What Kind of Day Read online

  What Kind of Day

  Six 32 Central #1

  Mina V. Esguerra

  Bright Girl Books

  “What Kind of Day” Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2018 by Mina V. Esguerra

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover designed by Tania Arpa

  Photography by Alexandra Urrea (instagram.com/romanceclasscovers)

  Featured artwork by Janus Aragones-Zate

  Map by Shai San Jose

  * * *

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Map of Metro Manila

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Books by Filipino authors #romanceclass

  Map of Metro Manila

  1

  Makati, 7:45 a.m.

  * * *

  The guy was definitely not part of her tour group, and he knew it, too. He knew it, she knew it, and still after they locked eyes for maybe ten seconds of mutual knowing, he pulled the handle of the van’s sliding door and let himself inside.

  What the hell? Naya Llamas counted her breaths and wondered what to do, given this new situation. Six people were officially part of her tour today. She had rented a van that would comfortably fit ten. An extra person wouldn’t push anyone out, but the unexpectedness wasn’t cool. It was already going to be a long day.

  This was not how she did things.

  The designated meetup time at the park-adjacent parking lot was eight a.m., and she told the group they’d be leaving promptly at eight-ten. She had a reputation for being serious about time, and her guests today would know that. She would have to settle this problem in a few minutes, or else it would show up in a review somewhere that…that she had a stowaway? That she couldn’t deal with one? What was this, even?

  Only six people on this tour but if the situation got out of control, no telling how bad it could get. Naya’s “income-generating hobby” relied on referrals from happy guests, and she needed to make this hobby last with every fiber of her being.

  In a second, she was in the van to confront the guy.

  He took a window seat on the last row, and was already tuning out the world. Earphones on, blank stare activated. Handsome face, sure, dark hair, growing stubble, and the look of someone who needed sleep and peace of mind.

  None of that mattered! Her van, her tour, her rules.

  “Excuse me,” Naya said, tapping the seat directly in front of him, then the window near his face because the first tap didn’t work. “Sir.”

  He pulled one earbud off. “Yeah?”

  Yeah? He was just going to yeah his way out of this? The nerve. “This van is for a tour that starts at eight-ten a.m.”

  “Awesome.”

  “You are not part of the tour group.”

  “Oh. Yes, yes in fact I’m not.”

  “If you’re not part of the tour, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

  “I’d like to join it.”

  “It’s not—” It’s not possible, was what she was ready to say. Stubborn since birth. Resisting reasonable authority. Naya was aware of her flaws—other people made sure she knew them, all her life—but starting the “income-generating hobby” got her acquainted with a new side of her. More mature, more responsible. She also needed money to live. Still. “I have a website and a schedule and a waiver that you didn’t—”

  “How much is the tour?”

  Damn, how far was he going to take this? She told him. And when she did, with that confident tone she practiced because she told herself to be proud of her value, she saw that he did not expect it to cost that much. Naya’s tours were special, designed for specific experiences that she got to determine. Customizing the stops and setting the price high also kept a lot of the creeps and troublemakers away, so this could probably solve her problem before the van warmed up, and her long day could proceed as planned.

  But in response, the guy fished his wallet from the pocket of his jeans, and opened it up. Worn and creased leather, thick with stuff. He dug in there and slowly extricated one bill after another. Eventually he had enough thousands to cover exactly what she said the tour cost.

  “It’s not that simple,” she sputtered. “There’s a waiver…”

  “Your phone,” he said. “Take a video of me.”

  “What?”

  “Hold up your phone now, to my face. Take video.”

  She frowned, set the cash down on the seat, and did as he asked.

  “Game? Okay. My name is Benjamin Cacho, of legal age, and I am joining this tour group of my own free will and you…what’s your name?”

  “Naya Llamas.”

  “…Naya Llamas, you are not liable for anything that happens to me while I’m on your tour today.” He paused, and sort of shook his head. “In fact, any pain that befalls me today will be entirely my fault, I am sure. You can end the video now.”

  She did. “You don’t even know where we’re going, Benjamin Cacho.”

  “Today I just want to be anywhere but where I usually am. Anything else I need to do to join your tour, Naya Llamas?”

  No, nothing else. More than anything, she wanted to throw the cash back at him, all dramatic like that, and tell him to go to the website and get on the waiting list like everyone else. People paid good money to get a spot on her tours and this display of casual disregard for what it was and what he had walked into was disrespectful, damn it.

