Reagan explained. “But my buddy Chuck said we could take over their service station for a little bit. I know it’s not exactly comfortable,” she explained, accepting two wooden stools that did not match the impeccable decor and had probably never left the kitchen. “But the food is totally worth it.”Glancing down at the postcard sized menu, Libby quirked an eyebrow. “French?”
Reagan smirked. “I know, right? And in Hialeah. Can you believe uncultured swine like us enjoy escargot too?”
Embarrassment washed over Libby like a firehose of freezing water to the face. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry—”
Reagan covered her hand with her own. “Sorry. A lifetime of being dunked on by every other city makes me a little sensitive.”
“And I’m totally guilty of it,” she admitted. “I love that about you. You’re so passionate about where you’re from. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who cares that much about a place.”
“I just see so much potential, you know?” Reagan said before ordering a bottle of wine. “There’s more than the old exterior. More than just a dead manufacturing industry and all of us undesirables who didn’t come to this county in the 60s with the rich or powerful. There’s a whole new generation of people who grew up here and want to pour themselves back into this place. We want to create a place for ourselves that has our unique flavor. The children of the Cuban diaspora that live with a foot in two worlds. Our family’s past and a future that’s not quite ours. So many of us are trying to build something worth seeing. Occupying the space no one else values.”
With every person Reagan listed, starting with Mary and her boutique full of handmade clothes, her eyes grew a little wider and her cheeks more flushed. In response, Libby’s heart pounded in double time until it was all she could do to keep from launching herself into her lap and claiming her lips.The passion was so intoxicating, she was ready to sign a lease and move her operation to Hialeah. Libby couldn’t imagine what her grandmother would say. After all their hard work to be the right kind of family. The right class level.
The right reputation. Could she really undo it so easily?
Would serving the less a uent segment of their community really be so terrible?
“Sorry,” Reagan said with a chuckle as she poured them each a glass of blended red. “Let’s talk about something else or I’ll just drone on all night. Not optimal o cial first date behavior.”
Libby lifted her glass. “Here’s to a night filled with all the stories that make you, you,” she said, hoping Reagan would never stop sharing her passions.
C H A P T E R 2 6
DESPITE KNOWING full well when it was coming, Thanksgiving morning brought along with it a frantic, nervous energy even Reagan couldn’t ignore. In the living space she’d carved out of the second level of her studio, Reagan tried on and discarded half a dozen outfits. Limited to clothing that didn’t reveal the tattoo sleeve on her arm, she wasn’t left with much.
As she paced the metal rod hanging from the ceiling that served as an exposed closet, Reagan considered the modified tux she’d worn to the gala. Her chest tightened as she reached out and felt the fabric beneath the plastic. If there was anything like magic in this world, she’d definitely experienced it that night.
Plopping down on her bed, Reagan threw herself back onto the pillow. She’d never felt so much pressure to make a good impression. After years of learning to detach from outcomes and focus only on what she could control, the knowledge that very little was in her power was usually a comfort. But now, the fact that she couldn’t control how meeting each other’s entire families would go left her nauseated.
After showering for the third time that morning to get the cold sweat o her skin, Reagan checked the time. Libby
would be there in half an hour. She had to stop freaking out and get ready or she’d be showing up in her work overalls and flip flops.
Opting for the suit pants she’d worn to the gala and a quarter-sleeved ivory cashmere sweater her mother gifted her last Christmas, Reagan moved on to pulling the rest of herself together. Working a little product into her damp hair, she set her long, newly blonde bangs to one side and tucked it behind her ear. Brushing down the rest of her short hair, she was left with her best impression of a conservative Charlize Theron. It was definitely more accountant than artist and made her feel a little better about being surrounded by Cassanovas. Some light makeup later and Reagan was ready to go. Or as ready as she’d ever be.
Downstairs, she grabbed the bottle of palm wine Imani always gifted her parents around the holidays. She texted her to wish her a happy Thanksgiving and ask again whether she wanted to swing by, but Imani declined and insisted she had other plans this year. At Reagan’s behest, they agreed on brunch the following weekend.
After her phone beeped with the familiar sound of a text from Libby, Reagan tucked a big box wrapped in blue paper under her arm and headed outside. Libby, dressed in a long-sleeved, short turquoise dress, her dark hair ironed straight, froze her in place.
“You look gorgeous,” Reagan confessed as she strode toward her, unable to stop herself from kissing her red lips.
The best she could do was use a light touch to minimize any smudging.
Libby didn’t protest; instead she wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled her in closer. “You look so hot,”
she whispered before kissing her much more deeply.
Reagan’s body reacted by shutting o communication with the logical part of her brain. “I can call my parents and
say I had an emergency,” she said before gently biting Libby’s bottom lip. “We can go inside and just be a little late to your family’s dinner.”
Libby groaned as she slipped her cool hands under Reagan’s sweater and up her back. Chills and desire competed for dominance in response to her touch. “Don’t I wish.” She kissed her again before hugging her torso. “But that’s not the kind of impression I want to make on the Sotos the first time I meet them. Or any time, really.”
Staring at her lips, quirked in a smirk and smudged in the most achingly beautiful way, Reagan couldn’t force herself to respond. Instead, she closed the gap for another lingering kiss.
“We’re going to be late,” Libby whispered. “What will your parents think of me?”
Reagan chuckled. “That we’re good Cubans running an hour late for everything?”