Waking Up in the Land of Glitter by Kathy Cano-Murillo

the shadow box, how could he resist? She even wore an ensemble of his past gifts: the flowy
     lime peasant dress from their day trip to Nogales; the chunky coral beaded choker from Christmas; the canvas tote he painted
     when her wisdom teeth were pulled. For the final touch, she wore two long, thick braids weaved with red satin ribbons—the
     same hairdo as when he painted her portrait two years ago. If that combination didn’t say devoted, nothing did.
    Star couldn’t wait to be near him again, to take in his scent. His aroma intoxicated her—she would smoke it in a hookah if
     she had the chance. She would can it as air freshener, or maybe put it in a spritz bottle and douse her pillow every night.
     A Theo air freshener for her car! Bath bombs, so she could have his scent all over her skin after a long soak in the tub.
     First she had to find him.
    She entered Sangria and marveled at its beauty. Overall, the place could pass as La Pachanga, Version 2.0, only with a modern
     industrial touch. While chunky wood and thick wrought-iron accessories trimmed her mom and dad’s outlet, Sangria possessed
     a slick, sexy energy of polished steel and embossed silver. And as the new corporate-owned Latin hot spot, pricey details
     punctuated every corner with accessories her parents couldn’t afford: scores of masculine leather barstools, a lit dance floor,
     and vaulted ceilings. Any other time, she would have jotted down notes in her superspy competitor notebook.
    Star clutched her bag as if it were the last life preserver on the
Titanic
and stepped into the pristine gallery. Her eyes widened in amazement at Theo’s evocative two-color abstract paintings that
     adorned the gunmetal walls. A stark departure from his work for La Pachanga. Dark. Heavy. Definitely more serious.
    There he stood, across the room, and the vision refreshed her thirsty soul. He glanced up, and their eyes connected as he
     shook hands with a patron and sifted through the crowd her way. He wore patent-leather creepers, pleated charcoal slacks,
     a snug gray knit pullover, and appeared all shiny and groomed. He even looked thinner.
    Dusty Springfield’s “The Look of Love” piped through the gallery speakers, one of his favorite songs to sing a cappella. She
     took it as a good sign. Star held her breath as the billow of his Krishna Musk oil swirled two steps in front of him and she
     inhaled to capture every microfiber of his being. Overall, Theo’s makeover scored a ten, a solid step up from his usual khakis,
     tees, sneakers, and wraparound sunglasses that he often wore indoors and at night.
    “Hey,” he said, as if she were the last person he wanted there.
    Rather than reciprocate the greeting like a normal person, Star’s jitters overtook her and she mechanically shot out, “Hi,
     hi, hi, hi, hi, hi…” like a trigger-happy machine gun.
    “What’s up?” he asked. Obviously his mini vacation had done nothing to lessen his anger.
    She gulped to regain composure. “Can I talk to you alone?”
    “Estrella, it’s my first reception at this gallery. Please, not tonight.”
    “It’s really important. It’s something exciting, I swear,” she coaxed.
    He gestured to the steel double doors at the back of the gallery and walked ahead of her, as if it were a chore to slow his
     pace. When a tall blonde in a slinky cocktail dress and mile-high heels glided in front of him and smiled, he replied with
     a sly grin. Star’s stomach churned at the concept of Theo flirting with someone other than herself.
    They entered the outdoor courtyard, and the sharp scent of the fresh-cut grass taunted her allergies. Otherwise, the setting
     couldn’t have been any more romantic: the sun had set over the towering oak trees that blinked with mini lights. They passed
     a humungous talavera mosaic water fountain in the center. The setting rivaled a Lifetime Valentine movie on steroids.
    “This is good. Go ahead,” he said.
    “Perfect!” she said, facing