Ship crash? Was that right?
But anyway, it was a kiss. A good kiss. Better than the one she got in Osaka, by her estimation, because she didn’t remember thinking,holy shit Santi is a good kisserlast time.
We’ll talk. I promise.
That was all he said before she fled the scene and went back up to the reception. But he hadn’t called or texted, messenger dove-d since that night. Nobody seemed to know if he was even in Lipa, or had stayed in Manila. It was like the setup of a teleserye, or maybe even a K-drama.
She could picture it now. The setting? Lipa City. The soundtrack? An eclectic mix of folk-pop Filipino and Korean pop music. The filter? The kind that made everyone look like they had perfect skin, were constantly glowing, with just the barest hint of lip tint. Kira could picture herself as the plucky heroine in a Korean drama, complete with a montage of her working in her shop with a spotless, pretty apron, music in the background. Then the door to her shop would ring, and she would look up, and Santi would walk in wearing a suit—because the chaebols always wore suits—and look absolutely stunning in it.
Then he would smile wryly over at her as he listened to her singing to herself and continue to fall deeper and more madly in love. And it was good, and happy, and it would feel like all of Kira’s waiting had come to fruition just by seeing his little smile.
But then, gasp! Santi’s family would find out about their budding romance and try to keep them apart!
Kira knew the drama that surrounded the Santillans—eventually she’d overheard Ate Nessie tell her mother that Santi’s grandfather Vito had demanded his grandsons be close to him in Manila, that he refused to let his flesh and blood be Batangueño, and apparently it was enough for Santi’s parents to uproot the kids, never speak to the Villas again and stay in Manila. The grandfather was supposedly as strict as he was rich, and the next everyone heard of the Santillans was the day Santi drove into his Lally Villa’s house in a flashy red Mercedes making an offer on the Hotel Villa.
Anyway, it would play nicely into Kira’s imagined drama. There would probably be a scene where the grandfather would persuade Kira to leave Santi for an exorbitant sum, and she would laugh and get water tossed in her face (ala Cherie Gil). But Kira would be too in love to care, and exit the fancy Santillan mansion in Loyola Grand Villas (featured in a magazine for being extra McMansion-y) just in time to see Santi, still in a suit under the blazing Manila sun, leaning against his fancy red Mercedes grinning at her. And the music would swell, and they would slow-mo run toward each other, then...bam! Amnesia. Play end credit music and spicy previews for the next episode.
This is why you read fanfic, and not write it,she reminded herself with a silly chuckle.
By the time Kira managed to finish cleaning out, taking apart and restarting the melanger (the cacao nib in question was the size of a pebble, understandable that it had gotten stuck), it was lunchtime, and she was officially too hungry to even think about Santi and his decision not to call her. Which was good, because she was due for a meeting at Cantina.
Kira stretched her arms over her head as she stepped out into the sunshine. The Laneways was, more accurately, a laneway, a single row of warehouses with a cobblestone walkway in the middle, a few Talisay trees to provide shade, and a wall of bougainvillea in the end. People were walking around casually from store to store, peeking at the goods, considering the restaurants. The days between Christmas and New Year were usually their weakest, but still there were quite a number of people out and about.
Kira walked past Hope’s Garden, waving to the shop girls, who said hello. She stopped by Sophie’s Sounds too, to ask the storeowner if her order of the new BTS album was already there (they were making a killing off of pasabuys in Korea). It was always a nice walk, and made even better at night, when the Edison bulbs they strung across each wall lit up. She’d gotten the idea to hang little lanterns in between the lights and encouraged the owners to raise their own plants after walking through Huashan 1914 in Taipei. It made the Laneways seem like it had been there much longer than it had been, made it seem more welcoming.
And as always to Kira, this was home. She walked to the very back of the Laneways, the spot closest to the bougainvillea wall and everyone’s favorite Fil-Mex restaurant.
“Kira!” Tiana Villa, who Kirajustremembered was Santi’s first cousin (was there no escape?), waved her over and pointed at Kira’s usual table. “Late ka na!”
“I know, sorry, Ate Ti,” Kira sighed. “But I did manage to bring...”
“My tableya!” Tiana exclaimed, accepting the pale pink paper bag, holding two kilos of tableya. Kira had also dropped off Sari’s order on her way to Cantina. “Sakto, I was thinking of baking a cake for the dinner rush. Sit, sit. Your usual order?”
“Yes please, thank you!” Kira smiled, as Tiana disappeared into the back. Cantina’s customers preferred the al fresco seating more than the indoor, especially in the cooler months. If it was already dinnertime, Kira would have ordered one of Tiana’s excellent sinturis margaritas, but as it was too early, she ordered the juice instead.
Kira was not surprised to find that someone was already sitting in her usual table, waiting for her. The man looked nervous, glancing around the banderitas and twinkle lights, the zapate draped over palochina chairs, the candles in mason jars at the center of each table. His foot was shaking, tapping the side of the table in a quick staccato rhythm as he bit his nails. Kira called his name, and he looked up.
“Help,” Alfred Tiongson, one of Kira’s neighbors in Bolbok, groaned as she sat across him, and a plate of adobo flake nachos was placed between them. “I’m in love.”
“Sounds serious,” Kira giggled, eating a nacho. “Does she know?”
“She knows. She’s actually here,” Alfred said, holding his hand up enthusiastically and waving like whoever it was, was fifty feet away. “Mikaela! Over here! Hello! Yes, please have a seat, my love, you look radiant today!”
“Thank you, dear. Hello, Kira.” Mikaela Aguilar smiled, and Kira suddenly understood why Alfred had asked her to lunch. Mikaela was her family’s unica hija, and even at twenty-four, was famouslynotallowed to date. Her parents were so strict that she had to put her phone on speaker and call home whenever she made her way home from work at the Laneways. But Kira could see why Alfred would fall for her—a Pisces and a Cancer would be a deeply affectionate match, full of understanding and love. If the Pisces managed to draw out the Cancer’s feelings.
And Kira knew that if there was anyone who could do it, it was Alfred.
“Oh my gosh, the two of you are so cute together,” Kira cooed as Mikaela blushed, sitting next to Alfred, holding his hand under the table. “What’s the problem?”
“Well,wewould like to go out on a date,” Mikaela said. “But...”
“Her parents don’t actually know that we’re together yet,” Alfred finished, pouring Mikaela a glass of water. “So we could really use your help to figure out a way to do it without her parents knowing.”
Kira wasn’t sure when she became everyone’s go-to girl when it came to love, it just sort of happened. Sometimes people just needed a little push, and Kira was good at that. In fact, she wasn’t just good. She wasexcellentat it. So much that she loved it, built an entire chocolate shop just so she had a reason to keep doling out advice. Whether it was pushing Gab to sing a duet in the karaoke contest with Sari, asking Cla to wait for her one true love to confess his feelings or this, Kira always knew exactly what to say, and today was no exception.
“Not telling your parents is a bad idea, Mikaela,” she said slowly, as her usual lengua burrito and sisig nachos arrived on the table.
“What? Why?” Mikaela asked, and Kira had never seen her so indignant.
