Her Night With Santa by Adriana Herrera

Mangos & Mistletoe: Chapter 2

Sully

A tall drink of café con leche, with more café than leche—just like I took mine.

And her name was Kiskeya.

Yes. Por. Favor.

My gaydar could not be beat, and the woman with the Dominican name who looked like my every fantasy was staring at me like she wanted to gobble me up, her eyes darting from my face down to my boobs. She also seemed to be on the verge of passing out, so I let go of her hand and decided against the kiss on the cheek. I was fresh, but I wasn’t trying to violate anyone’s personal space, and Kiskeya looked spooked.

But I was me, so I had to say something. “I assume you’re Dominican, because even the most devoted fans of the DR’s beaches aren’t gonna go as hard as naming their kid the Taino name for the island.” I was clearly joking, but she just seemed to get even more pressed. I was a lot and was used to having some kind of effect on people, but scared shitless usually wasn’t it.

“I’m Dominican. Came to the States after college.” She closed her eyes at that and shook her head as if reconsidering. “I came for culinary school like three years ago and stayed.”

Okay, she came after college, but had no accent at all. She had to be on the West Coast too, because all the East Coast peeps were on the same flight from New York. There was a story there for sure.

Sully Morales, you are not going to get all up on this woman’s business.

But man, I wanted to ask a million questions, starting with what soap she used because I was getting verbena and ginger and those were two of my favorite things. Thankfully Alex saved my thirsty ass from myself.

“We have two Dominicanas in the house. Fun is all but guaranteed.” Kiskeya did not seem to like that, but she kept her stank face in check. I figured she didn’t want the attention on her, so I starting messing with Alex.

“I’m here to compete to the death, Alex. Your cute behind should be thinking about how you’re gonna beat me,” I teased as I sank my butt into the seat, then realized I needed to go and get some food. Kiskeya was still standing by Kaori’s chair looking like she was debating between running away or hiding under a table. I wasn’t going to leave my fellow Dominicana hanging, so I popped back up and tried really hard to offer a genuine smile.

“You want to go and grab some food? I think Isla and the rest of the crew will be here any minute to tell us the teams and instructions for tomorrow.”

Flinching was not the reaction I was hoping for, and Kiskeya sounded unsure even when she answered, “Okay.”

I was kind of thrown. Meeting another Dominican anywhere usually meant lots of laughter and inside jokes, but so far, Kiskeya seemed to want to get as far from me as possible. She kept looking around as if figuring out where the nearest exit was. Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe she was staying on task. We were most likely going to be on opposite teams, maybe she didn’t want to get friendly. It was disconcerting, and that extra side of me wanted to prod a bit. Figure out why she was acting all put-out.

By the time we got to the buffet, she hadn’t said a word.

“So, what would you do with the prize money if you won?” I asked, genuinely curious. She seemed so serious, I assumed she had it all figured out.

She looked at me for a second and went back to examining the offerings on the buffet. When she spoke, it was low, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Honestly, the money isn’t my biggest priority. Although I can definitely use it, but the reason why I entered the contest was the paid apprenticeship at Farine et Sucré.”

“Ah, that makes sense, if you’re on the West Coast.” One of the prizes for the “professionals” in the contest were their choice of paid apprenticeships under some of the most renowned pastry chefs in the country. I knew one was in New York City with a Mexican female chef who owned, Canela, a very popular bakery in Brooklyn. Seemed like Kiskeya wanted the job with the French dude in LA.

“It’s basically impossible to get in there, but everyone that’s apprenticed there ends up getting snapped up by the biggest kitchens. It’s my dream job.” I guess the way to get Kiskeya fired up was to ask her about business.

“That’s a big motivation to give this your all.” I was trying to be encouraging, now that she was at least talking.

She nodded, as she inspected a cheese plate. “More than my all. I will do whatever it takes to get that job.”

And I would very much avoid thinking about why I was bummed out when I realized Kiskeya wasn’t interested in the East Coast job. Sully, you met the woman get three minutes ago. Get over yourself.

This was also a great time to remind myself that I was here to focus on me. Not to get tangled up and in my feelings about someone who I’d never see again once this contest was over. This was what I did. Found something or someone to focus on, so I didn’t have to figure out my own shit.

“How about you?” I yelped when Kiskeya spoke, because apparently I was going to be a full-on weirdo today.

But when I processed what she’d said, I froze at the question. It had been a long ass time since anyone had asked me what I wanted. “I kind of got volunteered for this.”

She literally did a double take and just stared, like she could not compute what I’d just said. “I didn’t enter myself. My family entered me.”

More confused staring.

“I mean, they asked me before they did. They thought it would be fun, and honestly I never thought I’d get in.”

“Oh, okay.” Her tone clearly conveyed, “I don’t know how to respond to that,” and she immediately went back to a deep analysis of the grilled tomatoes and mushrooms in one of the chafing dishes.

