Mangos and Mistletoe

by Adriana Herrera

  The other one went next. “I’m a pastry chef at Milk Mama’s.” Another LA fad bakery.

  Be nice, Kiskeya.

  Nod, smile. “I know Milk Mama’s. Your, uh...Donut Cakes broke the internet.” Because people had no damn taste. “Nice to meet you.” Rehbecca, with an R-E-H was side-eyeing me hard, and I decided I was pretty much peopled out. But Rehbecca wasn’t done.

  “What do you do?” My chest tightened at the question. Heat spreading on my face as I opened my mouth to answer. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed. I was proud of what I’d been able to do on my own. But it wasn’t the goal I’d set for myself when I left the Dominican Republic and decided to try my luck as a pastry chef. Still, I made a living, and I was slowly making a name for myself.

  “I’m working in a few kitchens right now. Trying to get my own business off the ground. I do pop-ups. Mostly custom-made cakes and events. Burgess Fine Pastries.” The name was my compromise at finding something that didn’t erase me completely, but was neutral enough to not get pigeonholed into an “ethnic” bakery. Just one more of the lessons I’d learned in these three years.

  “Oh, that’s nice.” I had to admire the degree of unimpressed derision Rebeka-with-a-K was able to inject into three words. But I didn’t need to stick around for more of it.

  I hiked a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to get some food.”

  The rest of the group went back to chatting, and as I walked by, Kaori pointed to the two empty seats on her table.

  “Come back and sit with us. Sully’s sitting here.” She pointed at the empty chair next to her. And just as I was about to ask who that was, a hurricane of brown curls, tartan, and perfectly shaped burgundy lips barreled into the room.

  Fuck me.

  I reminded myself that I could not afford distractions—especially not the life-sized one headed my way. My only hope was that this person worked for the Edinburgh crew and would not be making the trip with us to Ayrshire Castle. I hadn’t prayed since the day I got on the plane to leave Santo Domingo, but it was all I could do keep from crossing myself when I got a good look at her.

  I pushed my fists into my bomber jacket, still not daring to sit at the table, or anywhere that would get me in close proximity to this embodiment of a sunbeam. And it wasn’t just me, everyone in the room seemed to be bewitched by her smile. Even the Beccas looked up from their selfie-posting frenzy to watch her as she made her way across the room.

  Was life in slow-motion now? It likely fucking was, and I seemed to be rooted to the spot, as the force of nature with curly hair glided over to us.

  As discreetly as I could, I brought my gaze down to her feet and slowly made my way up. She was wearing brown ankle boots and hunter-green tights, the exact same color as mine. Her skirt—a knee-length thing in dark blue and green tartan—hugged every one of her curves. By the time I got to the denim shirt and leather jacket, I could feel the beads of sweat trickling down my back.

  Breathe, Kiskeya. Tranquila.

  She came to a dead stop right in front of me and didn’t even try to hide she was checking me out. My skin prickled as dark brown eyes, like the darkest chocolate, smiled at me.

  “I’m Sully.” Her hand was warm and soft. Her nails trimmed to a sensible length but painted in the same burgundy matte shade as her lips.

  I opened my mouth and was impressed with my ability to make words. “I’m Kiskeya. Nice to meet you.”

  Her smile got even wider, if that was possible, and the big gold hoops on her ears bopped against the mess of curls which cascaded down her neck and shoulders, as she shook her head.

  Her lips were perfect. And kissable, so fucking kissable. “Kiskeya.”

  Holy shit, the way she said my name.

  I literally stumbled back. Hand on my chest, eyes scanning the room looking for the spot where the thunder had come from. Because surely this throbbing in my head could not be her. And then she spoke again, in perfect Spanish.

  “La tierra de mis amores.”

  Oh God. She knew what my name meant.

  Before I nodded woodenly and hopefully said something that didn’t make me sound like a complete and utter dolt, I had one last fleeting thought.

  Kiskeya Burgos, your distraction is Dominican.

  Chapter 2

  Sully

  A tall drink of café con leche, with more café than leche—just like I took mine.

