I'm very happy that I've been getting these out earlier, it makes me happy as a writer and I hope as well that it pleases you as readers. I know that I always look forward to new installments in fanfics but they're usually not very regular. This story is a lot of fun to do and I'm so glad that others like it as well. I implore the readers, however, to comment. I really want to improve the story and I know how it ends, but I'd really love to have some feedback on how it is for you all, if you like it and even if you don't. I cater to my readers and want nothing else but your satisfaction with my story... well, I'd also like a television that gives you food but okay. I think I will start a poll later tonight and I'll keep it up until the Tuesday after this coming one so 13 days, I suppose? Yes. See, there's a character coming in soon but I can't decide on his last name. So I give it to you. Oh, a little disclaimer, in the chapter, there are two songs mentioned: one is a song called El Capotín which is a Puerto Rican folk song from my Spanish friends. Even though the Vivas are Cuban, I feel that people in the coffee world would know it. Also the song Edward plays which I feel would be closest to Chopin's Etude Opus 25 with some minor changes, of course. Also the Pilon brand of coffee is mentioned along with the founder (I believe), I own nothing of any of these brands or songs. His line in the story (without me trying to write out a thick Cuban accent) is: "This next one is for Cara, I know she used to like this song." And the rest is just elongated to show that people are singing. For those who don't know, Pilon is a Cuban coffee which will keep you bouncing on the walls for nine hours. Again, I know it via my Spanish friends who swear by it. It's too strong for me. Anyway, that's basically it. Please comment, that's all I ask. And watch for the poll as I need all the opinions I can. Thanks for reading!

...

31 October, 1915

I will never forget how beautiful she was when I went to her room midnight just so I could be the first person she sees on her fifteenth birthday. I will never forget the look her face when I gave her the present she loved so much. But more than anything, I'll never forget her kiss. And now that I've experienced it, I know I'll always yearn for it.

"I suppose a warm 'Happy Birthday' is in order." Edward said with a wide grin after a half asleep Cara joined him on the fire escape outside her room.

"Thank you," she giggled sleepily, "but it's really not so important." She stifled a yawn and held the sides of her dress to keep it from swaying in the wind.

"Oh, but it is." He held a soft, misshapen cookie in his hand with a single flickering candle in the middle of it which he shielded from the wind with his hand. "Make a wish." He said happily. He set it in her palm and the candle blew out. They both laughed.

"Or not," she smiled and pulled out the candle, "but what else could I possibly want other than spending a cold midnight with my best friend?" She took a bite from the cookie and raised her eyebrows. "Mm! Give my compliments to your mother. These are better than usual!" She hungrily took another bite.

"I would only it was not her this time." He grinned proudly as she kept chewing.

"You?"

"Why yes." He smiled and held her shoulders tenderly, "wait here." She made a full-mouthed sound and he disappeared in his room for a moment, appearing again with a white box wrapped with a single robin's egg blue ribbon.

"Wha-"

"Now, it is your birthday so your choice: there is this box for you, which I can give you anywhere... or, a second present, for which you must accompany me downstairs for. Which first? Or, perhaps both at the same time?" He smiled at her as she quickly weighed her options.

"Both!" She said elated.

"I was hoping you might say that."

In a few minutes, they stood in the heart of the storage room. The room itself was not closed off to tenants, but it was discouraged from using. The lock was broken so getting in quietly was nothing. They dodged half-broken crates and dusty old furniture until they got to the beautiful grand piano. The wood was a rich mahogany and shiny since the owner cleaned it regularly. It was the owner's most prized possession but never played it. Edward sat down at the stool and put the box in her hands. Quietly as he could, he began to rhythmically touch the ivories gently, trying to stay quiet.

"Open it," he prompted looking at her. She sat on a corner of the stool and looked down at the box. Secretly, she was trying to figure out which song he was playing.

"What is it?"

"Open it, I cannot tell you."

"No, this piece."

"Exactly. I will not say until you open it, and then both your presents will be revealed." She untied the ribbon, letting it fall gracefully to the floor. She opened the box to find

"It's a box..." she held it up disappointedly. The black box seemed to have no decorations, openings or even seams. It was much too light to hold anything else inside. Edward maintained his grin. He took one hand from the piano keys and pushed a small button on the side of the box. There was a 'click' sound as a compartment opened on the side of the box facing her. She looked inside and smiled, removing a black-feather quill. She examined it closely; it was a work of art. She turned it over and found a shortened peacock feather nestled in the center. She stroked the feather, it was soft and beautiful. She adored the beautiful bird as much as the birthday gift she was holding at the moment. She turned to him and he gave her a warm smile.

"And this song, I wrote for you. I haven't named it yet. But..." he resolved the melody with an enchanting flourish and slowed to a close as he turned to face her. "It's for you. Happy birthday." She looked from the quill to his face to the piano. Her throat was dry and her heart raced. How could she ever possibly express what was going through her mind at the moment? She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She kissed his cheek and coming out of the hug, kissed his lips softly.

