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Lauren craned her head over the counter. “The care packages? I came up with that when I was living in LA. You’d be shocked at how hard it is to find a good pastelito de guayaba outside of Miami. All I wanted when I was out there was something that tasted like home. When I came back, I figured I couldn’t be the only wayward Cuban out there. The packages have been a huge success. All people have to do is follow the baking or frying instructions and their kitchen becomes our bakery.”
As Lauren talked, her words turned into a melody. Soft and low and producing an odd tingle in Sylvie’s body. Sylvie watched her mouth. Watched as her full lips moved to shape vowels. The smooth skin of her long neck flushed with just a touch of color as Lauren explained something with obvious excitement. Sylvie couldn’t bring herself to comprehend the words.
The Pastry King tank top Lauren had been wearing all day left tan lines. Several tan lines crossed over each other where the sun seared her skin at different points. Like a snapshot of where her spaghetti strap had been at any given time over the last four days.
Sylvie imagined what it would feel like to pull the strap down completely. To expose her skin and press her lips to it.
With her eyes, she followed the curve of her neckline to where her cleavage was marked by the sun too. In high school, Sylvie had envied Lauren’s body. It was like somewhere between ninth and tenth grade she’d returned to school from summer vacation with a curvy, hourglass figure and a D cup. Sylvie was still waiting for her body to blossom like that.
“Syl?”
Caught, Sylvie’s attention snapped back to Lauren’s face. Judging by the amusement in Lauren’s eyes, she’d most definitely caught her staring at her boobs.
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?” Lauren smirked.
She was always doing that. Usually, Sylvie found it incredibly annoying, but now the quirk in her lips called her in. She was a cobra charmed by the rhythm of her song.
“Or are you too busy trying to come up with ways to rip off my idea—”
Sylvie leaned over the counter, set her mug to the side, and rose onto the tips of her toes. Not letting herself overthink it, she cupped Lauren’s face with both hands and kissed her. By far the most effective way of shutting her up she’d ever deployed.
Without a moment’s hesitation, as if she’d been expecting it, Lauren’s lips parted. With a gentle moan that reverberated over every inch of Sylvie’s skin, Lauren deepened the kiss.
The warmth of her tongue against hers ignited Sylvie to her core. She was back in high school, pressing Lauren against the lockers, pulling at her Oxford shirt, pressing her thigh between her legs as her plaid skirt crumpled. She was tossing her head back as Lauren devoured her neck, leaving marks that concealer would later cover. She was seventeen and desperate for more than just a kiss.
A handcrafted counter cutting into her waist was a shocking reminder of the present. She debated jumping over it. Eager to feel Lauren’s body against hers. To kiss her better and without stretching to reach her.
“Whoa,” Lauren whispered, breaking the kiss but keeping her forehead pressed to Sylvie’s. “You’ve improved since high school.”
With her gaze fixed on Lauren’s slightly swollen lips, Sylvie chuckled. The rush of adrenaline in her body made it sound like more of a cackle than she’d liked. “I’ll have you know I’ve always been a fantastic kisser. Even in high school. I’m a natural.”
Lauren bit her bottom lip, igniting Sylvie’s aching desire for another kiss. “I don’t know. You might have to prove it to me.”
“Don’t reverse psychology me for a make out sesh, Machado,” she joked, wishing she’d planned the kiss better and waited until they were on the same side of the counter. With it in between them, it was too hard to kiss Lauren again without grabbing her head. Having too much time to think about it stalled her nerve.
As if reading her mind, Lauren jumped over the counter like a teenager in a movie hopping into a convertible. It looked too cool to be possible, and yet Lauren had pulled it off.
“How long had you been thinking about that?” Lauren asked, pulling Sylvie in by the hem of her shirt.
Sylvie allowed herself to be lured in. Pressed against Lauren, she hooked her arms around her neck. As if they’d done it a thousand times, Lauren slid her arms around Sylvie’s waist and leaned back against the counter.
“Don’t talk so much,” Sylvie warned, her attention on Lauren’s alluring lips.
Their second kiss was softer but significantly more devastating. Each swipe of Lauren’s tongue, sweet from the coffee, annihilated Sylvie’s decades old defenses.
As she gripped Lauren’s neck and kissed her deeply, Sylvie lost herself in Lauren. With every passing moment, they re-wrote history, deleting the parts they regretted.
“Our parents are going to freak,” Lauren whispered against Sylvie’s lips.
Reality sapped the heat coursing through Sylvie’s body. For a brief, and beautiful moment, Sylvie had forgotten about their families. About the corrosive secret burning in her brain.
“Maybe they won’t care,” Lauren mused. “Maybe we’ll bring closure to the feud.”
Sylvie laughed, the tension uncoiling from her muscles as she slipped away from Lauren’s arms. “It’s our parents you’re talking about right? The ones who try to outdo each other with Christmas decorations every year?”
Living on the same block, her dad regularly tried to display more holiday cheer than Lauren’s dad. Last year, he’d installed a motorized train around the exterior of the house so the neighborhood kids could ride it. He insisted it had been worth the fine from the city for operating an attraction without a permit.
Lauren pulled her back in as if a moment’s separation was too long. She tucked a strand of hair behind Sylvie’s ear and looked at her as if admiring a work of art in The Louvre.
