certain he’d never meant, threatened to ban Alejandro from their home if he chose to turn his back on running the restaurant that was their familia’s legacy.
Despite the threat, Alejandro had boarded that plane to Spain. Off to seek fame and fortune on his own terms. Without his father’s blessing. Without her.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, the humid breeze snagged a few strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail, blowing them across her cheek. She tucked them behind her ear and squared her shoulders, then paused in front of the wide wooden door nestled in the privacy wall’s alcove. Overhead, sprawling bougainvillea with their deep green leaves and bright fuchsia flower petals climbed the slanted overhang in a colorful canopy. The sweet-smelling vines offered shade to those who entered, but the plant’s sharp thorns were as prickly and harmful as the memories of Alejandro she had struggled to uproot from her heart.
Shit, if she was honest with herself, she’d admit that the sweat dotting her upper lip was a nervous reaction to seeing Alejandro again after all these years, not the hot island climate. That didn’t mean anyone else needed to know.
All she had to do was put on her game face. Channel her I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude that challenged any sexist, chauvinistic firefighters at work to question her abilities when it came to saving their asses. Treat this visit like another routine 911 call. Alejandro, another random patient she might need to load in the back of her . . . or, bueno, his mom’s sedan . . . for the short drive to the emergency room at Lower Keys Medical Center if need be.
So what if instead of her firefighter gear she wore exercise clothes, having come directly from a private workout with a guest at the Casa Marina Resort. Her sundress from church was a balled-up, wrinkled mess inside her gym bag. No way was she wasting twenty minutes driving to her place in Stock Island, just outside of Key West, and back to freshen up. Not for him.
She refused to care whether or not she looked her best for the man who had walked away from her so easily.
Straightening her spine, Anamaría reached for the weathered metal door handle.
Her plan was simple. Get in and out quickly. Keep chitchat to a minimum. Remain professional and focused on her job—not the man—while she checked Alejandro’s vitals and the pin sites of the external fixator keeping his surgically aligned tibia shaft in place while his compound fracture healed.
No doubt Alejandro had come back kicking and screaming. Metaphorically speaking anyway. That had been the general consensus during the conversation she’d tried to tune out around the table at her familia’s mandatory weekly dinner the other night.
Nothing short of desperation and the need for assistance with his daily care—with a heavy dose of maternal insistence, no doubt—could have finally brought the prodigal Miranda son home.
Anamaría figured Alejandro wanted to be back in Key West about as much as she wanted him here.
That would be . . . not at all. As in zip. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
If luck was on her side, her visit now would be a quick “all’s well” checkup. With Señora Miranda’s fears for her eldest’s well-being calmed, Anamaría could be on her way having fulfilled her duty, intent on maintaining her distance until he left again.
Because he would leave again. Everyone knew that.
Only this time, when Alejandro Miranda boarded his flight to wherever his photography skills took him, he would not be taking her heart with him.
After having decided almost two years ago to quit waffling and just do it—her younger brother’s wise, albeit borrowed-from-Nike advice—she was finally taking steps to make her true career dreams a reality. Thanks to social media influencer mentoring from her brother Luis’s fiancée, AM Fitness had started getting more buzz, Anamaría’s platforms were accruing more followers and subscribers, and, most recently, a talent agent had offered her representation.
There was absolutely no time for distractions or strolls down a memory lane plastered with Dead End signs.
Alejandro Miranda was her past.
Anamaría’s eyes were focused on the future.
All she had to do was get through this one awkward meeting. Then they could go their separate ways again.
A tiny pang of regret seared a hot trail through Anamaría’s chest.
Stubbornly she stomped on the hurtful sparks like the dying embers of a careless fire. She didn’t have time for regrets. Instead, shoulders back, head high, she pushed through the wooden door, ready to face