A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow - Laura Taylor Namey Page 0,73

wine then stretches long, loud, and delicious. Remy’s a pro at the fryer from working at the pub. Ham croquettes and potato balls come out golden crisp and the fillings ooze in greasy wonder. Orion helps serve the arroz con pollo. The crowd oohs and ahhs over the steaming platter of chicken over yellow rice with peas, peppers, and onions, dripping with reduced stock and the flavor of bones.

We all lean over the wooden surface, bellies filling with food and ears with stories. Orion accepts a second ale from Gordon and offers me one, but I stick to the house red Remy lifted from the pub.

“Lila, tell me you’ve seen Ri sloshed?” Gordon asks. “Like well and truly pissed?”

I grin over the thought, and at Orion’s glare at his buddy. “Hmm, I know I’ve witnessed buzzed. But I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of his fully sloshed presence.”

Remy chimes in. “Well, that’s gonna require more than two beers. But speaking from those who know, it’s gorgeous.”

Orion swallows his last bite of his millionth potato ball. “Bugger off, Rem.”

“I don’t think so.” Remy only spurs himself on more. “Orion’s a sleepy drunk. The last time I saw it, he was at my place.”

“Oh God, I remember this,” Jules adds with a snicker.

“Yeah,” Remy tips his bottle. “Crashed on my sofa and before he went clean out, he was mumbling all this random shit. Some coherent, some not. We weren’t sure if he was awake or dreaming.”

“Wanker,” Orion says, annoyance ghosting over a wry laugh.

“Doesn’t make it untrue,” Gordon says. “Next time, we’re recording.”

The teasing and jibes on my England tour guide give way to eating. My guests are the good kind of quiet, pausing to throw out accolades and begging for seconds. When it’s “pudding” time, I have Flora fetch chilled ramekins of arroz con leche.

“I must compliment my worthy, salsa-dancing helpers, Jules and Flora,” I say, my words jostled by the effects of three glasses of wine.

The girls bow over the boys’ applause, then we all dig into the rice pudding, one of Cuba’s sweetest comfort foods. Afterward, everyone helps with dishes, and before I know it I’m alone with Orion and the final seal of plastic ware. I place leftover rice into the fridge and spin around. Maybe too quickly.

Orion was near enough, but he’s lightning-quick, steadying me. “Easy, there. Sloshed, you’re not. But you left tipsy back with your second glass.”

Warm. Yummy warm. My cheeks and his arms and the rush through my head. As if to prove him right, I let out a noisy yawn.

“Right. I was going to suggest we watch a film, but you’re dead on your feet and have an early wake-up, too. We have plenty more nights for films.”

Do we?

His smile changes with ticking seconds—dimple-big, then lopsided, then small. “It was not simple chicken and rice and might be the best meal I’ve ever eaten. And seeing Flora here, with you…” He doesn’t go on. Doesn’t need to.

“I know.”

“Sleep now. But be sure to exit the bed on the same side you enter to avoid the worst of the worst kind of luck.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

Orion winks. “G’night.” He plants a soft kiss on my forehead.

A balmy July evening gets the rest of him. The staircase gets my sore feet and full belly and wine-flushed movements. Half-dimmed light greets me when I reach the flat. The outline of Cate in a fluffy robe draws me to the overstuffed sofa. A wineglass hangs between her thumb and forefinger and the TV drones.

Seeing me, she scoots then pats the cushion. Lowers the volume on the remote. “Want a glass? Spence is still out with some mates.”

I snort and ease my aching limbs. “Another glass and the inn won’t eat tomorrow. But thanks.”

“Gordon trudged up a half hour ago. Knackered and stuffed. You were incredible today. Cooking and dancing and reminiscing were such fun.” I nod and she says, “Flora working with you—she needs it.” She flicks the crystal wineglass, makes it hum. “I know the truth about the ruined blueberry pastries. In your sleep you couldn’t make empanadas look like those.”

I flinch, then shrug. “Well.”

“Lila.” Cate’s voice thickens. “What you did for Flora, more than bread or pastelitos or a business, that was what Abuela really taught you.”

I drift into the words and the quiet—plus the wine, the friends and food. The electric pulse behind Orion’s fleeting kiss on my forehead. The salt in my throat. This place I love and might have to