CHAPTER 14

“This Is Me Trying” – Taylor Swift

ENRIQUE IS ALL SMILES WHILE we’re having lunch the following day on a lovely sunny afternoon. Probably the sunniest day here so far. How ironic, my mood is the exact opposite.

If I’m smiling back, I don’t really sense it. I just feel numb .

I wonder how the evening would have turned out if Enrique didn’t get drunk. If I stayed with him instead of with Luca.

At least that way, I could have also avoided the fruitless conversation with my father. That only reminded me partially why I’m in this mess. Repelled from making mistakes at the chance of consequences. Overthinking instead of doing anything .

And now I’ve made a mistake. A terrible, big mistake. The second I woke up this morning, my heart felt heavy, regretting everything I said to Luca. Maybe he wasn’t trying to downplay how I felt, but the overthinking brought back doubts that maybe I don’t know him the way I thought I did, the way he proved this to me with his comment from a few nights ago. Maybe a part of me is also frustrated that he continues to do all these meaningful gestures for me when he doesn’t have feelings for me .

Stop ruining a pretty moment, Jasmine. Look at who’s sitting right in front of you.

I try to focus on Enrique’s eyes. The way they’re always so happy, positive, and energetic. The way they tend to make me feel any time I’ve looked into them previously.

But this time, I don’t feel any of those things.

Remembering what the woman from the gift shop told me, I think of something to say, hoping it’ll dispel this funk I’m in. “What color are my eyes?” I ask him, my stomach turning in knots while awaiting his response.

Enrique’s brows crease as he puts his fork down. “What?”

I obviously can’t tell him why I’m asking this, so I opt for, “It’s just that someone earlier told me they looked a certain shade and I was curious what you see.” I say this so casually in contrast to the answer I’m itching to hear.

“They’re brown,” he replies. “And beautiful.” He smiles warmly and then continues to eat.

He just gave me a sweet compliment. Then why do I feel so underwhelmed ?

_________

Later in the afternoon, I get a text from Enrique asking to meet me in the main kitchen near the lobby. I could feel his stress through his message, which is further confirmed by the way he’s pacing back and forth by the sink when I get there.

I’m about to say something, but then my face quickly falls when I notice Luca’s also here. He glances over, but then immediately shifts his attention away when he realizes it’s me. My heart strains in my chest even more than it did earlier somehow. If he looked hurt last night, he looks pissed now .

Enrique sighs deeply, then tells us, “You know how the wedding is tomorrow?”

I nod, while Luca replies, “Yeah.”

Enrique presses his hands to his forehead and explains, “The lead pastry chef just called in sick, and apparently most of his assistants are also sick. They think it was some food poisoning from a dish tasting they did a few days ago.” His cheeks continue to redden as he exhales. “Anyway, my regular chefs are trying their best to have everything done by tonight, but it doesn’t look too promising. Do you guys mind helping?”

“You want us to bake pastries for the wedding?” Luca asks skeptically.

“ Together ?” I add as Luca turns around, sensing that he wants to roll his eyes but doesn’t.

My own anger starts to trickle in again, remembering the conflicting feelings between us. And now I’m frustrated that I still care how he feels more than how hurt I felt at the waterfall.

I shift my focus back to Enrique as he bites down on his lips. “I know it’s not ideal,” he says, “but I’ve run out of other options. I’ve tried to rearrange the staff as much as possible so that we have more help, but even with you both helping it might not turn out the way we had hoped. And this is a really big wedding. My dad was counting on me for it. I told him I could handle it, but I underestimated my workload, and I’m kind of freaking the fuck out—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help,” Luca cuts him off as his friend’s voice was increasingly growing with panic. “I can’t promise that they won’t taste like shit though, but I’ll try my best.”

“Ah, thank you.” Enrique breathes in a deep sigh of relief before going in to hug Luca.

“I’ll help as well,” I offer .

Luca doesn’t bother to look at me and instead just looks at Enrique and says, “I don’t think that’s necessary. I can work on them alone.”

I scoff to myself at his lack of subtlety.

Enrique also scoffs, but in a friendlier way than me. “While that’s generous of you, I don’t think you can bake twenty cakes in the next 12 hours.”

Luca’s brows immediately furrow. “Cakes? Like full on large wedding cakes?”

“Twenty?” I chime in at the more jarring revelation.

