The Vato Chinese Girl
The whirring blender choked suddenly, spraying flecks of green smoothie across Rosa Morales’ worn apron. Her hand jerked back, startled. Beyond the kitchen doorway, an unfamiliar silhouette hesitated. Not Javier’s familiar lumbering shape, but something smaller, more tentative. Li Wei’s delicate feet – Javier’s feet now – shuffled onto the cool tile floor. He wore yesterday’s short shorts, stretched tight over surprisingly full hips, paired incongruously with Javier’s own oversized, faded Metallica t-shirt that hung loosely, draping oddly over a distinctly feminine bust. His dark, silky hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, exposing the graceful curve of a neck Rosa found utterly foreign. The scent of Javier’s cheap aftershave clung stubbornly to the air. Rosa froze, the blender’s dying hum echoing in the sudden silence. Her eyes flickered from the spatter of kale smoothie on her apron to the impossible figure lingering in the doorway. That face – Li Wei’s face – held an expressi...