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CHAPTER26
On the secondto last night of The Whitney Food and Wine Festival, Lauren was working to get through the day. Engaging with people who loved her twist on Cuban classics was a thrill, but the real exhilaration came at night. When all the attendees were gone and she was left with Sylvie.
Her quads burned from the hours they spent dancing in the sand the night before. It had been more of a workout than doing the same moves on a dance floor in high heels.
In the last four days, Lauren hadn’t slept more than a few hours each night. She’d never been happier or more energized.
When her alarm clock woke her, she didn’t hit the snooze button like she usually did. Instead, she jumped out of bed, ready to race to the bakery, pick up her fresh creations, and get to the festival. Get to Sylvie of all people.
She watched Sylvie slice thin steak onto a sizable chunk of Cuban bread. Sylvie had never been much of a smiler, but as she sprinkled matchstick fries over the sandwich, she beamed.
The sight of her easy grin had an unstoppable effect on Lauren’s mood. Sylvie’s unguarded smile was more potent than three shots of espresso. It was just as addictive as caffeine too. Lauren couldn’t get enough.
“What’s in this?” A woman standing at Lauren’s booth pointed to one of the pastries in a portable glass case.
Tearing her attention away from Sylvie, Lauren turned to the woman. “Oh, that’s one of my favorites. Fig and orange marmalade with a honey drizzle. The honey is from a local farm in Homestead. It’s unbelievable.” She pointed to the stack of the farm’s business cards by the case.
“What’s wrong with good ol’ guava and cheese?”
Lauren’s smile didn’t falter. She’d answered this question a lot lately. At first she’d been surprised that people were so resistant to change, but now she saw it as an opportunity.
“Absolutely nothing.” Lauren reached for the tongs she kept on a hook on the side of the case. “King of Pastries has some seriously delicious guayaba pastelitos.” She slid a flakey, baked square onto a biodegradable paper basket and handed it to the woman. “Try it. On the house.”
The woman eyed her suspiciously. She accepted the offering, but hesitated as she brought it to her mouth. “It’s not vegan or gluten free or something like that is it?” The way she asked the question made it clear that she equated those terms with inedible and vile.
“Try it.” Lauren encouraged with a smile. “If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you one from next door.” She gestured toward Sylvie’s booth with a tilt of her head.
With a nod, as if Lauren had driven a hard bargain in asking her to try something for free, the woman took a bite.
As she chewed, her eyes snapped open. “Wow. That’s good.”
Her shock might have been insulting, but Lauren was too pleased to focus on her negative assumptions. A few minutes later, the woman was walking away from her booth, a full box in her hands.
Dusk arrived, taking most of the heat with it and ushering in a cool breeze off the ocean. Finished with their day, Lauren and Sylvie hauled their stuff to the loading zone where their Jeeps were waiting.
Three nights in a row they’d stayed after closing to drink and dance until a hair before sunrise, but they hadn’t really made a plan. Lauren had assumed the same thing would happen that night. But when they were finished loading up their cars, Sylvie lingered by her trunk.
Disappointment landed like a river rock in Lauren’s belly. Sylvie looked ready to say goodnight. She’d probably gotten sick of the lack of sleep.
“Do you want to do something else?” Sylvie leaned against the large, immaculate spare tire on the back of her Jeep. “I don’t know if I want to do all of that.” She gestured toward the tent, alive with music and lights. “I’m so sick of all this freaking sand.”
Lauren’s chest tightened. Sylvie didn’t want to leave her just yet either, even if she was too proud or stubborn to say so.
“What do you want to do?” Lauren moved closer to Sylvie.
Sylvie looked away, as if she couldn’t stand to make direct eye contact with Lauren as she spoke. “I don’t know. You’re usually full of annoying ideas. Did you run out?”
Pressing her palm to the hardcover top of Sylvie’s Jeep, Lauren leaned in. Inches from Sylvie’s face she smirked. There was no way for Sylvie to escape her then. She looked up at her, her honey eyes wide and wild.
“When are you going to stop pretending?”
Sylvie searched Lauren’s face, her eyes bouncing from side to side. “Pretending about what?”
She tried to sound accusatory, offended, indignant, but Lauren could hear the waver in her voice. She detected the hesitation. She’d gotten so used to listening for it so she could exploit it, but now she gave it space. Let it breathe.
“Pretending you don’t like me,” Lauren replied, her tone soft and her gaze fixed on Sylvie’s thin, pink lips.
“You’re like obsessed with this,” she whispered, but it didn’t sound intentional. “How often do you need to hear that I can’t stand you?”