I was kind of annoyed at her lack of interest in me, but then I reminded myself that what people thought about me was not something I wasted my time on. I could only control what I chose to do. And I was determined to keep it nice and breezy while I was on this free vacay in Scotland.

We went through the buffet line slowly. Kiskeya examining everything closely as if she was trying to figure out how they made it.

“Spread’s amazing.” I really could not keep my mouth shut. She turned to look at me, like she’d forgotten I was there, and again, I felt my annoyance bubble up. Why was this chick getting to me like this?

“Yeah, it’s a pretty nice brunch menu…I’ve—”

“Ooh, they have morcilla.” Because I had no manners, I interrupted her, but this was my favorite.

She seemed surprised at my excitement. “You like morcilla?”

“Of course I do.”

She grabbed the tongs after I’d taken a couple of pieces of the black pudding and put some on her plate. I just put whatever on my plate as I closely tracked her every move, intrigued by this quiet Dominican woman, who didn’t seem interested in me in the slightest. Eventually she turned to look at me, and my face heated, realizing I’d been standing there staring. But instead of calling me out, she went in another direction. I followed her, because today I seemed to have developed an appetite for people ignoring me.

“Morcilla isn’t something all Dominicans like.” Uh, okay, so what did that mean? That I gave off a “Basic Dominican Bitch” vibe?

I didn’t pout, but damn, it was close. “My abuela made it for us every year when we came to visit. Like homemade.”

Oh, now I was getting glares, this b—

“Homemade morcilla is the best. Depends on the cook, of course.” This would’ve been a great moment to bail on this tragedy of a conversation, but did my ass stop rambling and leave her alone? No. I talked all the way back to the table.

“My parents are from Bonao, so we’d go back every summer to visit the family. We always went to see my grandmother for a couple of weeks.”

We put down our plates, sat, settled bright red linen napkins on our laps, and grabbed our cutlery, but still no response from Kiskeya. I felt my heartbeat in my throat and my face was hot from her indifference. I’d been ignored before, of course, but I usually knew who to expect it from. My mother always said I’d never make it as a poker player, because I showed everything I was feeling on my face.

So I kept mine away from Kiskeya. If she didn’t want to talk to me, I wouldn’t talk to her. Kaori and Gustavo had headed to the buffet again, so I couldn’t turn my attention to them. I focused on my food instead. As I was cutting into a poached egg and mentally calculating how long it would take me to eat my food—so I could use my empty plate as an excuse to get the hell away from this rude-ass lady—she finally spoke. Her voice startled me so much, I dropped my knife and the clatter it made sounded like a gunshot had gone off in the room.

“I was born in the capital. I lived there until I moved to the States.” Despite my commitment to being rude to her, I immediately turned my face in her direction, still interested. “My parents are from the south. But we never really went there growing up.”

Her eyes looked so sad, and of course my dumb heart wanted to immediately make it better. I wanted to ask questions, figure out why talking about home brought about such sadness in those gorgeous brown eyes. I wondered if she was close to her family. I knew Dominican families could be a lot; zero boundaries and the toxic masculinity in our culture could wear women the fuck out.

Still, I couldn’t imagine my life without my loud and loving mother and little brother. Even after the last couple of years when I’d had to put my entire life on hold to take care of my mother, I still didn’t regret a thing. But before I could say any of that, Gustavo and Kaori got back to the table. And just as they were sitting, we saw Isla come in with the competition’s hostess.

Alex grinned and wiggled his shoulders excitedly as we watched them walk up to the front of the room. “This is it, guys.” His eyes actually sparkled, and when I turned to Kiskeya, I noticed that her face was taking on a yellow pallor.

I wanted to reach for her hand and squeeze. Tell her not to be so nervous. That we could support each other while we were here, because my self-preservation instincts were seemingly at an all-time low. But instead of reassuring her, I went with pettiness, because I was also a mess. “Don’t worry, what are the chances they’ll put the two Dominicans together?”

She frowned, probably not sure how to react, and I opened my mouth—almost certainly about to make things worse. Blessedly I was saved from myself by Isla’s voice.

“Good afternoon, team. This is your official welcome to the Holiday Baking Challenge week.” There was a round of applause, and the energy in the room definitely shifted. “You’ve been selected among some of the best up-and-coming young pastry chefs and home bakers in America. Feel proud of yourselves for that.” More applause and even some whoops from Gustavo and Alex, which had us all laughing.

“We have some information to share with you today, but I will leave all that in the hands of the show’s leading lady.” She extended her hand to the Puerto Rican comedian-turned-baking-show-hostess who’d been the face of the competition for the past two years. Patricia Calderon looked as amazing in person as she was on television. She was wearing jeans, a thick sweater, and tall, brown leather boots—makeup and hair on point. She smiled at us with genuine excitement.

“Y’all got your food, taking advantage of that bottomless boozy brunch,” she said with a snap of her fingers. “Get your mimosas, people. The Cooking Channel’s paying!”

