“We need to talk,” Ludmilla called out before she even reached María José, who was sipping coffee on her terrace.
She marched toward her neighbor with determined steps, her arms flailing in front of her chest as if she were running. Her hair hung loose and messy over her shoulders—unusual for her, as she never left the house without pinning it up neatly. The bright orange satin blouse and the slightly paler linen trousers she wore clashed oddly with her disheveled appearance.
She had secretly hoped that her friend would jump up, flustered, and open the glass door before she arrived. Instead, the elderly confectioner slowly picked up the bottle of almond liqueur, poured a bit into her cup, and stirred it carefully. She greeted the agitated Ludmilla with a satisfied smile.
“Oh, we definitely need to talk,” María José chuckled. “You still haven’t told me how your date with Esteban went.”
Ludmilla waved her off with an anxious gesture. She glanced furtively toward her house, as if afraid her husband Israel might overhear María José’s gossiping. Though she knew perfectly well he was already out on the pétanque court, rolling steel balls with his friends.
“That wasn’t a date. Don’t be ridiculous,” Ludmilla hissed.
She shifted impatiently in front of the small garden table.
“Come on, sit down already,” María José scolded her gently.
Ludmilla cast a pleading glance at the closed double glass doors. When she caught her own reflection in the glass, she instinctively reached up to touch her hair.
“I don’t want the neighbors to see me like this,” she muttered.
Under normal circumstances, she would’ve been mortified to be seen outside with her hair in such a state. But this time, it worked in her favor. María José had to understand. She was just as fussy and particular—an old lady set in her ways, just like Ludmilla. They had to stick together.
“What’s so urgent you couldn’t even brush your hair? Someone chasing you?” the confectioner teased with a trace of sarcasm.
Ludmilla knew her neighbor well enough to realize she had no intention of getting up from her comfortable garden chair now that she was enjoying her coffee.
“I’ll help,” Ludmilla offered eagerly.
She would have done anything to finally get them inside, behind closed doors. Especially after Esteban had thoroughly checked both of their houses and confirmed that there were no listening devices. María José reluctantly began to gather her things—cup, dessert plate, and the almond liqueur—but Ludmilla didn’t wait for her to finish. With brisk, decisive movements, she transferred everything to the sun-warmed silver tray. She popped one of the almond cookies into her mouth without thinking, then nodded toward the door, urging her friend to open it.
“Mind if I drink this?” María José asked with a sharp edge, once they had settled on the spacious living room’s velvet-upholstered, warm brown couch.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Ludmilla frowned. “I only asked that we come inside.”
María José quickly reached for her cup. She was about to take a sip when her hand suddenly froze mid-air.
“Should I pour one for you too?”
A cup of coffee with almond liqueur actually sounded lovely, but Ludmilla didn’t have the heart to make her friend go through her morning ritual for a second time. She stood up and headed toward the kitchen.
“I’ll help myself. Don’t bother.”
The elderly confectioner sighed with relief and finally took a long sip of her now-cold drink.
“So?” she asked.
“Esteban knows your secret,” Ludmilla announced flatly, swinging her favorite navy-blue cup in her hand.
María José’s eyebrows shot up to her forehead.
“What secret, exactly?”
Ludmilla gave a curt nod toward the storage room by the entrance.
“That one.”
The cup clinked against the saucer as her hand trembled. María José’s face turned pale. She stared at the tips of her shoes for a long moment, then looked her friend in the eye with a dark, steady gaze.
“So you told him… that I’m doing it all by myself?”