32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
A Personal Call
SAL
True to his word, Rafa gave her space. He took his lodgings elsewhere, showed up when he was needed, and gave her hesitant sidelong glances when she was at the BnB.
They were never alone together anymore. At first, the guilt was stabbing.
She had hurt him, even if she knew he would never admit to it.
Though now, the encompassing grief at her relationship going up in smoke made way for some relief.
At least she had disclosed some of her reservations about married life.
She reasoned out the crippling guilt. They lacked open communication between them.
The type that was honest and messy. The kind that Harmon spoke of back when they hated each other while slurping noodles on a rainy day at a ramen shop in Makati.
Looking back, she wondered if she had ever truly hated Harmon.
There was a very fine line between love and hate, after all.
She caught herself wondering if he was naturally honest and brazen in intimate relationships as well, and what that might be like.
Willow, rising from the bed, broke her reverie. “You look better today,” she said, stretching and letting out a yawn.
Sal had been staring out the window with a cup of hot tsokolate in her hand. She sported a messy bun with a knitted throw wrapped around her shoulders. Perhaps that was a more welcome sight than her tear-streaked face had been common in the past few mornings.
A knock came, and as usual, Theola let herself in. “Okay, we’re in trouble,” she said while thumbing her iPad.
What now? Sal thought.
“Spill,” Willow said.
“Good news or bad news first?” Theola grimaced at both of them.
“Whichever,” Willow waved her hand as Sal took another sip of her tsokolate.
“The good news is we have a lot of traction on social media because of the grimoire. The bad news is most of it paints us in a bad light,” she said, showing them a screenshot of articles in her iPad’s gallery.
Willow grabbed the tablet and swiped through it. Sal put down her drink and leaned over Willow’s shoulder to look as well. There were about a dozen articles written about them.
“That doesn’t include the reels and the individual posts…” Theola added and pursed her lips.
Sal looked away from the tablet and massaged her forehead. “I mean, bad press is still press, right?” She said, trying to convince herself and looking at both girls.
“There’s one more problem…” Theola said hesitantly. “The logistics company can’t send the tracking number of one of the loaned art pieces. It’s mixed up somewhere in their warehouse in the city,” she said with a pout. “What do we do?”
“Fuck’s sake,” Willow exclaimed.
Sal closed her eyes and let out a deep exhale. Logistics problems were common, but she had forgotten the Philippines’ specific complications. “All right, all right,” she said, thinking for a moment. “Where is the warehouse?”
“It’s in Paranaque,” she said, thumbing her iPad again, probably to pull up the map.
Sal massaged her chin. “Could someone make a trip there and identify the art piece? We have the serial code on the back of it; we just need to locate it.”
“I can go with Theola for this, but…” Willow said, giving Sal a concerned look. “Are you gonna be okay here on your own?”
It was no secret she and Rafa had a falling out. Theola and Willow didn’t know the specifics, not for lack of concern, but because each time they tried, Sal couldn’t bring herself to open up about it. So they just silently supported the couple as they went through this rough patch.
Sal grinned warmly for the first time that day and nodded. “As you said, I’m feeling better. You guys go ahead while I close more deals for the art show.”
Willow nodded and looked at Theola, who took it as a signal to continue.
“We have to find a better way to address the negative press, or else no one will go,” Theola said. “I don’t think we can just ignore it anymore.”
Sal thought for a second and reached for her phone. “I think I have an idea,” she said, looking for a number in her contacts list.
Willow stood up and got dressed as Sal checked her phone. “You think of a solution while we go retrieve the painting,” she said. “We’ll update you as soon as we find it.”
Sal agreed, and after they had left, she called the person she was looking for. “Hi, Tita Evie. I need to call in a favor...”
“Of course, dear,” Tita Evie responded. “What do you need?”
“How do you feel about having an exclusive interview on your news channel about the grimoire everyone’s been talking about?”
***
After the call, Sal made her way down to the café and had breakfast alone for the first time in a while.
Well, technically, she wasn’t alone. Frankie, the café’s resident cat, visited her table and sat beside her.
The calm tabby was about two sizes bigger than Kimmy.
It had white and orange patches all over its fur, and small eyes that tilted downward, making it look like a sympathetic little fur ball.
“You’re pretty chunky, aren’t you?” she nearly sang to it as the cat allowed her to give it some chin scratches. Sal missed Kimmy and wished she could escape everything and go back to her cat. “But I guess you’ll have to do, buddy,” she said, petting him again. Frankie just purred in response.
Frankie sat beside Sal on the wooden bench as she ate her breakfast with hot coffee.
