We Found Love

EIGHT

* * *

They say when life throws you lemons, you make -

"I'm hungry,"

Lemon meringue . . .

And just like that, her train of thoughts has been derailed. All thanks to her best friend.

She was just about to come up with something witty relating to lemons and life, about to write it down, but then everything poofed like a cloud of dust blown into the wild wind even before she got the chance to press a single letter on her laptop.

She ended up closing her device instead and stared off at nothing in particular.

Her best friend Normani entered the room and complained immediately as she plopped herself next to Camila's seat. They were at the conference room now, lounging for a little bit after a meeting, finalizing the necessary adjustments for the stage play that they will soon put into motion.

The girl then started talking about things she had been stressing on for the past few weeks, being a producer and director. And as she droned on and on about castings, future shows and a few incompetent crew members, Camila's thoughts flew away to a not so far distance. Just a few miles away, one subway ride away, on the building where she also lives.

Only this time, as her mind drifted, she wasn't thinking about lemons anymore.

She's thinking about a pair of gems, a pair of solemn peridot eyes, perfect eyebrows knitted way too close to each other, a widows peak that's way too prominent but kind of attractive nonetheless along with thick tresses flowing in luscious dark waves, and a voice of an angel that was so raspy it sounded just a tad bit sinful.

She wasn't completely aware but she found herself biting her bottom lip at that particular thought.

"I'm seriously craving for some spicy chicken enchiladas and crispy tortillas dipped in some black bean soup . . ." Normani said wistfully as if daydreaming. "Does Ally serve any of that in her restaurant? I mean, I haven't been there for a while so I'm not sure what the gnome has been cooking lately. Besides, I've been living off of salt bagels and bitter coffees three times a day. Gosh, I need healthy foods for my perfect body, I so totally deserve a decent meal, just with a bit of spice in it. I wonder how my stomach survived that catastrophe of a meal for the last - hey Cabello! Are you listening to me?"

"What?"

Camila failed to pick up any of Normani's rant. She has been staring off, swivelling the chair she's sitting on. Her mind, while it's so full of many wondrous things fit for creative writing, it has also been occupied by a certain someone.

A certain someone with the most expressive and enticing green eyes, a face so beautiful God himself must have spent a little more time on her perfection, with the velvety rasp of her voice that is making her pants just a little bit tighter.

"Really, Mila? What got you staring off to nothingness and ignore my beautiful famished self?"

"Just thinking, sorry . . ."

"Oh, so you can do that now? Impressive . . ."

Camila rolled her eyes and sat up straight. "Rude . . . Are we done here? I already gave you the scripts for the first twelve acts, so am I free to go for now and finish some other projects?"

"And what project would that be, might I ask?" Normani smirked teasingly.

"Mani . . ."

"Is it called 'project get-some' or is it called 'project do-it-by-yourself'? Do tell,"