That elicited a laugh from the room, and I took that as a cue to take a sip, because I was all kinds of jittery. Between the glances Kiskeya kept sending my way and the anticipation of who I’d end up paired with, I was feeling the nerves.

For some reason, I’d convinced myself there was no way they’d pair up Kiskeya and me. That would be such cliché, putting the two Dominicans together as if we would be kindred spirits. Like that hadn’t been my exact thought the moment I’d realized she was from the DR too. I could be a little cliché and I was definitely sentimental—Kiskeya didn’t seem to be either. She would probably not be thrilled by the prospect of being stuck with me for six days. The applause brought me back to what was happening in the room, and I realized the announcements had begun.

“I know you’ve all gotten brought up to speed on the program.” A flurry of affirmative responses were heard across the room at Patricia’s statement. She flashed perfectly straight teeth at us before going back to reading her notes. Everyone was hanging on her every word. Even the Beccas had put their phones down for a moment.

“You will have three days of challenges with a practice day in between.” The space hummed, with every new nugget of information raising the excitement levels. I noticed that Kiskeya had pulled out a tiny pad and pen from somewhere and was dutifully taking notes. Of course, her nerdery just made her that much hotter to me. I was hopeless.

Patricia went on giving us the rundown of the themes this year. First challenge: holiday cookies, then bread, and the third day would be a surprise for the first day of filming. Kiskeya frowned adorably at that, squinting at her paper like she could coax an answer from it.

I leaned in and whispered in a low voice, “I might have to copy from your homework later.” She practically jumped in her seat, and suddenly all I wanted was to lure Kiskeya to me like a wary kitten. There was not much about the woman that was soft, and she certainly didn’t seem like she was interested at all in getting anywhere near me. But still, the pull to unravel her a bit, to see what was hiding behind all that sternness was very strong.

“She’s about to tell us who the teams are.” I even found her hissing sexy. Obviously, this was not a Kiskeya problem, this was a Sully problem.

I tuned back in to Patricia’s voice since Kiskeya had shifted in her seat, so that she had her full back to me.

She was not subtle…but I knew I hadn’t imagined the way she was looking at me when I walked in. There had been something there, but I wasn’t going to get pushy either.

“As you all know, we’re very mindful of how we pair our teams.” She was clearly trying to reassure us they were not going to do us dirty, but you could still cut the tension with a knife. “We put together pairs who can join forces and bake interesting and delicious treats for us, and this year we have a bounty of talent.” That got some smiles and laughs because there was nothing more smug than a cook getting compliments. “Our first team is our Southern power pair, Alex Smith and Derek Barstad. We’re so excited to see how Alex’s soulful flavors fuse with Derek’s Scandinavian creations.”

“I’m still gonna beat you boys!” I was a clown, and the tension did ease a bit after that. And both Alex and Derek looked very pleased with the outcome.

The next team was Kaori and Gustavo, who both seemed happy and even I had to admit his Central American-inspired bakes with Kaori’s Japanese delicacies sounded like a fascinating combination.

Kiskeya was leaning in so much that she was almost doubled over as Patricia got ready to announce the last two teams. I surprised myself when my heart started beating so fast I could feel it all the way up my throat. I was nervous. Because as much as I’d told my family I didn’t care if I won the competition, that I just wanted a chance to prove to myself I could do it—I really wanted to win. I wanted the money. To finally have the resources to do something for myself, so who I got paired up with mattered. And honestly, the Beccas scared the shit out of me. When I glanced at Kiskeya, I saw her look between the Beccas and our table with worry. I wondered if she was trying to decide what was worst.

“The third team,” I heard Patricia’s voice through the fog of my own fretting, “was sort of a no-brainer, because we want those ratings and we could not pass up a chance to advertise a team called the Beccas.”

Fuck.

I glanced over at the two women in question, trying hard to avoid the horror that was surely making an appearance on my teammate’s face. They looked smug, and I promised myself I would do whatever it took to beat their asses. I held myself tight, my chin up, as I stared straight ahead at Patricia and waited for her to actually say it. Dreading what Kiskeya’s reaction would be, hoping she wouldn’t say something that would make me feel small.

“And last but not least, we have our Dominican Divas!” People applauded, and with every word, I felt like another bolt was tightened on my neck. “We have the home baker bringing all the Caribbean flavors and the pastry chef who’s determined to earn the chance to work at one of the world’s most renowned pâtisseries.” I did turn then and saw the blood drain almost completely from Kiskeya’s face. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

With a knot in my stomach which felt like it would choke me, I leaned in again, knowing I would almost surely make matters worse.

“Don’t look so spooked, mija. I promise I don’t bite.” My teammate’s back somehow got even straighter, and because I had no fucking sense, I opened my mouth again, this time so close I could smell her shampoo. “Unless you ask, of course.”

That did not get me a smile. At some point I’d have to ask myself why hearing Kiskeya Burgos say my name pronounced in pissed-off Dominican Spanish, set off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.

* * *

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