  And her name was Kiskeya.

  Yes. Por. Favor.

  My gaydar could not be beat, and the woman with the Dominican name who looked like my every fantasy was staring at me like she wanted to gobble me up, her eyes darting from my face down to my boobs. She also seemed to be on the verge of passing out, so I let go of her hand and decided against the kiss on the cheek. I was fresh, but I wasn’t trying to violate anyone’s personal space, and Kiskeya looked spooked.

  But I was me, so I had to say something. “I assume you’re Dominican, because even the most devoted fans of the DR’s beaches aren’t gonna go as hard as naming their kid the Taino name for the island.” I was clearly joking, but she just seemed to get even more pressed. I was a lot and was used to having some kind of effect on people, but scared shitless usually wasn’t it.

  “I’m Dominican. Came to the States after college.” She closed her eyes at that and shook her head as if reconsidering. “I came for culinary school like three years ago and stayed.”

  Okay, she came after college, but had no accent at all. She had to be on the West Coast too, because all the East Coast peeps were on the same flight from New York. There was a story there for sure.

  Sully Morales, you are not going to get all up on this woman’s business.

  But man, I wanted to ask a million questions, starting with what soap she used because I was getting verbena and ginger and those were two of my favorite things. Thankfully Alex saved my thirsty ass from myself.

  “We have two Dominicanas in the house. Fun is all but guaranteed.” Kiskeya did not seem to like that, but she kept her stank face in check. I figured she didn’t want the attention on her, so I starting messing with Alex.

  “I’m here to compete to the death, Alex. Your cute behind should be thinking about how you’re gonna beat me,” I teased as I sank my butt into the seat, then realized I needed to go and get some food. Kiskeya was still standing by Kaori’s chair looking like she was debating between running away or hiding under a table. I wasn’t going to leave my fellow Dominicana hanging, so I popped back up and tried really hard to offer a genuine smile.

  “You want to go and grab some food? I think Isla and the rest of the crew will be here any minute to tell us the teams and instructions for tomorrow.”

  Flinching was not the reaction I was hoping for, and Kiskeya sounded unsure even when she answered, “Okay.”

  I was kind of thrown. Meeting another Dominican anywhere usually meant lots of laughter and inside jokes, but so far, Kiskeya seemed to want to get as far from me as possible. She kept looking around as if figuring out where the nearest exit was. Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe she was staying on task. We were most likely going to be on opposite teams, maybe she didn’t want to get friendly. It was disconcerting, and that extra side of me wanted to prod a bit. Figure out why she was acting all put-out.

  By the time we got to the buffet, she hadn’t said a word.

  “So, what would you do with the prize money if you won?” I asked, genuinely curious. She seemed so serious, I assumed she had it all figured out.

  She looked at me for a second and went back to examining the offerings on the buffet. When she spoke, it was low, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Honestly, the money isn’t my biggest priority. Although I can definitely use it, but the reason why I entered the contest was the paid apprenticeship at Farine et Sucré.”

  “Ah, that makes sense, if you’re on the West Coast.” One of the prizes for the “professionals” in the contest were their choice of paid apprenticeships under some of th
e most renowned pastry chefs in the country. I knew one was in New York City with a Mexican female chef who owned, Canela, a very popular bakery in Brooklyn. Seemed like Kiskeya wanted the job with the French dude in LA.

  “It’s basically impossible to get in there, but everyone that’s apprenticed there ends up getting snapped up by the biggest kitchens. It’s my dream job.” I guess the way to get Kiskeya fired up was to ask her about business.

  “That’s a big motivation to give this your all.” I was trying to be encouraging, now that she was at least talking.

  She nodded, as she inspected a cheese plate. “More than my all. I will do whatever it takes to get that job.”

  And I would very much avoid thinking about why I was bummed out when I realized Kiskeya wasn’t interested in the East Coast job. Sully, you met the woman get three minutes ago. Get over yourself.

