A British Girl’s Guide to Hurricanes and Heartbreak: Excerpt

In this highly anticipated companion to the New York Times bestseller and Reese Witherspoon x Hello Sunshine Book Club YA Pick A Cuban Girl’s Guide to Tea and Tomorrow, Flora Maxwell heads to Miami to find a path for her future…and finds her heart along the way.

Winchester, England, has always been home for Flora, but when her mother dies after a long illness, Flora feels untethered. Her family expects her to apply to university and take a larger role in their tea-shop business, but Flora isn’t so sure. More than ever, she’s the chaotic “hurricane” in her household, and she doesn’t always know how to manage her stormy emotions.

So she decides to escape to Miami without telling anyone—especially her longtime friend Gordon Wallace.

But Flora’s tropical change of scenery doesn’t cast away her self-doubt. When it comes to university, she has no idea which passions she should follow. That’s also true in romance. Flora’s summer abroad lands her in the flashbulb world of teen influencer Baz Marín, a Miami Cuban who shares her love for photography. But Flora’s more conflicted than ever when she begins to see future architect Gordon in a new light.

Laura Taylor Namey’s newest novel navigates heartbreak that feels like a hurricane in a city that is famous for them.

EXCERPT

“Sorry! I know, I know, I know,” I say to Lila Reyes when she pokes her head out from the kitchen. I pick up a rag and try to look productive. 

“Don’t worry, amiga,” she calls from the back. “I’ve already got the baker’s version of burpees and squat jumps planned for you.” 

“Of course you bloody do, and I love it!” Give me her annoyance over bland enabling any day. I know what to do with a little piss-off. 

Lila enters and lobs a tremendous smirk. She wears a bandanna over the rise of her brown ponytail and a dozen other hats: Cuban-American chef and baker. Miami expat. Le Cordon Bleu graduate. The girl who loves Winchester nearly as much as she loves my brother. And whom I love like a sister. 

She’s carrying a tray of blueberry scones, which I unload and slide into the dessert case that’s replaced our old tea-tasting bar. An appreciative gasp settles across the shop; those pastries will likely sell out in minutes while customers grab bags of their weekly English breakfast and Darjeeling. Partnering with Lila to bring in a pop-up version of her family’s Miami Cuban bakery was the best decision Dad’s made in years. 

We work on refilling trays of Chelsea buns and Cuban butter biscuits when knocking sounds from the pass-through window. On it there’s a sign: Closed, Please Proceed to Our Front Entrance. 

I spring around. Our friend Gordon Wallace is leaning his ruddy face into the glass. “Seriously? Is he going to melt if he stands in the regular queue?” 

“Oh, he already tried this shit while you were on your extended break. I shooed him off,” Lila says as she runs toward a beeping oven timer. 

I stomp over, grab the window latch, and slide. “You!” I point at Gordon, who has the audacity to look affronted. “Yes, you’ve been throwing pebbles against this thing like a ginger Romeo for days.” 

The pass-through on the exterior side wall was Orion’s latest idea to allow customers to step up for a quick snack. Some- thing for Lila alone. Outside, there’s a smart awning and chalk- board menu sign. And a Gordon angling his torso over the short counter. He’s in a checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up. The blues and greens look good against his deep-auburn hair—I’ll give him that. 

“You can’t blame me for enjoying the novelty of your little snack stop.” Gordy proceeds to slide the windowpane along the frame, back and forth with childlike fascination. “Well built, that,” he muses. When it’s impossible for me to contort my face any further, he stops with a hitched laugh. “Oh, and I want a Chelsea bun. Please,” he adds, like it’s some great thing. 

“You’re paying with real money and not game pieces?”
“Or you could put it on my tab.”
God help me, I step back and grab the bun and even wrap it up neatly. “What tab?” I say as I pass it over. “You usually get your fix free of charge because Lila’s nicer than me.” 

Gordon tears off a bit of the bun. Shoves it in and disintegrates into bliss. “What’s that say about you if a girl with South Beach, café cubano, and guayaba in her blood is the nicer one?” 

Being both half Venezuelan and a far-removed relative of Lila’s, he says the Spanish bits correctly. Lila originally visited Winchester three years ago because her distant cousin and tía of her heart—Gordon’s mum—lives here. The Wallaces were the start of why we have Lila at all. 

Before I can shoot back something clever, Gordon faces me head-on. “Come on. You’re nice enough. A good friend, too.” 

I bite my lip, tasting the dregs of vanilla balm. “Don’t go too soft on me.” Especially after what I’ve lost. I might shatter. 

Don’t be too kind; I don’t deserve it. 

“Never.” He tips his chin. “Well, off I go.” He launches into a grand exit show, his movements wonky and overblown as he backs away. All he’s missing is a court-jester suit. 

“Flora?” 

I pivot. While other employees handle the queue, I join Lila over a tablet where she plans out menu items. 

“For tomorrow, I’m thinking brioche and levain loaves. Plus cherry-chocolate scones and tres leches cakes. I also feel like doing up some mille-feuille.” 

A thousand sheets. Lila will handle that delicate French confection similar to a layered napoleon. And I’ll help with the rest. “I can start more pastry dough?” 

She gives a thumbs-up and scoots off to make herself a cuppa. 

Halfway to the kitchen, my heart quits when I lock eyes with an enormous RAT! I scream and follow with a round of my choicest words. I left the window open, and a rat’s crawled onto the service ledge. 

A hundred things happen in the course of three seconds: 

The shop queue goes to pieces. (Sorry, everyone.) All of the High Street’s surely heard me. And just as Lila rushes over, I peer closer and find that the creature’s not moving. With newfound courage mixed with mortification, I grab the disgustingly lifelike and utterly fake rat, holding it by the rubber tail. The queue’s now laughing. (You’re welcome, should I take a sodding bow?) 

“Gordon!” I yell out the window.
After years of pranks, Gordon Wallace might as well have signed his name on this one. Today, he’s in for a special kind of payback. I flip around to Lila, already undoing my apron strings. “I know we have work, and I was late, but—” 

“Um, hell no. You’d better run, chica,” Lila says.
I flash a wicked grin, toss the rat to Lila, and bolt.

 

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Laura Taylor Namey is the New York Times bestselling author of Reese’s Book Club pick A Cuban Girl’s Guide to Tea and Tomorrow, The Library of Lost Things, and When We Were Them. A proud Cuban-American, she can be found hunting for vintage treasures and wishing she was in London or Paris. She lives in San Diego with her husband and two children.

This former teacher writes young adult novels featuring quirky teens learning to navigate life and love. She holds a BA in Elementary Education from the University of San Diego and is the winner of the Peggy Miller Award for excellence in young adult fiction.

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Category: On Writing