“It’s a start, hermanito. Especially if it keeps you in Miami. Now if we could only find a way to bring Javi home,” she said with a wistful sigh.
“I spoke to Javi this morning. It sounded like he was in the middle of something really important, but he took the time to chat and to confirm that he’d be here for the quinceañera.”
“De verdad? I was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to make it,” Sylvia admitted with a frown.
“He said he couldn’t wait to get home and I believe him, Sylvita.”
“Hmm,” his sister said and took a last sip of her coffee, but Tony suspected his sister was already thinking about what to do to convince their older brother that he was better off in Miami rather than on the West Coast.
With that in mind, he said, “If anyone can find a way to keep Javi home, it’ll be you, hermanita.”
Which made him wonder if Sylvia hadn’t also brought him home for the exact same reason. But he wasn’t going to get angry with his sister for her machinations. If anything, he wanted to thank her for helping to restore his passion for cooking and opening him up to the prospect that something more was possible for him.
Chapter 13
Angelica sprinted toward midfield, keeping the ball in control as she looked for an opening in the other team’s defense. But as she dribbled to avoid a defender, her mind drifted for a split second as she imagined herself in a hideous seafoam green quinceañera gown adorned with immense neon-colored flowers. It was a mix of some of the designs she’d seen days earlier during another unsuccessful attempt to find her dress.
In that slight moment of hesitation, the defender stole the ball from her and kicked it to one of her strikers who took off down the field, racing straight for Angelica’s team’s goal.
With another quick pass to a teammate, the opposing team broke through the defense.
Suddenly, in a blur of blue and gold, Samantha disrupted the play with a sliding tackle. The ball skittered away and another of Angelica’s midfielders kicked the ball back upfield to the forwards.
Angelica had barely made it back into the play when the referee blew the whistle, signaling the end of the game. Thanks to Samantha’s save, they had been able to win the game by just one goal.
The two teams lined up to shake hands and after, her teammates ran off the field. Angelica held back, walking more slowly, thinking about how badly she’d played in the game and everything she still had to do for the quinceañera which was now barely two weeks away.
“What’s bugging you?” Samantha asked as they stopped at their bench to pick up their water bottles for a quick drink before heading in.
Angelica plopped onto the bench, grabbed a small towel, and mopped her face with it. Samantha did the same, obviously intent on getting an answer. It was weird, but despite their disagreements, Angelica felt more comfortable sharing what was bothering her with Samantha than with her friends, maybe because it involved Samantha’s aunt and Tio Tony. She’d overheard her mother and him chatting the other night about the party and about how much he liked Sara Kelly. But she couldn’t get the words out.
“Thanks for that tackle out there. I really messed up by losing control of the ball,” she said and passed the towel across her face again.
Samantha hesitated, clearly not expecting the praise, but then said, “Thanks and no need to apologize. Everyone has a bad day.”
Angelica chuckled. “Not sure there was an apology there. My mind was on something else.” She rose and started walking toward the locker room and Samantha followed.
“Like your quince? I get it. Lately I can’t avoid thinking about it even though I want to not think about it,” Samantha said, surprising her as they entered the locker room. They walked toward their lockers which were directly opposite each other.
“Me, too,” she blurted out and quickly covered her mouth to keep from saying anything else, especially anything about Sara and Tony.
“Weird, right? There’s still so much to do, but at least I’ve got my dress already,” Samantha said. It was probably the worst thing she could have said at the moment because Angelica was still in search of the perfect dress and time was running out.
“Do you have a photo of it?” Angelica asked and opened her locker.
Samantha delayed, obviously having qualms about showing her the dress. It killed the fragile moment of camaraderie that had sprung up between them.
“That’s okay. I get that you wouldn’t want to show me the dress,” she said and quickly reached into her locker for her shower caddy. She didn’t want to show her upset.
The soft touch of Samantha’s hand on her arm stopped her.
Samantha knew she had blown their moment with her reticence about the dress, but not for the reasons Angelica might think. Determined to set things back to right—or as right as they ever could be with An-gelica—she laid her hand on Angelica’s arm.
“I don’t mind showing you the dress. I just need to get out my phone,” she said.
As Angelica straightened and turned her way, Samantha rooted through her knapsack and located her phone. She whipped it out and with a few efficient swipes, pulled up a photo of the dress.
She handed her phone to Angelica who peered at the dress intently. “It’s gorgeous. You look wonderful,” she said, true pleasure in her words.
“Thank you. I’m very happy with it,” Samantha said. Her mother had sketched several designs before they had both agreed that this was the right one.
“Who’s the designer? Where did you get it?” Angelica asked and passed the phone back to Samantha.
She should have expected those questions and prepared an answer, but she hadn’t. As before, she wavered. And as before, Angelica got the wrong message.
“Got it,” she said, grabbed her shower caddy and towel and hurried off.
Sara sighed and put her phone away. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to share, it was that she didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t some fancy designer, but her very talented mother who had designed and sewn the dress.