  This was also a great time to remind myself that I was here to focus on me. Not to get tangled up and in my feelings about someone who I’d never see again once this contest was over. This was what I did. Found something or someone to focus on, so I didn’t have to figure out my own shit.

  “How about you?” I yelped when Kiskeya spoke, because apparently I was going to be a full-on weirdo today.

  But when I processed what she’d said, I froze at the question. It had been a long ass time since anyone had asked me what I wanted. “I kind of got volunteered for this.”

  She literally did a double take and just stared, like she could not compute what I’d just said. “I didn’t enter myself. My family entered me.”

  More confused staring.

  “I mean, they asked me before they did. They thought it would be fun, and honestly I never thought I’d get in.”

  “Oh, okay.” Her tone clearly conveyed, “I don’t know how to respond to that,” and she immediately went back to a deep analysis of the grilled tomatoes and mushrooms in one of the chafing dishes.

  I was kind of annoyed at her lack of interest in me, but then I reminded myself that what people thought about me was not something I wasted my time on. I could only control what I chose to do. And I was determined to keep it nice and breezy while I was on this free vacay in Scotland.

  We went through the buffet line slowly. Kiskeya examining everything closely as if she was trying to figure out how they made it.

  “Spread’s amazing.” I really could not keep my mouth shut. She turned to look at me, like she’d forgotten I was there, and again, I felt my annoyance bubble up. Why was this chick getting to me like this?

  “Yeah, it’s a pretty nice brunch menu...I’ve—”

  “Ooh, they have morcilla.” Because I had no manners, I interrupted her, but this was my favorite.

  She seemed surprised at my excitement. “You like morcilla?”

  “Of course I do.”

  She grabbed the tongs after I’d taken a couple of pieces of the black pudding and put some on her plate. I just put whatever on my plate as I closely tracked her every move, intrigued by this quiet Dominican woman, who didn’t seem interested in me in the slightest. Eventually she turned to look at me, and my face heated, realizing I’d been standing there staring. But instead of calling me out, she went in another direction. I followed her, because today I seemed to have developed an appetite for people ignoring me.

  “Morcilla isn’t something all Dominicans like.” Uh, okay, so what did that mean? That I gave off a “Basic Dominican Bitch” vibe?

  I didn’t pout, but damn, it was close. “My abuela made it for us every year when we came to visit. Like homemade.”

  Oh, now I was getting glares, this b—

  “Homemade morcilla is the best. Depends on the cook, of course.” This would’ve been a great moment to bail on this tragedy of a conversation, but did my ass stop rambling and leave her alone? No. I talked all the way back to the table.

  “My parents are from Bonao, so we’d go back every summer to visit the family. We always went to see my grandmother for a couple of weeks.”

  We put down our plates, sat, settled bright red linen napkins on our laps, and grabbed our cutlery, but still no response from Kiskeya. I felt my heartbeat in my throat and my face was hot from her indifference. I’d been ignored before, of course, but I usually knew who to expect it from. My mother always said I’d never make it as a poker player, because I showed everything I was feeling on my face.

  So I kept mine away from Kiskeya. If she didn’t want to talk to me, I wouldn’t talk to her. Kaori and Gustavo had headed to the buffet again, so I couldn’t turn my attention to them. I focused on my food instead. As I was cutting into a poached egg and mentally calculating how long it would take me to eat my food—so I could use my empty plate as an excuse to get the hell away from this rude-ass lady—she finally spoke. Her voice startled me so much, I dropped my knife and the clatter it made sounded like a gunshot had gone off in the room.

  “I was born in the capital. I lived there until I moved to the States.” Despite my commitment to being rude to her, I immediately turned my face in her direction, still interested. “My parents are from the south. But we never really went there growing up.”

  Her eyes looked so sad, and of course my dumb heart wanted to immediately make it better. I wanted to ask questions, figure out why talking about home brought about such sadness in those gorgeous brown eyes. I wondered if she was close to her family. I knew Dominican families could be a lot; zero boundaries and the toxic masculinity in our culture could wear women the fuck out.