Enrique quickly shakes his head. “Oh fuck no. Not wedding cakes. Thank God the wedding cake was already prepared in advance. The bride and groom specifically requested different pastries for each section of the ceremony, and one section has these cakes they want. Here, I have the recipe written down somewhere.” He shuffles through a pile of papers on the counter and then hands us a long sheet. “Chocolate cake with a raspberry filling.”

Luca reviews the ingredients with apprehension. “I don’t think we can finish this on time.”

“Just try your best,” Enrique encourages. “At this point even if you manage to make even one it’ll be better than nothing. And one more thing.”

Luca glares at Enrique. “I’m this close to changing my mind.”

I take this opportunity to piss Luca off for ignoring me this entire time. “I’m not. What is it?” This time he actually rolls his eyes.

Enrique hesitates, “You can’t use the kitchen here. Our staff needs it.”

Now I want to change my mind as well .

Luca raises his shoulders, while scanning the kitchen. “Where are we supposed to go then?”

“All the ingredients are here,” Enrique explains. “So if you don’t mind baking them at your apartment. If you come over my dad will find out.” He gives Luca a knowing look.

I didn’t know that Enrique still lives with his parents. Hearing this somehow makes me feel more normal for also living with my parents until I was 24, given how most people I knew in college continued to live by themselves or with roommates even after graduation.

Luca accepts the recipe Enrique is holding out for him and says, “If my oven breaks, you’re making me dinner for the next month.”

I don’t why, but this makes me smile inside. For somehow feeling included in his joke since I now know Enrique’s a really good cook.

Enrique grins so wide that it looks like he could cry at any second now. “You guys are the best. Thank you so much. I have to go meet with the wedding planner right now so just text me if you need anything. I’m probably going to sleep for 30 minutes if I’m lucky tonight.” He kisses my cheeks hastily, and then pats Luca on the back before running out the kitchen.

Luca immediately begins searching for the ingredients, while obviously making sure to keep his back faced away from me.

“So when are we starting?” I ask.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he says.

“No, I mean, when are we going to your apartment?”

“I’m surprised how okay you seemed at the idea.” He turns around. “You know? Since you don’t trust me and all.”

“I’m helping Enrique. Not you ,” I say, matching the bitter glint in his eyes .

He cocks his head smugly. “Even if it means being around someone who’s pretending to care about you?”

I feel my nails press into my palms as I clench my fist. “Sucks hearing how someone really feels about you right to your face. Doesn’t it ?”

He makes a point to look at me. “Especially when one of us couldn’t be more wrong,” he argues, before walking past me and to the other side of the kitchen.

For a moment, I ponder if that was his way of saying that he does care about me. But I quickly brush off any warm feeling that’s trying to distract me again. I give my best cynical smile and mock, “Oh we’re definitely finishing the cakes on time with all this arguing.”

“We were never going to finish them to begin with,” Luca replies.

I scoff. “I’m glad to see you’re just as optimistic as before.”

“I’m glad to see your insults are just as creative as before,” he says, while turning around.

I gasp on the inside at how direct his eye contact is suddenly. “Maybe it would be better if we both just didn’t say anything until we start baking,” I suggest.

“I’m good with that,” he agrees dryly as he places the ingredients into cardboard boxes.

I try my best not to trip while we carry everything to his car. There’s no need to add to the tension when we’re already walking on thin ice.

_________

I don’t know what I expected from his apartment. Definitely not this .

Everything is pretty simple. But at the same it’s clear that there was plenty of thought that went into each detail. From the way the custard beige walls complement the bowl of fresh tangerines in the center of the kitchen that would feel pretty empty without the fruit. And yet with this subtle touch alone, the room feels warm and complete.

I meticulously scan his living room next, now finding a few paintings of cheery landscapes before glancing over at Luca who’s only focused on organizing the ingredients. I was about to pay him a compliment, but since he’s still not acknowledging that I’m even here, the annoyance in me continues to build. Realizing how quickly we got here, I mock, “I think it’s funny how your apartment is barely 30 minutes away, and you still need a whole resort room.”

Luca, to my surprise, locks eyes with me and replies, “It saves me more time to spend with friends.” He walks past me and over to his cabinets. “What’s funnier is how you’ve spent all your time with me when you could have spent it spilling things on other people,” he says, while placing measuring cups, pans, bowls, and a whisk onto the kitchen counter.

