Page 50 of Kiss Me, Maybe

“The main character’s a baker, if that wasn’t apparent.” I pick up a knife to slice us both a piece of tres leches cake. She nods idly, taking in the decorations.

“How long does book club usually go for?”

“We close at nine, but people usually start heading out by eight thirty,” I tell her. “Why?”

“Fiesta starts today. I thought maybe it’d give you someinspiration to continue the scavenger hunt. That’s why I texted you earlier. I thought we could go today or tomorrow. I have a rare weekend off.”

“Fiesta.” I hadn’t even considered that. It’s a brilliant idea, if my heart is still set on salvaging the scavenger hunt. I’ll at least have one willing participant, a girl I’ve never met in person who shares my identity. There’s potential with Leti. More than there is with Krystal, anyway. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but maybe that’s why I should give Krystal’s idea a shot. “Tomorrow sounds perfect. I’m in.”

“Cool.” She glances around again, eyes lighting in excitement. “You know, for all the times you and Marcela have seen me at work, I’ve never seen you two in your element. It’s a nice change of pace.”

“You pour drinks, we dress up as fictional characters and eat.” I laugh. “She’s—”

Right in front of me.

“Marcela!” Krystal jumps in surprise as she turns around.

“I hope you’re taking care of my best friend here.” Marcela walks around her to stand next to me, all the while never taking her eyes off the other woman. “You’re not getting her into any trouble, are you?”

“More like the other way around.” Krystal laughs, sharing a knowing look with me. “I’m looking out for her, though. No worries there.”

“I hope so,” Marcela warns. “You two have been spending a lot of time together. I’d hate for anything bad to happen to her… intended or not. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Oh, good lord.

The last thing Krystal needs to hear right now is Marcela’s equivalent of the “you hurt my best friend, I hurtyou” speech.

“Marcela—”

“It’s okay,” Krystal cuts me off, not even flinching away from Marcela’s stare-down. “I get exactly what you’re saying. And I have no intention of hurting her. I’d never do that.”

“Well, like I said,” Marcela says. “Intended or not, there’ll be hell to pay.”

And with that ominous note, she leaves us.

“Don’t mind her,” I start to explain. “She’s just—”

“Cautious,” Krystal finishes for me. “As any best friend would be. I get it.”

“I didn’t tell her what you told me,” I say, needing to get this much off my chest. “About Isaac and your feelings on love and relationships. But she senses I’m not telling her something, and now she’s on her guard. I’ll tell her she has no reason to be.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Takes a bite of cake with a plastic fork. Over my shoulder, the teens are still painting on their easels. Marcela flashes me the timer on her phone. They have eight minutes until we call time and move on to the last activity of the night.

“You can,” Krystal finally says. “If you want to, you can tell her. Don’t keep any secrets from Marcela on my account.”

“It’s not my story to tell.” I shake my head.

“She’s your best friend. No secret is safe from a best friend.” She smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “Thanks for inviting me. I should let you get back to it. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” I nod. “Yeah.”

We say our goodbyes, and I watch her back as she walks out of the building.

Twenty-Two

Downtown is buzzing with activity. Krystal and I pass through a throng of people as we look around. Vendors are lined up on every corner selling street food and other goods, carnival rides are set up in the distance, and musicians perform Tejano music live from various stages where crowds have gathered.

Krystal and I walk down the street arm in arm, cups of elote in hand as we peruse the downtown scenery. It’s hard, pretending I’m not overthinking the friendliness of our linked arms while also acting like I’m not replaying the other night on a constant, never-ending loop in my brain. Every luscious curve out on display for my viewing pleasure, our shared sighs filling her tiny bedroom, the orgasm that no other orgasm has any hope of measuring up to.

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