Excerpted from A Match Made in Lipa. Copyright © Carla de Guzman. All rights reserved. Published by Carina Press.
Anton quickly spotted the cold goods refrigerator and walked toward it. He had discovered very early on in his trip what he wanted out of a Japanese convenience store, and very rarely strayed from what he knew. Onigiri triangles and milk tea. Maybe a beer if he was feeling extra melancholic, but not yet.
He spotted the onigiri triangles. There was only one tuna mayo left. Santi reached out to take it, only to have another hand shoot forward and grab it, leaving him with nothing but air.
“Sumimasen,” he said gruffly, wondering if he was pronouncing that right. “That’s—”
“My onigiri? Yes it is.” The English sounded familiar, making Anton turn his head to face his opponent.
Which was how he saw Kira Luz again after twenty years.
And wow. She was beautiful.
Still beautiful, actually, with those dark, upturned eyes that hadn’t changed since she was ten. They were eyes that could see everything, see through him without much difficulty. It was the same face he used to know, just older. Changed.
Santi used to be told a lot that he had “grown up well.” Kira Luz had grown up well too, into someone beautiful and self-assured, as self-assured as someone could be, when she was stealing onigiri from him. And with her, she brought back memories of Lipa, of those endless days he used to have as a child.
He’d forgotten that. How odd that he’d forgotten, playing in the streets with the neighborhood kids, getting his knees scraped and his clothes dirty almost every day. How odd that he’d forgotten that his father used to get up and go to work at the Villa Hotel every day, that his mother could only dream of owning a real Manansala. That Miro used to enjoy staying indoors to watch TV, not a care in the world about anything else.
And back then, when you played with the neighborhood kids, you had one leader—Kira Luz.
Kira Luz, who decided that instead of playing just one game, they would try to play them all, so everyone got a chance to choose. Kira, who always picked him for her teams, despite the fact that he wasn’t very fast and could never remember the chant for Ice Ice Water. Or Langit Lupa, or patintero, or agawan base.
Everyone had been a little bit in love with her back in the day. He remembered waiting for her at the school gate, helping her when she struggled with the staggering amount of Christmas gifts and Valentine’s Day candy she got every year. He remembered the two of them stopping by the sari-sari store across their houses to get soft drinks in plastic bags (she loved Royal Tru Orange, just like him), running outside when Mang Estong and his fishball cart parked in front of the Luz house, because Kira’s dad always slipped him an extra Php 20 so Anton could buy himself and Kira gulaman after their squid balls.
Seeing her brought it all back, and that rush of memory was so strong and so sudden that it felt like being punched in the stomach. He felt like he could tumble backward at any moment.
He’d forgotten that whole other life, that old life where he was called something else. Where he and his family had been completely different people, and when the name Santillan meant nothing at all. Kira blinked at him now, with those dark brown eyes that could always see right into his soul, her cheeks as red as his from the cold.
“Santi?” she said softly, his old nickname on her lips a gasp, like she couldn’t believe it. “Is that really…”
“Kira,” he said, nodding once. Her eyes went wide, and the next thing he knew, she was reaching up to touch his face with her free hand. No, wait. Not his face. His hair. Her hand was still very, very cold, but it was steady as she reached up and brushed that small, delicate hand against the hair on his forehead, lifting it up like she was searching for something.
A rush of warmth filled him at her touch, and he almost leaned into her hand. Almost.
“It is you.” She smiled, seemingly satisfied, and withdrew her hand. Santi pitched forward slightly but managed to hold himself steady. “You still have that scar.”
“Was that the only way I could prove my identity?” he asked, and wow, was he actually starting to sweat? Why was he suddenly wearing too many layers?
“Seeing as you got that scar because of me, yes.”
He remembered. He’d gotten that scar when he was ten and she was eight, and they had been chosen to be flower girl and ring bearer at one of her many, many, many cousins’ weddings. He told her that he and his family were moving to Manila, and she’d thwacked him on the head with her flower basket, giving Santi a little scar on his forehead that still lingered.
“You almost look like Harry Potter,” she told him after his stitches healed, because she always knew how to make him feel better at the worst times.
Kira grinned and took a step back today, like she was trying to take a really good look at him. He wondered what she saw with her assessment. Would she think he grew up well? Would she see the bags under his eyes, or the fact that he hadn’t shaved in three days? Would she like what she saw? “Damn. It’s really you.”
“Of all the convenience stores in the world.” He returned her grin.
