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“One trip back to California with Jenny this summer and you’re all zen? Is that what you’re leading us to believe?” Melissa cracked open the water and gulped it. Her dark eyes never leaving Lauren’s face.
“We did do that silent retreat,” she replied with a smile. “Maybe it helped me outgrow the stupid rivalry.”
“Even I know that’s not true,” Dom said as he pointed at the Pastry King sign hanging across Lauren’s tent.
Lauren furrowed her brow. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Babe. Read it,” he said with a chuckle. “Pastry King. The True Original Since 1970. Does that sound like you’re over this ridiculous baked goods war your great great great-grand-abuelos started?”
“I’m not in full control of the business yet,” she shot back.
“As if you’d change the slogan after your parents finally retire,” Melissa replied with an accusatory smirk.
“Anything is possible,” she decided, wishing she could be completely over the feud.
Intellectually, she knew it was silly to hate each other. There were a thousand Cuban bakeries in the county, and they hadn’t been in direct competition for years. After so many decades, their clientele was firmly ensconced in one camp or the other. And yet, Lauren couldn’t help but see Sylvie as a traitor. The descendent of the man who stole her great-grandfather’s recipes after having been his partner for years.
Even if she could forgive the ancient act of treachery, she couldn’t forget all the crap Sylvie had pulled on her over the years. It was more than Dom and Melissa could understand.
After changing into their Pastry King tank tops, Lauren and Melissa stayed busy throughout the day and into the early evening when it was finally time to close down. Grateful that the dense crowd obscured her view of Sylvie most of the time, Lauren had managed to ignore her almost entirely. It was only when her annoying voice rose occasionally over the music that she remembered she was there. By the end of the day, she’d even managed to stop her lip from curling in response to the sound.
“Thanks so much for coming to my rescue today,” Lauren said as she gave Melissa a side hug while they walked in the dark to the parking area. After packing the van and sending it off with her employee who showed up three hours late for her shift, Lauren was exhausted and grateful.
Melissa, who still moved with the poise of a ballerina, patted her hand. “I could almost thank you,” she joked. “I’ve been kind of moping around since Yoly broke things off. This forced me out of the house and reminded me that there are indeed other women out there.”
Lauren gave her a squeeze. “Well, feel free to come do it all again tomorrow if you want.”
“And add to these unsightly tan marks?” She held out her arm. Her usually fair skin had taken on an unfortunate boiled shellfish quality.
Lauren’s olive skin had mostly tanned or turned slightly pink, but the lines were just as unattractive. “Next year I’ll get branded bikini tops,” she joked before dropping Melissa off at her car and continuing to the far side of the lot.
As she approached her five-year-old red Jeep Wrangler with it’s black canvas top, Lauren rolled her eyes. Of course she was there. Parked next to her in a white Wrangler, so new it still had paper tags, Sylvie was loading the contents of a cart into her trunk.
Before the interaction could ruin her day, Lauren looked down at the phone buzzing in her hand. Normally she wouldn’t stop to read an email, but most emails didn’t start with congratulations, you’ve been selected.
As Sylvie turnedher head reflexively toward the sound of her phone dinging where she left it on the bed of her trunk, she nearly failed to read the message. Hot and tired after working outside all day, she was on autopilot. It was the congratulations that caught her eye and prompted her to read the email.
She stopped loading the leftover cases of soda and picked up her phone. Her pulse jumped the moment she noticed the sender.
“Holy shit,” she muttered as she read the first line of the message three times to make sure she understood.
After years of applying and being unceremoniously rejected, King of Pastries had been accepted to the prestigious Whitney Food and Wine Festival. Her heart raced as her vision blurred. The universe had finally corrected its oversight and rewarded her hard work.
“What are you so happy about? Did you find something small and furry to torment?”
The sound of Lauren’s voice turned Sylvie’s empty stomach. With a snarl fixed to her face, she straightened and glared at her.
Of course she’s parked right next to me. Obsessed much?
“Lauren. What an unpleasant surprise,” she replied dryly as her foe pulled open the tailgate to her old-ass Jeep. “When did they start letting delinquents peddle their trash here?”
Lauren’s tanned cheeks, already pink from the sun, brightened as she replied with an obnoxious smile. “Gosh, I don’t know Syl. When did you get your invite?”
With a deep breath, Sylvie turned away. She wasn’t going to be baited. Not today. Not when she’d just gotten the best news of her life.
Ignoring the lifelong irritant behind her, Sylvie finished loading her things into her Jeep. It took all her self-control not to whistle as her imagination sped away with her.
The Whitney was the pinnacle of South Florida cuisine. People from all around the world descended upon the beach to see and smell and taste magnificent creations. Press from all over would be there too. It could easily be enough to catapult The King of Pastries into the stratosphere.