Samantha sat there for a long second, uncertain as to what to do, but then she flew into action. Her mother would be picking her up soon and she had to be ready because Aunt Sara was coming over for yet more preparations.
In no time both Angelica and she were showered, dressed, and walking out with their teammates to wait for their parents. After their teammates were gone, the two sat silently on the edge of the planter ledge, both of them hunched over their phones, checking their social media streams and texting their friends. So different from the other day.
We’re sitting barely inches apart and yet it feels like there’s even more distance between us than ever, Samantha thought.
At the sound of a car approaching, both their heads jerked up and Samantha’s mom pulled up in her late model sedan.
“See you tomorrow,” Samantha said as she stood and grabbed her knapsack.
“See you,” Angelica said, but there was no friendliness in her tone.
When Samantha slipped into the car, her mother said, “Everything okay? You look like you just lost your best friend.”
Samantha peered back toward Angelica, who sat there, swinging her legs as she waited, her head buried in her smartphone again. She wasn’t sure Angelica was a friend, but she wasn’t really as bad as she’d told her aunt the other day.
“I’m okay, only...I showed Angelica the pictures of my dress and she really liked it. She asked who the designer was,” she said and glanced at her mother intently, anxiously waiting for her reaction.
Her mother shot her a quick look, her brown eyes conflicted. “Did you tell her?”
Samantha shook her head. “No.” There was a wealth of emotions in that one simple word.
“Does it bother you that I made your dress? Are you ashamed of that? Of me?”
Hurt was alive a
nd huge in her mother’s voice and it was the last thing she wanted. “No, mami, of course not. If anything, I’m so proud of how talented you are and how beautiful the dress is.” She hated that she had hurt her mother because her mother was also her friend—possibly her best friend. But being the scholarship girl in an exclusive school was often difficult, especially when it came to things involving money.
Their family wasn’t poor. They just weren’t as rich as the families of most of the teens at the prep school.
“If I told Angelica, would you mind making a dress for her?” Samantha asked.
Her mother jerked the car to an awkward stop at the streetlight as the light turned red. She eyed Samantha, examining her carefully. “Are you sure you want that to happen?”
With a quick shrug, she said, “It could be good for the family. For you. Angelica’s mom has a lot of connections.”
Her mother blew out a harsh breath. “Connections who would rather shop at the salon where I work or at those fancy shops in Bal Harbour.”
“Unless you had your own salon,” Samantha said. It had always been her mother’s dream to have her own place. If designing the dresses for two quinceañeras got her name and her brand some attention, then maybe this was a chance for her mother to finally take a step toward that dream.
“It’s not that easy,” her mother said and started driving again as the light turned green.
She didn’t like upsetting her mother, but it was for a good reason this time. “You always told me nothing worthwhile was easy. That I could accomplish anything if I wanted it enough and worked hard for it.”
Another laugh escaped her mother, but it was lighter and more amused. With a sidelong glance at Samantha, she said, “It’s hard to argue with such wisdom.”
Samantha didn’t wait to press on. “Is that a yes?”
Dolores nodded and reached out to run her hand across Samantha’s cheek. “Sí, that’s a yes. If Angelica wants me to, I’ll make her dress.”
Chapter 14
With just less than two weeks until the quinceañera, Tony still had plenty of time before he needed the fruits and vegetables to prepare the dishes he’d been preparing. He was pretty sure which recipes he’d be serving on that special night, but just in case there was a shortage of anything, he wanted to be ready.
At the fruit stand he walked through the stalls, checking out what was available and whether he would have to make any changes. So far there was a wealth of the avocados, mangos, passionfruit, and assorted vegetables he needed. Satisfied, he nevertheless searched for Luis to confirm that everything would be okay for the party.
The old man was busy laying out large Florida avocados into one of the bins. He was dressed as he always was, in his clean, but baggy khakis with the worn leather belt that kept them on his lean hips and a sparklingly white T-shirt.
“Buenos dias, Luis,” he said and clapped the old man on the back.
“Buenos dias, Antonio. How are the quince plans going?” Luis said while he continued to stack the bright green fruits.
“They’re going well. I just wanted to check and see what you’ve got just in case I need to make some changes to my menu,” he said and helped the older man unpack the avocados.
Luis grabbed an avocado, held it up, and examined it before placing it in the bin. “You better get your order in soon. Sara was by this morning also. I expect to get her list this week.”
Tony was sure the old man was up to something, but still decided to play his little game. “Do you think you’ll run out of anything?”
The old man made a face. “Por favor, chico. There isn’t a thing I can’t get for you.”
Luis grabbed the now empty avocado box and walked toward the storage area at the back of the store. Tony followed him and said, “So what did Sara say?”
“Sara said a lot. She needs avocados, nice ones like we just put out,” Luis said slyly as they entered the backroom that was packed with cardboard boxes of assorted fruits and vegetables.