“Of all the convenience stores on this street,” she corrected, and he had to agree. He had to have passed three other conbinis on his way to this one, what were the chances? “One would think the universe was trying to tell us something.”
“You’re still doing that?” he asked her, chuckling, just because it was nice that she hadn’t changed that about herself. Kira read signs from the universe as closely as Santi read his schoolbooks when they were kids. They were sure to ace today’s exam because the sun was shining. The universe didn’t want them to pass that particular science project because it had gotten drenched in the typhoon.
“Yes, I am still doing that. And you can’t argue that it hasn’t brought me to some very interesting places,” she said without defense or argument, just a statement of a fact that this was where they ended up in this moment in time, two friends who lost touch twenty years ago.
“It also brought you my onigiri,” he pointed out, looking at the triangle in her hand, as well as the bag of chips wrapped around her arm, and the bottle of milk tea in her other hand.
“Nope, I already established ownership of the onigiri, and you were just too slow,” she tutted, turning away from him in a blur of pink silk and dark hair. Santi followed after her as she perused the aisle. “Ooh, peach beer!”
“At least take my basket,” Santi said, offering her the basket he’d picked up near the entrance. “I feel like you’re going to drop something.”
“You’re still doing that?” she asked, smiling to let him know she was just teasing. Kira dumped her items in his basket without taking it from him, walking forward and humming along to the song playing on the speakers, which was in Japanese.
“You haven’t changed,” he pointed out, watching her look at the items on display and choose and consider them.
“I haven’t,” she agreed, chuckling. “I’m the same, people-pleasing, universe-believing Gemini you knew twenty years ago. You haven’t changed, either.”
“I haven’t?” he asked, and he wondered how, when he felt like Santi of twenty years ago was completely different from Anton Santillan, the drifting shadow person who didn’t know what to do with himself.
“You’ve always been the tall and silent type,” she said with a little shrug, walking down the aisle. “Never a foot wrong, always perfect. You’re actually wearing the right winter clothes. While I am going to die freezing in this silk jacket.”
She shivered, and Santi immediately pulled the scarf from his neck. His skin practically hissed at the warmth it released. Then, before he could overthink it, he handed it to her while she was considering which of the flavored KitKats to get. Kira turned her head and looked at the scarf before she looked up at him.
“You have to keep your neck warm,” he argued. “The base of the brain helps regulate body temperature.”
When she blinked at him curiously, Santi sighed and stepped forward, waiting for a moment for her to give him a tiny nod before he wrapped his scarf around her neck with his free hand. Her lashes fluttered as she looked down at where his hands worked, and he caught a slightly floral scent that was coming from her. He noticed her lips looked soft and pink, matching the warm flush that spread across her cheeks.
When he stepped back, she smiled at him, tugging at the end of the scarf to wrap it a little tighter.
“Like I said,” she told him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
A MATCH MADE IN LIPA by Carla de Guzman
The Laneways #2
Chocolate maker and shop owner Kira Luz isn’t looking for love, but if fate leads her that way, so be it. When she randomly runs into her childhood crush, Santi, on vacation, it feels like the stars are trying to tell her something. Memories of their time growing up in Lipa—not to mention the steamy kiss they share when they reconnect—get her heart pounding. But she has to go back to Lipa while he’s headed for Manila, and long distance is kind of an issue.
Until he moves back home…and distance becomes the least of their problems.
Estranged hotel heir Anton “Santi” Santillan is left adrift when his grandfather abruptly cuts him out of the family business. But he finds his footing again running a small niche hotel back in Lipa. The downside of living in his old hometown: it’s no Manila, that’s for sure. The upside: seeing Kira again. Kira, who loves food as much as he does. Kira, who loves kissing as much as he does.
Kira, whose family owns the property—including her shop—his grandfather wants him to buy out from underneath them.
Mixing love and chocolate and family just might get messy. And sometimes messy is exactly what fate had in mind.
Romance Holiday | Romance Multicultural [Carina Press, On Sale: March 8, 2022, e-Book, / eISBN: 9780369720160]
Buy A MATCH MADE IN LIPA: Kindle | Apple Books | Kobo | Google Play | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon FR
About Carla de Guzman
Carla believes that every romance has to have a happily ever after.
For her, there is always something new to share with the world through her art and her writing, and writes sexy contemporary romance in order to give her readers maximum amounts of kilig. She believes that every person needs a safe space, and she hopes her books provide that, too.
She also loves pain au chocolat, and is on a quest to see as many Manet paintings as she can.
No Comments
Comments are closed.