  But she needed the money. It was an objective reality, that most people in her life validated. You are thirty-one. We shouldn’t have to worry about you anymore, her family members liked to say, or at least hint heavily.

  “Say please,” she said.

  “Please.” He let that go so quickly. He obviously did not have the same deadly sin as hers as a potential downfall.

  “All right,” she said. “And you can call me Naya.”

  “I’m Ben. And if my presence makes you uncomfortable, you don’t need to call me anything. I will be quiet as a mouse.”

  “I don’t like mice.”

  “I will be as quiet as your favorite quiet thing.”

  Naya sighed and picked up the money on the seat. No more reasons to resist; she put up enough of a fight, didn’t she? They locked eyes again, not really staring, but Naya was focusing on keeping quiet and not starting the cycle of self-sabotage. She kept her tour groups small on purpose, giving up the chance to earn more for no good reason, really.


  Consistency of character. That’s the reason.

  Still, she needed the money. Money literally walked into her van. She shouldn’t toss it out on the street.

  “Welcome to the tour, Ben,” she said. “I think you’ll end up enjoying yourself today.”

  “I doubt that,” he replied. “But it won’t be your fault at all.”

  Wow. Naya bit her lip. She should stop talking altogether, before she said anything she regretted. She was more mature now, and responsible. She gave him a stiff nod before she backed out of the van and left him in there.

  Outside, she found herself face to face with her cousin Melly, “income-generating hobby” partner and her driver for the day.

  “He’s not part of the tour,” Melly hissed, pointing at their stowaway. “Did he think we were his Uber or something?”

  “He’s part of it now. He paid and everything.”

  “But he didn’t do the online form. We didn’t vet him, and if there was an open slot we should have given it to the waitlist—”

  “Melly,” Naya sighed. “It’s okay.”

  “You think? It’s us and a bunch of strangers in a van—we should make sure we’re safe—”

  “I know who he is, Melly. It’s okay.”

  Her cousin blinked at her. “He’s a friend?”

  She shook her head. “Not a friend. But he’s…I recognize him. From work. I mean, the old job. I don’t think he’ll be a safety risk for us, and he already paid.”

  The difference between them was that Melly did not need this “job” as much and deferred often to Naya’s decisions. “Okay,” she said. “But I’ll keep an eye on him just in case.”

  “Funny you said that—he seems to want to disappear today.”

  “So joining your See This Manila tour is the best thing for him today—or the worst.”

  “Depending on what he’s trying to avoid. It shouldn’t bother us. Let’s carry on, have a great time as usual. Yes?”

  Of course she was going to have a great time. She’d make sure of it. And whatever Benjamin Cacho—speechwriter working for the office of Senator David Alano—was hiding from, she was not going to let it affect her day at all.

  2

  It was going to be a long day, so Ben Cacho loaded up on podcasts before putting his mobile phone on airplane mode. Yes, airplane mode, as if he was taking a long-haul flight, but a rush hour ride from Makati to Quezon City was close enough. As he stood there with all his work things in the middle of a parking lot, he heard someone mention the van’s destination, and figured that was as good a place as any to figure out where to go next. He thought it was a shuttle terminal, to be honest. He didn’t realize it was a tour van, that he’d need to pay the equivalent of a round-trip flight out of Manila, but anyway. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and he was on the road to nowhere, and he just gave the Strict Teacher all his money.

  Wait—he had another phone. He wasn’t totally off the grid. It was office-issued and only took calls, but that didn’t count. It was always in his bag and on silent anyway. It wasn’t set to vibrate, was it? He could feel his bag, on the floor but touching him through the legs of his jeans. To be safe, he laid the laptop backpack down flat and pushed it under the seat in front of him.

  The first podcast was a French language lesson on food. Ben had subscribed to this a lifetime ago, when he thought he had time to learn French, or go anywhere that would make it useful. But the podcast promised ten-minute bursts of learning and it made him feel that he was progressing even when he still went nowhere near France.

  He thought Naya the Strict Teacher would fill up the van but by the time six people had hopped in, she took a seat in the back with them, closest to the door. Then she signaled the van to leave.

  Eight-ten, like she said.

  La carte, s'il vous plaît?

  “…glad I didn’t have to leave anyone behind today,” Naya the tour guide was saying. “I’ve done that before…”

  Avez-vous un ménu en anglais?