I stop short on my way into the kitchen, wondering if I should be annoyed or this flustered by his comment. “So when do you want me to take you back?” Luca adds curtly.

I almost scoff. It’s lovely to know how quickly he wants to get rid of me, considering we literally just stepped foot in the door. “That depends on how long we need to finish everything,” I reply.

He sets the bags of sugar next to the baking supplies and briefly pauses. “Look, even if with some miracle we can get all of this done, there’s no way it’ll be earlier than probably 3 or 4 am.” He shifts his attention back to unpacking the rest of the ingredients. “So just let me know whenever you feel like leaving. ”

“We’re supposed to work on this together,” I argue. “If you can be up until 4, so can I. Remember? I’m the one who loves an all-nighter.”

“Or so I’ve heard,” he says dryly, then shrugs. “So what? You’re going to crash here? At some point we’ll both pass out.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there,” I say.

After minutes of working in silence, he asks, “Can you please pass me the flour?”

“Sure.” I go to pick up the weighty sack before it slides out of my hands. I quickly catch it and hold onto it with all my grip, while Luca gasps even louder than me at how I almost lost one of our main ingredients. Some flour particles flicker through the air, but the container luckily doesn’t completely slip from my fingers. “Woah. That was close,” I say, while exhaling in relief.

He takes the bag from me. “As much as I find your clumsiness endearing, could you maybe stand at least a few feet away from everything?”

That might have been a backhanded compliment. But he did just call me endearing .

I raise my hands and compromise, “How about I just work on the raspberries for now?”

“Good plan,” he agrees.

After blankly staring at the bowl of fruit for the next five minutes or so, I look over at Luca to check his progress. He looks just as lost as I feel.

“Do you want to work on the first one together?” I offer. “So we both know what we’re doing.” His brows are creased with hesitation, to which I get even more annoyed when I’m trying to help. “That way we can work on the rest alone.”

Of course that’s all I needed to say .

He turns around. “Okay. But I don’t even know where to start.”

“Me neither,” I admit while standing next to him, now reviewing the recipe carefully. “It says we need 2 cups of sugar and 1.5 teaspoons of baking powder.”

Luca starts measuring the ingredients. After preparing the batter for the first cake and placing it in the oven, we move onto the filling. I wait by the kitchen counter as he rinses the fresh raspberries.

This angle is pretty devastating. He doesn’t notice me, yet I have a dangerously graphic view of his hands. I should be measuring the serving of sugar for the next cake. Instead, I continue to stare at his hands. My focus only dwindles when he uses the tips of his fingers to roll powdered sugar over the berries, so slowly that I shift my body slightly to the side so that I don’t make a sound that’ll startle us both.

Then his voice makes me jump from the daze I was just in. “You put two cups of flour in this, right?”

That doesn’t sound like the amount I added. I look at the noticeably emptier sack of flour and quickly shut my eyes. Shit. I knew a number sounded a little off. “No. I put 12,” I say. In my defense the recipe said 12.

His brows crease abruptly. “ 12? Why the fuck would you put 12?”

“That’s what the recipe says,” I defend.

“No. It says two.” He hands me the recipe and points to the first ingredient.

“What do you call this then?” I ask, referring to the “1” right before the “2” .

Luca takes in a deep breath as he closes his eyes. “That’s a check mark I added when I was trying to find everything to bring here.”

I raise my shoulders in frustration. “How was I supposed to know that? Nothing else has a check mark next to it.”

“That doesn’t make that look any more like a ‘1’ though,” he argues. Then he exhales and looks so serious all of a sudden that it leaves me puzzled. “Did you do this on purpose?”

Now my jaw drops. “What? Of course not.”

Luca’s expression quickly morphs into an arrogant smirk. “You see how annoying it is to accuse someone of doing something on purpose?”

I can’t believe I fell for that. If he’s going to use my previous words to mock me, I’m going to do the same to him.

“I’m very sorry. Starting now, I’ll run everything by you first just to make sure you’re not giving any mixed signals.”

He scoffs. “Funny. I could say the same about you.”

Before either of us can continue, the sound of the timer fills the kitchen. We cautiously stare at the oven as if it’s the last thing we’d like to open right now. I look at Luca and offer, “Maybe it turned out better than we think?”

“Yeah, and maybe by the end of tonight we’ll both be professional bakers,” he deadpans.

I roll my eyes as he opens the oven and takes out the baking pan. The cake smells perfect. But something about the texture seems off.

