Chapter 5: Tacos and Invitations

Jason pocketed his phone, the photo of the sardine spread still glowing on the screen. The break room hummed with chatter now, plates clinking as people helped themselves to the pâté or Diane's pasta salad. Marcus was grinning like he'd just won a bet, and Tom was scribbling notes on a napkin about the nutritional facts Diane had pulled up.

"Next Friday then," Diane said, looking around the table. "Same time, same place. Everyone brings something."

"I'm in," Marcus said immediately.

"Me too," Tom added.

Others nodded, murmured agreement. Someone suggested making a group chat to share recipes. Another person mentioned they'd seen sardine tacos online and wanted to try making them.

Jason's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, expecting a work email or maybe a spam alert. Instead, it was a text from Mia: "Heard about the Sardine Club! Congrats on converting the office. You're a natural at this. 😊"

He stared at the message for a second, a small smile tugging at his lips. Mia's enthusiasm was infectious, even through a screen. He typed back quickly: "Thanks. It kinda snowballed. Next meeting's Friday—want to join?"

Before he could hit send, another idea struck him. Why stop at Mia? The whole original group could come. Lila, Ethan, the rest. It would be fun to show them how far this had gone. He deleted the message and started over, but his thumb hovered. Inviting them might complicate things. What if they showed up with their own recipes and took over? Or worse, what if they dismissed the office crowd as amateurs?

The break room noise faded into the background as Jason weighed it. The club was his thing now, born from his kitchen experiments and lunchroom chats. Bringing in the friends who started it all could dilute that. But Mia's text reminded him—they'd sparked this. Sharing it might strengthen the bond.

"Jason, you okay?" Diane asked, waving a cracker smeared with his pâté. "You look like you're plotting world domination."

He chuckled, slipping the phone back into his pocket without sending anything yet. "Just thinking about next week. Sardine tacos sound interesting. Anyone tried them before?"

Sarah from IT shook her head. "Not me, but I've had fish tacos. Sardines could work—small, flavorful. Maybe with cabbage slaw and lime."

James nodded. "Yeah, and avocado. Keep it simple."

The conversation shifted gears, everyone chiming in with ideas. Marcus suggested adding cheese, like a Mexican twist. Tom wondered about heat—jalapeños or hot sauce. Diane pulled out her phone to search for recipes, reading aloud ingredients: corn tortillas, sardines in oil, cilantro, red onion.

Jason listened, his mind still on the invitation. As the group debated whether to mash the sardines or keep them whole, he felt a spark of excitement. This could be bigger than just the office. Maybe expand to a community thing, or even a potluck at someone's house. But first, the tacos.

"Let's try it now," he said suddenly, surprising even himself. "We've got time before the afternoon grind. I brought extra tins—anyone want to experiment?"

A few people exchanged glances, but the enthusiasm won out. Jason unpacked the remaining sardines from his bag, along with some crackers and veggies he'd brought as backups. Diane offered to run to the kitchenette for bowls and utensils. Marcus volunteered to chop what they had—there were some leftover tomatoes from his rice dish.

In the makeshift setup, Jason drained a tin of sardines, the oil pooling in a paper plate. He mashed them roughly with a fork, mixing in a squeeze of lemon from his sandwich supplies. Sarah diced a tomato, and James found a stray onion in the fridge that someone had left behind.

The first taco assembly was clumsy. Jason warmed a tortilla in the microwave—nothing fancy—and layered on the sardine mix, chopped veggies, and a sprinkle of salt from a shaker on the table. He rolled it up, took a bite. The flavors popped: the briny sardines against the fresh crunch of tomato, the tang of lemon cutting through.

"Not bad," he said, chewing. "Needs more spice, though."

Tom tried one next, adding a dash of hot sauce from his pocket. "Better. Like a mini ceviche taco."

Diane nodded, her eyes lighting up. "This could be a hit. Imagine grilling the tortillas, or adding beans for bulk."

The group passed the plate around, each person tweaking their version. Marcus added a bit of mayo for creaminess, which drew groans from Sarah ("Too rich!"). James kept it minimalist, just sardines and lime, proclaiming it the purest form.

Jason watched them, pride swelling. This was what he'd started—a simple lunch turning into a creative session. Minor hiccups popped up, like when Tom accidentally knocked over a bowl of chopped onion, scattering bits across the table. "Oops," he muttered, brushing them into a napkin. No big deal, just a quick clean-up that had everyone laughing.

As the experiment wound down, the talk turned to expansion. "Why limit it to Fridays?" Diane asked. "We could do themes—Italian week, Mexican like this, maybe even desserts with sardines."

"Or invite more people," Jason suggested casually, testing the waters. "Like friends outside the office. My sister and her group—they're the ones who got me into this."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Your sister? Cool. But would they fit? This is our thing."

"Just an idea," Jason said, deflecting. "Keep it growing."

Sarah agreed. "More the merrier. As long as they bring good recipes."

The clock ticked toward the end of lunch, and people started packing up. Jason lingered, wiping down the table with a napkin. His phone buzzed again—Mia replying to his earlier text? No, it was a notification from work. But the thought of inviting them lingered.

Finally, alone at the table, he pulled out his phone. The group chat idea from earlier—maybe start there. But no, he wanted to do this personally. He opened messages, found the group chat with Mia, Lila, Ethan, and the others. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"Hey everyone," he typed. "The Sardine Club at work is taking off. Next meeting's Friday—sardine tacos on the menu. You guys should come. Bring your own twists if you want."

He paused, reading it back. It sounded casual, but he added a note: "Might be crowded, and we have our own ideas brewing. Just a heads-up."

Send. The message whooshed off, and Jason stared at the screen, wondering if he'd just opened a can of worms—or sardines.