  “…the ‘Filipino time’ excuse is bullshit, and it’s an insult to those like me who value my time and yours, period. I’d really appreciate it if it’s not used to make yourself feel better for being late, or feel superior for being early…”

  Ben laughed, and when everyone else turned to look at him he realized that he did so louder than he’d planned to. Earphones, damn. He meant to tune out the tour and disappear in the back, but—

  “And that’s Ben,” Naya said, eyebrow raised. “Everyone, say hi to Ben. He’s a sudden addition to our tour today.”

  “Hi, Ben,” the others obediently said.

  He touched his cheek, tried to push the smile away. He didn’t need to be nice to anyone; he needed to ride this van and end up away from Makati. But soon everyone had turned around and the focus of attention was back where it deserved to be, Naya.

  Vins rouges, vins blancs.

  Ben felt some of his stress subsiding already, at about the rate of ten kilometers per hour. It was…nice? To not have to think of work for once. He kind of panicked when faced with hours and hours of being by himself and the first thing he did was pick up on things he had left off…three years ago. Was he even the same person? Did he actually want to learn Français?

  “…modern art and actually experience it. Lunch will be at Chef Grace’s family’s home…”

  He told himself not to pay attention, but lunch? He paid for lunch? Thank God, he was getting something to eat at least. He could figure out where to go after that.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, interrupting her spiel, but he couldn’t help himself. “Is that Chef Grace Bayona?”

  Naya paused and sighed, and he could imagine her telling herself to calm down. Inwardly. Outwardly she was poised and collected, the edge of her ponytail swishing and landing over one shoulder. “Yes, it is, Ben. You’d know that if you read the tour schedule, but yes, lunch will be at Chef Bayona’s.”

  He’d met the chef once before, and remembered loving the food and promising to come back. Good day to get it done, then.

  Je voudrais eau pétillante, s'il vous plait.

  Ben tried to go back to learning a new language, he did. Then he just wasn’t anymore, because the podcast ep had ended and he was looking at his tour guide, like everyone else in the van. He couldn’t help it. She went on to explain several other tour destinations, not that it mattered because he wasn’t going to be sticking around for the rest. Ben had been on tours before and even when they were mildly interesting, he could still retreat into silence. Naya was…he looked. Stole a glance here and there. Ended up listening. She acted like she was doing all of them a favor, that they had the honor of being in her van today, listening to her speak. For him she kind of did do him a favor for real, and yet everyone else seemed to act that way too.

  “…now that I’ve told you where we’re going,” she said, “I want to thank you for deciding to spend the day with me. This is not what people usually think of, when they say they want to go around Manila, and if you’re the right kind of restless that you ended up with me, then we could be—we could be friends.”

  Their eyes locked again when she said that last part, and of course that wasn’t for him. He didn’t count. He didn’t choose her today; he was not the “right kind of restless.” He was restless all right, but probably the wrong kind.

  “Make no mistake, it’ll still be Manila,” Naya continued. “We’ll pass through the same streets, crawl through the same traffic. We’re not going to be driving through better neighborhoods just so you don’t see the mess. It’s still what it is, but you’ll have your art, and food, and you’ll see how supporting one artist helps the community. Hopefully you’ll like what you see. Welcome to See This Manila. Wear your seatbelt and take a nap if you like. ETA for the next stop is nine-fifteen a.m.”

  She turned around, away from him, and it dawned on Ben that he knew her.

  He knew Naya Llamas. Or rather, knew of her work, he was almost entirel
y sure now. He’d read those words before, or maybe heard them from her very mouth, except back then she was just another face at work.

  What was she doing running a tour out of a van?

  “Hi, Ben.”

  He did not expect he’d be spoken to by anyone else before the next stop, so it took him a while to respond. The lady occupying the seat right in front of him had turned around, the look on her face expecting a lot more than a hello back. She was waiting to be recognized.

  On any other day, Ben would have gotten it right. That was his talent, his thing, what his boss needed him for on most days. Who is this person and what is our history with this person? He would use a face or a name as a starting point and his brain would map the beginnings of the “file” and he’d only really need the web research to fill in the blanks. Working for David—Senator Alano—taught him to build the mental file in reverse chronological order. What did that person say yesterday? In their world of shifting allegiances, that mattered more than what anyone did last month, last year, last election.

  “I’m your Tita Mari,” she said, beating him to it. “Second cousin of your dad. And this is—”

  “Rochelle,” Ben said, catching up. “Your daughter. Now in college, right?”

  “Almost. Very good, Ben.”

  As the mental file began to form, he recalled one particularly stark memory of Tita Mari. He was ten years old, reciting Philippine presidents in sequence, along with their years in office. A reunion party trick the grownups made him do. “Very good, Ben.”