  Still, I couldn’t imagine my life without my loud and loving mother and little brother. Even after the last couple of years when I’d had to put my entire life on hold to take care of my mother, I still didn’t regret a thing. But before I could say any of that, Gustavo and Kaori got back to the table. And just as they were sitting, we saw Isla come in with the competition’s hostess.

  Alex grinned and wiggled his shoulders excitedly as we watched them walk up to the front of the room. “This is it, guys.” His eyes actually sparkled, and when I turned to Kiskeya, I noticed that her face was taking on a yellow pallor.

  I wanted to reach for her hand and squeeze. Tell her not to be so nervous. That we could support each other while we were here, because my self-preservation instincts were seemingly at an all-time low. But instead of reassuring her, I went with pettiness, because I was also a mess. “Don’t worry, what are the chances they’ll put the two Dominicans together?”

  She frowned, probably not sure how to react, and I opened my mouth—almost certainly about to make things worse. Blessedly I was saved from myself by Isla’s voice.

  “Good afternoon, team. This is your official welcome to the Holiday Baking Challenge week.” There was a round of applause, and the energy in the room definitely shifted. “You’ve been selected among some of the best up-and-coming young pastry chefs and home bakers in America. Feel proud of yourselves for that.” More applause and even some whoops from Gustavo and Alex, which had us all laughing.

  “We have some information to share with you today, but I will leave all that in the hands of the show’s leading lady.” She extended her hand to the Puerto Rican comedian-turned-baking-show-hostess who’d been the face of the competition for the past two years. Patricia Calderon looked as amazing in person as she was on television. She was wearing jeans, a thick sweater, and tall, brown leather boots—makeup and hair on point. She smiled at us with genuine excitement.

  “Y’all got your food, taking advantage of that bottomless boozy brunch,” she said with a snap of her fingers. “Get your mimosas, people. The Cooking Channel’s paying!”

  That elicited a laugh from the room, and I took that as a cue to take a sip, because I was all kinds of jittery. Between the glances Kiskeya kept sending my way and the anticipation of who I’d end up paired with, I was feeling the nerves.

  For some reason, I’d convinced myself there was no way they’d pair up Kiskeya and me. That would be such cliché, putting the two Dominicans together as if
we would be kindred spirits. Like that hadn’t been my exact thought the moment I’d realized she was from the DR too. I could be a little cliché and I was definitely sentimental—Kiskeya didn’t seem to be either. She would probably not be thrilled by the prospect of being stuck with me for six days. The applause brought me back to what was happening in the room, and I realized the announcements had begun.

  “I know you’ve all gotten brought up to speed on the program.” A flurry of affirmative responses were heard across the room at Patricia’s statement. She flashed perfectly straight teeth at us before going back to reading her notes. Everyone was hanging on her every word. Even the Beccas had put their phones down for a moment.

  “You will have three days of challenges with a practice day in between.” The space hummed, with every new nugget of information raising the excitement levels. I noticed that Kiskeya had pulled out a tiny pad and pen from somewhere and was dutifully taking notes. Of course, her nerdery just made her that much hotter to me. I was hopeless.

  Patricia went on giving us the rundown of the themes this year. First challenge: holiday cookies, then bread, and the third day would be a surprise for the first day of filming. Kiskeya frowned adorably at that, squinting at her paper like she could coax an answer from it.

  I leaned in and whispered in a low voice, “I might have to copy from your homework later.” She practically jumped in her seat, and suddenly all I wanted was to lure Kiskeya to me like a wary kitten. There was not much about the woman that was soft, and she certainly didn’t seem like she was interested at all in getting anywhere near me. But still, the pull to unravel her a bit, to see what was hiding behind all that sternness was very strong.

  “She’s about to tell us who the teams are.” I even found her hissing sexy. Obviously, this was not a Kiskeya problem, this was a Sully problem.

  I tuned back in to Patricia’s voice since Kiskeya had shifted in her seat, so that she had her full back to me.

  She was not subtle...but I knew I hadn’t imagined the way she was looking at me when I walked in. There had been something there, but I wasn’t going to get pushy either.