“We both know that’s not what I mean,” he said. When Luis thrust a box of pineapples at him, he grabbed it, waited for the old man to lift another box with the fruit, and followed him back out to the store to help him stock the bins.
“Lo se, chico. But maybe you should ask her yourself.” Luis jerked his head in the direction of the restaurant portion of the store where Sara sat at the counter, chatting with Lucy and having a shake.
“Maybe,” he said, but continued stocking the pineapples with the old man while he pondered what he would say to Sara if he went over.
Sara swirled the straw around the remains of the mamey shake that Lucy had insisted she try rather than her everyday strawberry one.
“Do you like it, niña?” Lucy asked as she washed the metal mixer glass and began to prepare a shake for a customer waiting at the counter.
Sara took another sip and tried to analyze the flavors that teased her taste buds. “I do. There are so many notes here. Sweet potato. Peach,” she said and sucked up the last of the shake with a slurpy sound.
“Es mi favorito,” Lucy said and sliced up a banana into the metal glass, then added strawberries, vanilla ice cream, condensed milk, and the ice to cool it all down.
While Lucy whirred the mixture together in a powerful blender, she raised her voice to talk over the noise. “How are you doing, niña? You look tired.”
Sara shrugged. She had been feeling off but didn’t want to share the why of it with the older woman. “Between work and the party, I’m pretty wiped.”
Lucy poured the shake into a take-out glass for the other customer and afterward, came to take away Sara’s empty glass. “You’re too young to be so tired. I think there’s more to your sad mood, isn’t there?”
Sara would be hard-pressed to deny it and besides, Luis and Lucy knew about everything that was going on in Little Havana. She playfully pointed a finger at Lucy and said, “If you’re going to try and get me to talk about him, forget it.”
Lucy placed a hand over her heart, as if to say, “Who me?” A second later, her gaze shifted to glance beyond Sara’s shoulder.
As Sara turned, Lucy said, “Then maybe you should talk to him about it.”
Sara’s heart skipped a beat as Tony approached, his lips in a tight line. His long legs ate up the short distance between them. Thanks to the height of the stool, she had to look up at him when he reached her side. But then he sat, bringing them almost eye-to-eye.
His dark eyes were troubled, likely mirroring the concern in her own gaze. But that still didn’t keep her heartbeat from accelerating or stop the urge to reach up and brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. She gripped her hands tightly to avoid doing that.
“Sara.”
“Tony.”
This was going well, she thought. Not. It made her wish for the easy camaraderie they’d shared only a week ago.
“How are you doing?” he asked and motioned to her empty glass. “Can I get you another?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “And risk a sugar coma? Thanks for the offer though. Would you like one?”
He nodded and from behind her she heard the whir of the blender that said Lucy was already making him a shake.
“What brings you here?” she said. Lame, she thought.
“Same thing as you,” he said and gestured to the fruit and vegetable stalls behind him and to the shake that Lucy placed on the counter in front of him. He picked up the glass and took a big sip. The shake left behind an orangey-colored moustache on those lips she’d dreamed about more than once. As he licked off the remnants of the drink, she dragged her gaze from his mouth and back up to his eyes.
“Are you ready for Angelica’s party?” she asked, wanting to keep things on a friendly note despite the unwanted competition that had arisen between them. She had to admit, even if just to herself, th
at she’d been missing him and the fun times they’d had before the reporter and her magazine article had entered their lives.
“I think so. How about you? How are things going?” He took another big gulp of the shake and then held it up to her. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
His offer made her remember how they’d so easily shared the churros just over a week ago and she wished they could restore that closeness. Regret slammed in her, but then her phone chirped with Jeri’s custom ringtone. Her friend and partner would only call during Sara’s free time if there was an emergency.
She held up her finger in a wait gesture, walked away from him, and swiped to answer.
“What’s wrong, Jeri?”
“You need to check your Twitter feed, Sara. That reporter just posted a teaser for the article she’s doing and it’s exploding.”
“Will do. Talk to you later,” she said and faced Tony as she went to her feed. There it was.
Top Miami chefs battle it out. Should @TonySanchezChef or @SaraKellyMunch be featured this month? Cast ur vote! http://bit.ly/2KAKpp8 #SouthBeach #eatfamous #truecooks #foodie
The tweet had been retweeted over a hundred times already and when she followed the link to the article, there were close to five hundred votes split almost evenly between Tony and her. When she looked up, she realized Tony was likewise viewing something on his phone. His lips had thinned into that tight disapproving scowl again, probably because he had read the Twitter post and visited the magazine’s poll.
Great, she thought as she walked back toward Tony and slipped onto a stool again. “I never expected this when I said I’d do Samantha’s quinceañera.” She’d also never imagined that the man she was falling in love with would end up being “the competition.”
“Me, either,” Tony said and raked his thick hair back in frustration. “That Roberta really knows how to make things difficult.”
“That she does.” When Jeri’s ringtone erupted again from her phone, she held it up and said, “I’m sorry. I really should go deal with all this craziness.”
South Beach Love Page 13