As Luca places the dessert onto the kitchen counter to cool off, the cake falls off the pan and then onto the floor, making a clunk-like noise both times. If I were to guess, this texture looks nearly identical to that of a rock. Maybe this isn’t the best time to drop my mouth wide open. Or to laugh. But to my dismay I end up doing both .

When I notice Luca’s back shake, I try to stifle my laughter, not knowing his reaction to this since he’s still facing away from me. Concealing my own reaction just gets worse when I snort as he turns around. And then it’s clear to me. He’s laughing as hard as I am.

I take the chance to tease him, “I’m not looking like the clumsy one right now, am I ?”

He points toward himself and then at me. “So me this once vs. you, I don’t know? The last 27 times?”

My eyes light up. “I know what we need.”

“Three espresso shots?” he guesses.

“Better,” I say. “Music.”

He scoffs. “Yes, that’s exactly what we need. More distractions.”

I go and grab my phone. “It’ll help us focus more.”

Luca chuckles with an exhausted expression before starting the next batter.

As soon as I press shuffle, and the first song fills the kitchen, he quickly turns around. “‘ On An Evening in Roma ?’ Interesting choice,” he says, amused.

Impressed at how quickly he recognizes the song, I raise my shoulders playfully. “What? It’s a really good song.”

“Oh I’m not denying that,” he says. “I just think it’s funny how that was your first choice when you’re in, I don’t know? Spain .”

“It’s on my cooking playlist,” I say.

“You cook?” he asks, so surprised that it almost makes me laugh.

“Well not really,” I reply .

He tilts his head down. “But you have a cooking playlist?”

“For when I decide to cook.”

“Right.” He snorts. “Another thing about you that makes perfect sense.”

“I like playing songs that remind me of traveling to places I always wished to go to,” I explain. “Almost like I’m actually there while I’m doing some other mundane task.”

Luca would usually respond to a similar comment I’d make previously. But right now, I don’t know how to describe the look on his face other than one of longing. To go back to how things were before. Yet the frustration and hurt are still evident in his eyes before he glances away.

Shifting my focus back to preparing the cakes, my heart jumps when I hear his voice. “I like that reason.”

I almost drop the bowl of baking powder I’m holding. It’s a good thing I immediately set it down onto the counter before I notice how he’s now mixing the dark chocolate pieces and raspberry puree together. When he places his long index finger into the bowl of gooey chocolate mousse, my temperature rises more than the oven, I’m sure. But as he subtly licks the chocolate from his finger, I place my weight onto the counter, feeling a bit dizzy.

Trying to distract myself, I take a taste of the filling as well. “It tastes a lot better than it looks,” I say, surprised. Well that was certainly one way to describe the mousse.

Luca bites down a smirk. “Remember how you asked me for advice before? I’m no expert but maybe try and not say that to the guy you like.”

I feel warm. A bit shy. And my skin is tingling. Yet oddly enough, I don’t feel embarrassed .

Besides, it’s hard to be too in your head when you’re covered in all the ingredients you’ve been baking with for the past several hours. After placing the fifth cake into the oven, we both exhaustingly slump onto the kitchen floor.

Luca looks at the bowl of mousse that also somehow ended up next to us and offers, “I have some vegetables that we can grill and have with mushrooms and potatoes if you want?”

“Honestly that sounds like it’ll be the best meal of my life,” I say. “I’m drooling right now.”

He turns toward me carefully. “You have a little something there.”

“Where?”

He leans in, pointing with his left hand. “Right. Over. Here,” he says, before he quickly places some of the chocolate raspberry frosting onto my nose with his right hand.

I gasp and then take some of the frosting and swipe it over his cheeks now. “So do you,” I say as warmth rushes to my stomach when my fingers feel the heat of his skin from underneath the barrier of chocolate.

As he scrunches his nose, I lean in to sprinkle some flour on him, when my elbow falls right into the bowl of frosting. This position is pretty questionable, considering how I’m almost leaning over his lap before he holds my hand to help me regain my balance.

I’m reminded of when he first held my hand when we were surfing. And how he didn’t let me fall. I barely knew him then. I probably still barely do. But right now it feels like I somehow know everything about him.

“Make that 28,” Luca says, making me laugh through my flushed cheeks at his tab on my clumsiness. And then my heart flickers when he lets go, not sure why I expected him to keep holding onto my hand.

________ _