Page 14 of The Layover

“We’re not worried about that,” Raul said.

I added, “We simply like the way it feels with you sandwiched between us.”

Lee’s smile grew, and she hid it behind a sip of her coffee. “Me too.” The lid of her cup muffled her words, but I heard them all the same. “Anyway.” She set her cup down hard enough to splash, and winced. When she grabbed a plastic knife Raul held up his hands.

“We’re sorry?” He didn’t sound distressed.

“Don’t be. Well, maybe you should be a little, but not a lot.” Lee winked at him. She turned to the pastries we’d bought, and set to work cutting them into thirds with impressive and practiced efficiency. “Help yourselves.”

Each of us picked something. I went for the chocolate croissant first, Lee for the fruit tart, and Raul for the blueberry muffin.

I was just here to enjoy the food and company, and it looked like Lee was as well.

Raul on the other hand, picked off little pieces at a time, and savored each one. “It’s not bad,” he said with the first bite. “Actually, it’s really good.” Another bite. “Vanilla—obviously. Cinnamon. A hint of lemon…”

He was picking apart the recipe, which meant in the next week, I’d be sampling a series of modifications to his own blueberry muffin recipe, while he decided if he could improve on what he already had.

Lee grabbed a piece of the same muffin, and bounced it lightly between her fingers. “I think it’s completely under proved.”

“It’s not that kind of bread.” Raul gave her a puzzled look.

“It’s a bit stogy?” She finished her portion quickly. She held up a utensil. “Spork?”

I laughed at the antics. I was pretty sure she was quoting that baking show everyone loved, but I had no idea what silverware had to do with it.

Raul was smothering his amusement behind a scowl. “You can’t boil the art of baking down to a few basic buzzwords.”

“Boil. Cooking. I see what you did there. And the art of anything can be boiled down to a few buzzwords, depending on your audience,” Lee said. “For instance”—she gestured at the ceiling— “the flying buttresses in this place are divine.”

My own humor wilted. I didn’t want to be disappointed in this woman, even for something like this. “Those aren’t flying buttresses.”

“I know that, and you know that, but Joe Blow doesn’t know or care.” Lee sipped her coffee.

And now I cared entirely too much. Even though it seemed unlikely most people would have the kind of knowledge I did, in this moment I desperately wanted her to speak my language—architecture, not Italian. “The stonework on the other hand, the blend of polygonal and rubble masonry is simple but effective.”

“It’s a facade.”

I stared at Lee. Another buzzword? “I would’ve noticed.” I turned to the accent wall immediately behind me, and scrutinized it. There was no way I’d been fooled by fake rock. But sure enough… “Wow. You’re right.”

She nodded and her expression said duh. “The floor on the other hand, is the original white oak hardwood.”

“I’ve got your hardwood right here.” Raul must have the answers he wanted about his muffin if he was making jokes.

Lee laughed. “Do you ever stop?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” Her reply came more quickly than I expected. “I’m still bummed that last night didn’t go anywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted the sleep, but…”

“But what?” I nudged.

“Promises were made, that included orgasms.” She didn’t seem embarrassed by the topic.

Raul dipped his head close to her ear. “We could still make those orgasms happen. This seems like a good spot.”

6

Carly (Lee)

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