A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow - Laura Taylor Namey Page 0,52

on.”

No way am I giving Will and Flora any “FaceTime” at her door. I turn to Gordon. “Hey, can you walk—”

“I’ll see you home,” he tells Flora, right at her heels. “Less chance of hellfire if your dad peeks from his window and sees little old me leaving.” He pivots toward me and swipes a hair band from his wrist, cinching back the frizzy mass. “And my vote goes to lemon.” A silly, courtly bow and bent arm make Flora crack a reluctant smile. “Milady?”

Bien hecho, Gordon. But seeing his goofy grin, now I’m wondering if it’s more than just a random “nice touch.” The other three guys are actually voting on cookie flavors. Strawberry and lemon are the clear winners. I plant myself next to Jules, a united front, and I’m not leaving. If Roth and his buddies want to pester her, they’ll have to go through a bag of sandwiches and me.

Silence.

Roth scratches his temple—the one without the crow wing flop of hair dangling over it. He looks his buddies over. “Okay. Yes. We’d better get on as well, then. Jules, we’ll be seeing you.”

“Don’t bother,” she says.

When the band leaves, Jules flicks my cookie box. “Bloody biscuits. I can’t believe you came out here and fed those wankers biscuits and turned them to kittens.”

“It’s just my way.”

“I was about to use my ways before you turned up.”

Wait. Is she pissed at me? Did I go too far? Stick my spoons and spatulas where they didn’t belong?

Jules slants her body against the courtyard wall, closing chunky wool tightly around her. Her long cabled cardigan reminds me of another gray sweater. “Your tricks are all well and good,” she says. “But I’m used to digging myself out of my own shit piles.”

“I… I’m sorry,” I say and mean it. Unlike my new British friends, I dole out apologies like they’re rare and costly ingredients. I don’t part with them easily and add them sparingly. “I heard you guys and saw Flora. Orion told me the whole backstory and I just wanted to help.” It’s what I do, sometimes without even thinking. I take over. “I should have let you handle it.”

“Well.” Jules waves a hand. “There will always be a next time for me to handle if I know that lot.”

I slant too; the wall is cool against my back. “Also sorry about that.”

“Flora.” Jules makes a rough noise of frustration. “As much as I love that little sprite, I could wring her neck right now. She let it slip to Will that we’d be jamming in Tristan’s garage. We have a set-up there.” She gestures with her head. “It’s just ’round the corner. They were waiting, just casually ‘hanging out’ between Tristan’s joint and my flat. Followed us this way with that bloody shit you probably heard.”

“Subtle. Doesn’t Flora get that you’re not interested?”

“Here’s the thing. Flora has a tough road and two men who love her very much. And I don’t mean that arse, Will. I try and I’ve known her since I was a girl. But she just won’t settle. She goes with the wind and forgets… she forgets that what she does in one, small moment can affect tomorrow.”

The words nudge softly, like Abuela waking me at dawn to start bread dough. “That sounds like a song lyric. Where’s your book?”

“Ha. Perhaps you’re onto something.” Jules pulls the purple notebook from her messenger bag, waves it proudly. “My mum and dad still ask sometimes why I don’t just join up with Evans. I mean, he’s got a trust fund bank roll, the latest and greatest equipment.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Easy. I don’t trust him. He hit on a girl I was seeing for a bit, before Remy. Her dad owns one of the local clubs. Then he totally denied it.”

I give her a sympathetic wince.

“And professionally, he’s a great singer, but he wants to run the whole of it. In Goldline, we collaborate. Listen to one another and make sure everyone’s heard. Roth swears I’d have a lot of creative say. Says we’d do my songs and all that. But…” Her eyes complete the thought.

“It sounds like he’ll say anything to get you to sign. Then you’d end up following his lead all the time.”

“Yeah and I’m no follower. I think my music would get lost,” she notes with an audible breath. Her gaze breaks away as she studies the bag of Cubanos at her feet. She pulls one out. “Almost forgot about these. Orion texted right