"My dad's Cuban," Rosario said with a small laugh. "His desserts are, like, fifty percent condensed milk. I'm good with sweet." Especially if it was the kind of sweet that brought Indian pastries to a non-date. (This wasn't a date, right? They'd never called it a date. They'd just... set a day and time to meet up after maybe-flirting about meteorites and now they were having coffee and sharing pastries. God, if this was a date, she definitely should have worn something cuter than a nerdy science t-shirt.)
She inclined her head towards the door and led the way out. There were, in fact, a number of food carts clustered around the crosswalk: hot dogs and soft serve on one side, pretzels and coffee on the other. Behind them sat the park, providing a lush backdrop of evergreens. "You been to Central Park yet?" Rosario asked.