something in his tone carries weight, a quiet gravity that draws you in. You take a sip of your drink and ask softly, “You’ve had some rough changes, I’m guessing?”

Jordan leans back, gaze drifting toward the window. For a moment, you think he won’t answer. Then he does, voice low but steady. “Yeah. I spent five years inside for something I didn’t do. Wrong place, wrong people. Took me a long time to stop being angry.”

You listen — not as a reporter, not even as someone chasing a story, but as a person hearing truth given shape.

“That must’ve been… isolating,” you say carefully.

He nods once. “Yeah. You go in, and the world forgets about you. You come out, and it’s like you’re a ghost walking around in daylight. Takes a while before people look at you like you’re real again.”

You feel that sentence settle somewhere deep. “I think I get that,” you say quietly. “Not in the same way, but… moving here, starting over—it’s like being in a place where no one knows your name, and you’re not sure who you are without the old one.”

He studies you for a long moment, then smiles — small, genuine. “Guess we both know something about second chances.”

You return the smile, reaching out and resting your small hand on his massive fingers, a little unsure why it feels so personal. “Yeah. Maybe that’s why this feels easy.”

Jordan laughs softly, giving a light squeeze to the hand you offered,“It’s just tacos, remember.”

You grin. “Sure. Just tacos.”

But when he starts telling you about the nonprofit he’s building, his plans to help kids avoid the traps he fell into, you realize that this—connection born out of honesty, of recognizing something familiar in someone else’s fight—might be the first time the assignment starts to feel like it’s teaching you more than you expected.