A Taste of Sage by Yaffa S. Santos

Author:Yaffa S. Santos [Santos, Yaffa S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-03-24T00:00:00+00:00

21

Lumi

The brass teakettle whistled, jolting Lumi to attention. The night had turned blustery, so she decided to make herself a hot toddy to warm up and bolster her courage before setting out on her late-night trip to DAX. She painstakingly applied her black eyeliner after the pressed powder and added mascara and rose-colored lipstick to finish the look. It was the most makeup she had worn in a while.

She shimmied into the tightest dark wash jeans she owned and pulled on a thin mauve silk blouse. She left her curly hair cascading back. Amethyst chandelier earrings swung from her earlobes. A quick glance at her watch told her that she had exactly forty-five minutes to jet down to DAX. If her calculations were correct, Julien would be closing up around that time and there would only be a few employees left at the restaurant.

The subway ride down was a blur. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought about how unlike her this plan was. Before she knew it, the train had stopped at Forty-Second Street and she skipped up the stairs to street level. When she checked the screen of her phone, it was 9:45 P.M.

She used her key card to open the service entrance door and rode the elevator to the fifth floor, walking out into the eerily quiet hallway. The lights in the restaurant were already dim. Lumi stopped, looking from left to right. Where was everyone? She felt her stomach sink into her pelvic floor.

The entire floor was deathly silent. She tried the restaurant doors, but they had already been locked. She stood in front of them, and as she saw her reflection in the glass of the doors, tears of shame welled up in the corners of her eyes.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered to herself. She pulled her earrings out and stuffed them into her jeans pocket. She couldn’t help but look at herself in the reflective doors once more and felt bile rising in her throat. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse, dragging streaks of black mascara across her cheeks like war paint, not even noticing soft footsteps in the hall behind her.

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