She added milk and a bit of stevia because she loved a flat white, and it was a welcome difference from her usual black coffee.
She breathed in the nutty aroma of the locally pressed coffee beans.
The misery of her separation from Rafa didn’t feel so piercing anymore—that was probably a good sign.
After breakfast at the café next to Frankie the cat, she walked up to her room and closed the door behind her. Her laptop lay on the small antique dresser table in her shared room with Willow. Time to get to work, she thought as she tied her hair back into a messy bun and began her tasks.
Hours of hyper-focusing on emails and presentations for the event styling felt like enough time to check again if Willow or Theola had called.
There were no messages, not even from Rafa.
She placed the phone down and just lay on the bed for a few minutes.
Then, as though the universe had listened, her phone chimed.
She grabbed it and checked the screen. Demonyo—it was Harmon.
She unexpectedly laughed at his name on her phone.
The message read, “Come downstairs, I have something to give you.”
Sal put the phone on her chest and thought for a moment. She wasn’t keen on seeing Harmon, not while she was feeling better about this rough patch with Rafa. “Sorry, I’m busy. Just leave your package with the barista. I’ll pick it up later.”
Not a second later, Harmon replied. “I’m coming up.”
She frowned. God, he was persistent. “Don’t come up.
I’ll meet you at the café. But I can’t stay long.
” She hit send and sighed. She sat up in her bed and walked out of the room.
When she arrived at the antesala, she paused at the shadow of a man standing at the foot of the stairs.
As she descended the steps, she first caught sight of his shoes and then her heart leaped when she saw the rest of him in the flesh.
He looked up at her and offered a shy smile.
Handsome, brooding, and clean-cut, as always.
He had on dark blue linen trousers and a gray knitted top with sleeves that stopped at his elbows.
The bangs of his jet-black hair framed his face.
She locked eyes with him as she reached the last few steps of the wooden staircase, meeting him a few steps higher than his height.
His smile became warmer as she drew closer, and Sal felt herself flush. She tucked a hair behind her ear. “So what is it you wanted to give me?” she asked.
He took out of his pocket a dark blue envelope sealed with a wax stamp and handed it to her. “It’s your invitation,” he said, his eyes never wavering from hers.
“To what?”
“To my art show. It’ll be in the National Museum of Fine Arts in Manila,” he said. “I’d love to see you there.”
The way he had said the word “love” called Sal’s attention. She cleared her throat. “You don’t have Baron with you?”
“No,” he breathed. “This was a personal trip.”
Sal cracked a smile. He was being charming, and she was falling for it. “Thank you,” she said. “But you didn’t have to hand-deliver this.”
“I wanted to see how you were considering the news,” he responded; his wording was kinder than usual.
Was Harmon like this with his friends? With his family?
With the people he loved? She suddenly had a surge of questions in her head.
“Theola told me about all the negative press.” She nodded.
“You were right. It’s a circus,” she said, sounding defeated.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, breaking eye contact for the first time. He looked downward and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry this is happening, and during your global debut as an art curator.”
Sal leaned her elbows on the railing, viewing the top of his bent head. “Well…” she exhaled, amazed at how well she was taking this, or maybe she was just relieved she had someone to talk to about it. “I’m a tough cookie. I may not look it, but I’ll find my way through.”
Harmon stepped forward and lifted his head to look at her.
Their lips nearly grazed as Sal’s eyes widened.
She held her breath. Harmon just stood there, and judging by his stunned reaction, their sudden proximity was unintentional, though undeniably, the vibrations between them felt like static.
She was about to stand upright and distance herself from Harmon when a gentle hand cupped her face, and the warmth of his lips touched hers.
Their lips clashed eagerly, hungrily, and Sal felt herself nearly surrender.
“I want you,” he panted in the few breathless seconds their lips were apart. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me.” He brushed his thumb along her lower lip.
Sal was still leaning over the railing, and rested her forehead against his, her legs quaking. Her mind was a jumble of things, but one thing was for sure: she certainly, achingly, wanted him too. But how could she possibly want someone while loving someone else?
Little by little, she tenderly removed herself from his grasp to stand upright above the staircase. “I should get going,” Sal whispered as she traced the navy-colored invite. “Thank you for this…I’ll try to make it.”
Harmon, looking disappointed and a bit embarrassed, merely nodded.
Sal started up the stairs but paused halfway. She would not deny it any longer. Still, she held herself in restraint. “I need time,” she said, turning back, “but I want you too.” She offered a knowing, kind look, and then turned and continued up the stairs, leaving him alone with a glint of hope.