Page 15 of Guava Flavored Lies

CHAPTER6

Bone-tired from having gone outwith Jenny, Melissa, and Dom the night before, Lauren yawned as she hurried toward her booth. Pulling the wagon full of her fresh-baked creations behind her, she only had minutes to set up before the gates opened to the crowd. As she rushed, she imagined what kind of obnoxious commentary Sylvie was going to have in store for her.

As she neared her tent at the end of the closed-off street lined with swaying palm trees, she was greeted by the sound of Sylvie yelling. A sound she’d grown familiar with over the years. The woman’s frustration tolerance had always been abysmal.

Pacing her tent, Sylvie had her hand on her baseball-cap-covered head as she screeched into her cellphone. The immature part of Lauren vibrated with delight at seeing her in distress. Whatever had her so upset, Sylvie had either caused it or, at the very least, deserved it.

“Madrina, I need you to bring me a replacement, please.” Sylvie charged along the right angle bend at the corner of her booth. “Just send the whole machine. I can’t not have coffee all day. It’s thirty percent of my sales.” She hit another right angle. “Can’t you call Chuchi? He can take it apart and bring it to me.” Her hand slid off her head and covered her face as she stopped moving. “I know it’s Sunday, but can’t you make due with one machine for the day? It’s better than—” She sighed. “Yeah. Okay. I know you’re right. I’ll figure something out. I’ll call the repair guy again and see if I can persuade him to come.” She dropped her shoulders and muttered as Lauren slid into the adjoining booth. “If I can get him to answer the freaking phone first. Bueno, okay. Bye. I love you too.”

Lauren gave Sylvie the benefit of ignoring her as she laid out the food she’d picked up from the bakery before sunrise. If she was dealing with a crisis, she’d hope Sylvie would give her the benefit of privacy.

With a curse, Sylvie threw her cell phone on the table and kicked a box on the ground. Glancing at her from the corner of her eye, Lauren could tell that a meltdown was imminent. As much as a little part of her wanted Sylvie to suffer, she hated to see anyone struggle. Even spiteful little creatures like her.

“Can I help?” Lauren asked when she finished stocking the large cooler under the table.

Sylvie’s response was a suspicious glare.

Lauren put her hands up as if Sylvie’s eyes were loaded weapons. “I come in peace, okay?” She smiled. “What happened?”

Sylvie’s attention snapped to the espresso machine behind her. “It’s not heating the water.”

“Can I take a look at it?” Lauren asked, moving slowly as she approached the tiger’s enclosure. Even wounded, a wild creature could still attack without warning.

“What are you a cafetera whisperer?” Sylvie snapped.

Lauren took her sarcasm as tacit acceptance of her offer. It’s not like Sylvie was capable of talking to other people like a human being. Reaching under her own espresso machine, Lauren grabbed the hardshell case her father gifted her years earlier.

Using her tools, Lauren dismantled the machine’s cover while Sylvie stared over her shoulder.

“How do I know you’re not going to sabotage my machine?”

Lauren looked up from where she was squatting to get a good look inside the machine’s expensive guts. She couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean the machine that’s already broken?”

Sylvie’s pink lips twitched as if torn between a sneer and smile. She understood their confusion well, she was often torn between two distinct emotions when in Sylvie’s proximity.

Turning back to the machine, Lauren identified the problem. “The coil is cracked.” She pointed to the curling copper line leading from the heating element attached to the water tank. “See?”

As if the act itself was torture, Sylvie bent over next to Lauren to see where she was pointing. The scent of her clean perfume filled Lauren’s lungs and transported her to another lifetime. It had been fifteen years since Sylvie had been this close, but Lauren remembered every detail of it like it was yesterday.

“How the hell does that happen?” Sylvie muttered, her face inches from Lauren’s as she stared at the problem.

“Stress,” Lauren replied just as quietly, her attention fixated on Sylvie’s bright, honey-colored eyes.

Sylvie shifted her gaze from the coil to Lauren. With her lips parted and her expression surprisingly soft, she looked like she did at the dance. Her heart-shaped face and delicate features never matched the intensity burning inside of her.

“It’s what happens when it gets too hot,” Lauren explained, forcing herself to keep her attention away from Sylvie’s lips, even if her eyes were just as dangerous. “Too hot and then suddenly too cold.”

Sylvie dragged her teeth along her bottom lip. “I can see how that can break you,” she replied, her words a loaded revolver aimed at Lauren’s chest.

Lauren’s suddenly racing heart jolted her to her feet. She couldn’t do this with her again. “Unless you can get a replacement coil today, there’s no way you’re going to use that as anything but a paperweight. You can use mine.”

The shift in energy brought them both back to reality.

“Why would you do that?” Sylvie demanded, crossing her arms over her chest like she was trying to keep something out . . . or maybe something in.

Lauren was already busy moving things off the tables acting as a barrier between them. “Give me a hand. I’m not doing all your work,” she barked as her fingers trembled from the burst of adrenaline cycling through her body. “I don’t want to hear you complaining that you would’ve done so much better than me at the festival if only you’d had your coffee machine.”

More comfortable bickering than talking, Sylvie sprang into action and helped Lauren create an alleyway between the two booths. “There’s always an ulterior motive,” she replied predictably, although her words lacked their typically venomous edges. Surprisingly, she was as easy to disarm as she was to detonate.

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