"I love it." She said breathlessly, "I love it so much. Thank you Eddie, I couldn't have asked for anything better." She took his hand and squeezed it, her smile beamed with glee.

I remember how I couldn't sleep that night. I didn't want to. I was afraid that it was a dream. I couldn't chance waking up from it. But it wasn't. It was our first kiss and I couldn't have asked for a better one. I remember that day so clearly. I even remember that party that her parents threw her that night.

...

The streets from their building to four blocks away were packed with shiny black cars from fender to bumper. Both sides of Cara's entire family were invited with only about a half of each actually attending. Edward was still stunned by the turnout.

"You should have seen Sara's wedding." She commented as they looked out on to the streets from their rooftop, "it seemed like all of New York came to that." She smiled and played with her hair. She was not yet dressed for the occasion, she still had time. But her mother took the liberty of doing her hair at 7 o'clock that morning in preparation for an 8 o'clock at night party. The logic made sense to only her mother, but it allowed Edward to admire a small portion of her beauty for a while. As people got out of their cars and into the building, she recognized some of them and identified them to Edward. Some names were Italian while others were Spanish. Either way, he was enchanted by the way she spoke. "See that really tall man?" She pointed to a man coming out of his car, rushing over to open the passenger door for a lovely woman around his age.

"Yes."

"That's Manuel Bacuaro. He's famous in Cuba for making coffee. Everybody in my father's family says that one day he will be the most powerful man in Cuba." They both watched him as he walked in. Desi took one look at him and hugged him tight. Allegra and Manuel's wife hugged tightly as well before going inside. The two men stayed outside to speak excitedly to each other.

When one first met Cara and her family, one believed they were very average with average wealth. They lived in the upstairs portion of a townhouse in the nicer area of Chicago. They wore clothes that looked decent on them despite their simplicity and lack of embellishment. In Cara's case, a lot of her dresses were designed and made by her hand. They had one car and always kept it very presentable. But no matter how shiny the car or beautiful their small home was, no one ever considered that they were incredibly wealthy. But they were and it was due to that man, Manuel Bacuaro.

When Cara's father was very young, living in Cuba with his mother and eight siblings, he would walk from one side of the island to the other every week to buy coffee for his mother. When he complained about it to Mr. Bacuaro, it gave him an idea to increase profit and convince for customers. Since then, he gave Desi a percentage of every coffee sale, giving him enough money to move him and his family from the slums of Cuba to America. Even today, the Pilon coffee brand grows, meaning that the Vivas family fortune grows with it.

"I would just like to welcome everyone to our home tonight," There was a loud cheer, cutting off Allegra from continuing. She smiled and clapped happily as they began to settle down. "Our beautiful daughter is fifteen today, and as... at least half of you know," group laughter, "this is her coming of age." Another cheer. Allegra smiled and laughed, before shouting out "Happy birthday!" And giving up the heartfelt announcement she originally planned as she rejoined her husband by the table of food. Quietly, they toasted to Cara's health. Manuel Bacuaro sat at the piano and began to play a loud upbeat tune.

"Dis nec juan es for Caaara, I know she useda like dis song.." he smiled and kept playing. His wife sat next to him on the stool he looked at her and began to serenade her. "Iiiii giveeeee tooo jjuuuu... mmmyyy deeeaaarr loveelllyyy ladyy,"

"For your pleassuree, I bringg youu," she chimed in melodically.

"THIS CUP OF MY FIINEST BREW, CAFÉ!" Every Spanish person in the room chimed in.

The song was an old Spanish folk song, about coffee. Everyone around them danced and clinked cups together to the song. Edward even spied his parents attempting to sing along to this foreign song.

"You two are cute, can I take a picture?" A boy of about eleven years rushed over to them with a camera. Cara recognized him; it was a cousin of hers from her mother's side, although she wasn't sure if his name was Antonio or Giovanni.

"Oh...ok." Edward said nervously as he took his place at Cara's side. They stood still not touching, smiling awkwardly.

"No! That's not a picture guys! Relax! Think of something that makes you happy!" The boy said and looked through his camera.

She looked up at me and grinned a little, getting closer and holding the back of my jacket. I never took my eyes off her. I held her waist tenderly, wanting her as close to me as possible. She smiled at me. I thought of how extraordinarily beautiful she looked that night as a flash blinded our peripheral vision. But we didn't mind, in fact, we didn't care about a lot of things when we were together.

"That was great guys." The boy took his camera from the stand, putting it on a small table under a seemingly old framed painting. The boy noticed the painting and studied it for a second. "I know this guy!" Cara and Edward snapped out of their trance and looked at the boy, not letting go of each other.

"What?" Cara asked.

"Rembrandt! He's that dead painter guy." The boy said as he squinted at a corner of the painting that had a signature on it.

"Oh..." Cara looked at and shrugged. "We got it from some second-hand shop back in New York." She never cared for the picture of the old man with the strange hat but her father kept it as a conversational piece. "You should get to your mother, kiddo," she pointed to the painting, "it's probably not real anyway."

It's real.