A Cuban Girl’s Guide to Tea and Tomorrow

Twenty minutes later, I’ve got batter in my mixing bowl, multiplied to the correct proportions. Accounting whiz Pilar feasts all the math I avoid daily, but recipe math is a must for me. And this recipe’s ready to show the Owl and Crow kitchen monarch a thing or two about what a girl from a “little Cuban place” can do. Four loaf pans are greased and waiting. Now for one last touch.

A harsh rumble sounds while I’m searching the pantry for almond extract. It’s either a mutant lawn mower or a motorcycle with the engine version of a head cold. Moments later, I peek from the pantry to see a raindrop-sprinkled guy, about my age, in my kitchen-er, Polly’s kitchen. A white carry box that wasn’t there before rests on the counter. Before I can even think to say hello, the guy marches up to the wooden prep island, dips one finger into my batter bowl, and licks.

I launch myself from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”

He flinches.

“Your finger! My bowl!”

“Oh. Sorry,” Yeah, not even a teaspoon of sorry fills his six foot-something frame as he leans against the counter. Blond hair a dark variety his creator dyed in a murky rain puddle.