Page 36 of Guava Flavored Lies

CHAPTER17

With the Whitneysuddenly less than a week away, Sylvie struggled to focus. Standing alone in the kitchen, she’d waited until the bakery had closed so she could take it over without interruption. The Coral Gables location was the newest and largest space, and the only one where she could spread out.

After moving everything on casters to one side, she exposed a wide swath of white tile floor. Using the specs from the printout on the counter, she marked four narrow rectangles on the floor with tape. The dimensions of her booth at the Whitney.

Standing at the center of her imaginary booth, Sylvie stood with her hands on her hips. The space she’d been given was half the size of her usual festival set up. There was no way she could fit everything she needed on such cramped tables.

Like she was playing the most labor-intensive game of Tetris, Sylvie started arranging trays on the floor to get a sense of what she could bring. She needed to plan for optimal food placement. A challenge when the sandwich press alone took up a third of one of the tables.

As she worked, her mind drifted.

In the week and a half since she’d seen Lauren at the gala, she’d been holding her breath. Every morning she checked all her social media accounts waiting for someone to post the video of them dancing, but the moment never came. No one seemed to care that two great rivals had engaged in such frivolity.

To Sylvie, it had been a seismic event. A shift in the status quo.

The memories invaded her senses, making it impossible to concentrate. She could still feel the warm weight of Lauren’s hand on her shoulder. Still hear the sound of her laughter vibrating in her ear. Still smell her sweet perfume.

Maybe that had been Lauren’s plan. Not to embarrass her, but to distract her from the all important Whitney.

How could she be so sure it would work? What did she remember about high school? About the moment that was so brief, Sylvie sometimes wondered whether it really existed.

The burn in her stomach reminded her that it had been real. Real for her.

For Lauren, it had been a joke, of course. A chance to make a fool of her. There was no other reason that she’d set her up with hope. That she’d invite her to the dance and then do what she did.

Straightening, Sylvie forced herself to pay attention to what she was doing. She’d finally gotten a chance at the Whitney and she wasn’t going to let her ruin it. It was bad enough she was going to have to see her.

The image of Lauren’s gleaming brown eyes and stupid dimples crept into her brain again. The thought of her wasn’t the problem, Sylvie realized, it was the roller coaster it produced in her body. The way it sent her stomach paragliding into her chest.

“You’re pathetic,” she muttered to herself before kicking at the imaginary portable oven that didn’t fit on her imaginary table.

The sound of her phone ringing was a welcome distraction from her distraction. As soon as she retrieved it from her bag, her heart vaulted into her mouth.

“Hey, Freddie.”

The sound of a busy office made Freddie difficult to hear. “Hey, Syl. Got a minute?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” She picked at the cuticles of her manicured nails.

“Listen, I didn’t want to text you.” Noise crackled over the line like Freddie had covered her phone with fabric. “I found something,” she whispered, the noise behind her growing faint.

The words sent Sylvie pacing around the industrial kitchen. This was it. Finally, the moment of truth.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she replied with feigned certainty. She trusted her grandfather. He would never lie. Not to her. Whatever Freddie had to say, it was going to prove that the Machados were the thieves once and for all.

“This is kind of sensitive,” Freddie replied, her voice echoey like she’d taken her phone into the bathroom. “And the way I got it is not exactly on the up and up,” she dropped her voice into a barely audible whisper.

Every ounce of moisture fled Sylvie’s mouth. Swallowing, she tried not to get ahead of herself. Just because the news was sensitive didn’t mean it was bad.

Running water from a sink pulled Sylvie out of her impending panic spiral.

“Can we meet tonight?” Freddie asked. “I have a meeting at six. I’m rushing to it now, but I’d like to see you as soon as possible. Does eight o’clock work?”

Looking at her smart watch, Sylvie clenched her teeth. Three hours. How could Freddie expect her to wait three freaking hours?

“Are you sure you can’t tell me over the phone? Call me from the car or something?” Sylvie only realized she was shaking when she heard the tremble in her voice.

A long pause on the other end of the line made Sylvie stop pacing. There was no way this could be that bad.

“It’s a lot to explain. I’m sorry, Syl. I’m really not trying to be dramatic, but if I know you at all, I’m sure you’re going to want to see what I’ve got. It’s not something I can send in a message. On top of my source issue, I promised to destroy the copies.”

“Copies? Of what? Freddie you’re getting more and more cryptic.” Sylvie’s pounding heart made it difficult to speak. It was like trying to have a conversation while racing up a flight of stairs. She could either talk or breathe. Not both.

“I know, I’m sorry.” An elevator dinged. “I got this stuff seconds before I called. Meeting you is the only way I can get you what you need without risking myself. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Syl. I just have to make sure this is for your eyes only.”

Sylvie rocked back on her heels and rested on the sink. “Does this mean you have a definitive answer?”

A pause. The sound of elevator doors closing. The threat of Sylvie’s strawberry salad lunch returning.

“Yes.”

---