Page 7 of Tropical Vice
“Places that feel real,” Blake clarified, more defensive than he meant. “Not designed. Not dressed up for tourists.”
Kit turned and picked up a cloth. “If you’re going to make this a travel destination, don’t lie.”
“I haven’t even pitched it yet,” Blake said.
“There you go again with the ‘yet.’”
Blake didn’t answer.
Kit disappeared again. Blake looked down at Chili, who had wobbled over and crept closer to his foot. His wagging tail gently hit Geng’s torso. He scratched behind the dog’s ear and was rewarded with a sigh.
The curry, when it came, was darker than he’d expected, almost smoky. Blake took a bite and had to close his eyes.
“This is amazing,” he said when Kit passed again. “Not like any curry I’ve had before. What did you do to it?”
Kit paused. “Burnt the paste. It was an accident, but people liked it. So I kept it that way.”
Blake smiled. “Good call.”
The café remained mostly empty. A young woman slurped noodles in the corner. Outside, a rooster crossed the road alone.
“You always this charming?” Blake asked, when Kit passed again with a tray of herbs.
Kit didn’t turn. “You always this persistent?”
“I’m paid to be.”
“That explains the shoes.”
Blake looked down. “I thought these were local.”
“They’re new.”
“You noticed.”
“You’re quite noticeable,” Kit said simply.
Blake looked up at him then, and for a moment, the room narrowed. He wondered if Kit could hear how loud his own heart sounded in his chest.
Kit broke it when he cussed quietly, glancing at the clock.
“Anything the matter?”
“One of the delivery guys didn’t show this morning, I’ve got orders sitting at the market that can’t wait much longer. I’ll sort it out.”
Blake rose before thinking, he smelled opportunity and took it. “I’ll help.”
Kit didn’t look pleased. “You’ll regret it.”
“I probably will,” Blake said. “Still offering.”
Kit hesitated, eyes narrowed slightly, then gave a single nod. “We’ll take the truck.”
Blake followed him out back. Dusty thumped his tail as they passed. Mango barked once, sharp and high. Geng trotted alongside until Kit snapped his fingers, and the dog veered off.
They crossed behind the building where a pickup sat with its bed scratched and leaning, the side mirrors dulled by salt. As Kit loaded an empty crate into the rusted bed of the truck, Blake found himself smiling again, without reason. The heat pressed in around them, but the tension between them felt cool and electric, just starting to charge.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted from Kit exactly. But he knew he didn’t want to leave.
