Anamaría shook her head, unsure what he meant.
“Here you are, flying off to the big city. And here I am”—he tapped the padded armrest with a palm—“the one stuck here on the Rock.”
“Only I’ve never felt ‘stuck’ here. I’ll be happy to return on Sunday, with my familia excited to hear all about my trip.”
Alejandro’s mouth opened, then closed without him saying anything. His expression shuttered, and belatedly, she realized the unintended gut punch in her words. Evidence proving his point as to why he couldn’t stay. Because unlike her, not all of his familia welcomed his return.
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Forget about it.” He waved her off. “It is what it is. You should go. Don’t keep your client waiting.”
He was right. There was nothing left for them to say to each other anyway.
“You talk to Enrique tomorrow. I’ll give him a nudge, too.” Her heart heavy, she moved toward the sliding glass door.
The cool AC air from inside kissed her heated skin as his husky voice stopped her.
“For what it’s worth, good luck in New York. Whoever you’re meeting with, they’re crazy if they don’t wanna work with you.”
Crazy. Exactly how he made her feel.
Crazy with longing. Crazy with frustration. Crazy with what-ifs that could never be.
His words of encouragement brought a painful tightness in her chest.
He used to be her best friend. Her confidant. The one she shared all her exciting news with first.
She missed those innocent years. Missed him.
But they remained at the same fork in the road. And their decisions about which path to take hadn’t changed.
“Gracias,” she whispered, unable to look at him. Afraid he’d see the regret she was determined to hide. “Cuídate.”
Not that he’d listen and actually take care of himself. Hardheaded man that he was.
Without waiting for him to respond, she hurried inside to say her good-byes. Time to focus on her trip and the opportunities that awaited.
Her future was out there. Not here.
Chapter 7
“For a guy who had the bright idea of cliff-diving onto a pile of waterfall rocks instead of the glistening pool of water a few feet to his left, you don’t look half-bad.”
Alejandro gave Enrique the finger as Anamaría’s younger brother grinned and stepped back to the dresser.
“Douchebag,” Alejandro grumbled. Planting his palms on either side of his hips, he pushed up, raising his butt to reposition himself more comfortably on his bedroom mattress.
“Seriously, you got lucky, bro.” Enrique deftly removed his light blue latex gloves with a snap of the rubbery material.
Alejandro leaned against the pillow sandwiched between his back and the headboard, answering his friend with a lazy shrug. Luck was a fickle shit. Coming and going at its whimsy.
Case in point. His current position. Holed up in his childhood bedroom. Avoiding his father. Surrounded by memories of the one woman he’d spent his entire adult life trying—and failing—to forget.
Yeah, he was a lucky bastard all right.
“Three weeks post-surgery, I’d say you’re healing well. When are you following up with Dr. Peterson?” Enrique tossed the gloves in the circular office-sized trash bin near the computer desk.
“Friday morning after . . .”
Alejandro trailed off, his attention caught on the five-by-seven framed photograph Enrique had lifted from one of the desk shelves.
“Damn, we look like freakin’ babies here.” Enrique held out the picture of their Little League baseball team back when they were in middle school. Enrique going into seventh, Alejandro and Anamaría rising eighth graders.
“That’s ’cuz we were,” Alejandro answered. “I picked up a camera for the first time that summer. And you. Shit, you’d already picked up your first girl and hadn’t even hit puberty yet.”
Enrique laughed and waggled his eyebrows. But didn’t bother negating the truth.
A knock sounded on the bedroom door; then Alejandro’s mom poked her head inside. “I am going over to the restaurant for lunch. Quieren venir conmigo?”
Her expectant gaze slid from Alejandro to Enrique, then back again.
Alejandro knew she wanted him to say yes, they would join her. But that was an answer he couldn’t give.
The night he and his father had argued was the last time Alejandro had set foot in Miranda’s. He wasn’t sure when or if he’d be able to go back again. Not with the electrically charged fence standing between his papi and him.
Alejandro gave a single shake of his head. As if the small movement might hurt her feelings less.
The expectant hope in his mami’s eyes faded. Guilt stampeded over his chest like a herd of wildebeests he’d photographed once.
Highly experienced with Cuban mami guilt and dashed expectations, Enrique replaced the old photograph and flashed the cheesy grin that had gotten him into and out of more trouble for as far back as Alejandro could remember.
“Actually, Señora Miranda,” Enrique said, crossing the few steps to drape an arm around her shoulders. He tucked her plump body against his side, looping his other arm across her chest to wrap her in a bear hug. Schmoozer. “I was hoping to kidnap Ale. Introduce him to a friend of mine who owns an art gallery downtown. Then run a quick errand. We’ll grab a sandwich from Sandy’s on the way.”
Just like when they’d been kids and he had to cover for whatever tall tale Enrique spun, Alejandro worked to keep the surprise off his face. This was the first he’d heard about an errand. Or meeting some friend of Enrique’s. But if playing along got him out of an uncomfortable meal at Miranda’s, where his papi would not welcome him, he’d gladly run every errand on Enrique’s To Do list.
“You don’t mind, do you, Señora M? I promise to have him back in one piece,” Enrique teased, apparently still a pro at buttering someone up to get his way. “No jumping off the bridge at Bahia Honda like he convinced me to do that one time.”
Alejandro’s mami gasped, her eyes going as wide as Lulu’s when his niece had first seen the baby elephant photograph yesterday.
“Hey! That was all you, man! Mami, I never jumped. ¡Te lo juro!” Alejandro pointed a finger at Enrique while holding up a placating palm to his mother, repeating his promise. “I swear! I didn’t.”
Enrique, the fool, grinned wider. “I’m kidding. It was a joke.”
Alejandro’s mom shot his buddy the pursed-mouth, eyebrow-slanted frown of aggrieved mamis the world over.
Believing that E had actually made that jump wasn’t too farfetched. There’d been a time in high school when Enrique had teetered on the line between prankster and troublemaker. One incident in particular nearly earned him a stint of community service. Until their art teacher, of all people, stepped in with a compromise that wound up changing Anamaría’s baby brother’s trajectory. For a while anyway. Alejandro had never gotten the full story behind why his friend had given up pursuing art and joined the familia business, becoming a firefighter instead.
“Ay, nene, me vas a matar,” Alejandro’s mom admonished. He was pretty sure E’s mom had uttered a similar you’re-killing complaint too many times to count.