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"Did you seriously just lick the frosting off my concha?"
Dunia blinked, her tongue still hovering near the half-eaten pastry in Nura’s hand. The bakery’s warmth clung to them both, sugary and insistent. "You weren’t eating it," she said, as if that explained everything.
Nura rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "I was savoring it. Unlike some people who inhale sweets like they’re about to be outlawed. Plus that one was actually mine, was waiting for you to notice it." She tore off a piece of the bread and popped it into her mouth, deliberately slow, just to watch Dunia’s eyes track the movement.
The bakery was their usual haunt, small, perpetually crowded, and run by a woman who called them both "mi corazón" despite never learning their names. Dunia liked the way the light slanted through the window in the late afternoon, painting Nura’s shoulders gold. She liked the way Nura’s fingers moved and how the nails shimmered in that dark purple polish she always used. She was the night like how Dunia was the light. It always made Dunia smile at the thought.
"Yours?" Dunia snorted, swiping the rest of the concha from Nura’s fingers before she could react. "Since when do you mark pastries?" She took a deliberately messy bite, frosting smudging the corner of her lip. Nura’s gaze flicked to it, lingered, and Dunia felt it like a touch.
The bell above the door jingled as a group of college students tumbled in, laughter loud enough to drown out the old radio playing boleros by the counter. Nura used the distraction to lean in, her voice dropping to a murmur only Dunia could catch. "I don’t mark pastries." Her thumb brushed the smudge of frosting off Dunia’s mouth, slow, purposeful. "I mark you." The pad of her thumb lingered, pressed just a little too hard to be accidental, before she pulled back and licked the sugar from her own skin. Dunia’s breath hitched. Nura learned this tactic from somewhere, Dunia liked the tactic but disliked who Nura probably learned it from.
It wasn’t fair. Nura always knew how to undo her like this, casual, effortless, like she wasn’t setting Dunia’s nerves on fire with a glance. The late sun caught the silver ring on Nura’s thumb, the one Dunia had given her last winter, and something warm curled low in her stomach.
Instead, she grabbed Nura’s wrist, sticky fingers and all, and tugged her out of the bakery into the honeyed heat of the sidewalk. "You’re insufferable," Dunia muttered, but she didn’t let go. Nura’s pulse jumped under her fingertips.
"Mm. You love it." Nura twisted her wrist free only to slide their palms together, lacing their fingers. The city noise faded, the honking cabs, the chatter from the bodega down the block, until it was just them, the press of Nura’s shoulder against hers, the way their steps synced without thought. Dunia squeezed her hand, and Nura squeezed back, grinning like she’d won something. Dunia grinned too, this moment just called for it. Both women them laughed softly at this ridiculousness.
Oh how they loved each other. And they wouldn't have it any way else.