“Teaming with Brandon will be a huge boost for you,” Sara went on, thankfully oblivious to the nervous jitters ricocheting in Anamaría’s belly. “I was surprised he showed up at the mixer last night. I mean, when we spoke before our morning panel, he mentioned having other plans. I bet meeting you at lunch with AllFit changed his mind about skipping the mixer.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“Girl, he is smitten,” Sara said, waggling her artfully threaded brows.
“Ha! Doubtful, though ego boosting,” Anamaría said with a laugh.
A sandy blond–haired, blue-eyed swimmer, runner, and all-around fitness buff with a body most men would kill for and a boy-next-door personality women swooned over, Brandon Lawson was a social media influencer phenom. He floated around the same stratosphere as Sara. One Anamaría hadn’t attained. Yet.
“I can’t believe he offered to do an AllFit photo shoot together,” Anamaría mused. His idea, shared over drinks the night before, had caught her off guard. In a holy-shit-I’m-game kind of way.
“I can. You, little sister, are what Arnold calls the complete package.” Sara looped her right arm through Anamaría’s left, giving her a squeeze. “Smart and willing to work hard, passionate about helping others, natural in front of the camera. With a body made for AllFit’s workout gear. What I wouldn’t give for your toned arms.”
“Oye, it’s more important to love the skin you’re in and the body the good Lord gave you.” The familiar refrain Anamaría shared with her clients tumbled easily off her tongue. Because she believed it. Something she and Sara had discussed during one of their early heart-to-heart chats about Sara’s daily efforts to stay in recovery with her disease.
Now Sara’s glossy lips spread in a pleased smile. “See? That’s the perfect response for the perfect spokesperson of a line of athletic wear that prides itself on accommodating all sizes, all ages, and all levels of fitness.”
A giddy, slightly hysterical giggle tickled Anamaría’s throat, bursting out before she could stop it.
“I just might be.”
The shock in her voice must have telegraphed itself on her face because Sara shook her head.
“Not might be, girl. You are!”
They shared matching grins as passengers filed past their first-class seats—Sara having insisted on upgrading them in celebration. Anamaría, unwilling to rain on her almost-sister’s party mood by arguing over the wasted expense, wiggled her butt and settled into her wide, comfy seat. A little splurge now and again never hurt.
“So, what did your parents say when you told them that you’re AllFit’s newest spokesperson? And that Brandon Lawson might fly to Key West for a photo shoot?” Sara smoothed the skirt of her fuchsia sundress over her thighs.
“Um, I haven’t. Actually.” Anamaría flicked the seat-belt clasp up with her thumb, letting it fall closed with a tinny clank. “It’s . . . it happened so fast. And we were . . . you know, in go mode so much. Plus, I’m not . . .”
Sara straightened in her aisle seat, head cocked in confusion so the tips of her blond hair brushed her collarbone. “Not what?”
“Nothing.” Anamaría flicked the seat-belt clasp again, grappling with the inexplicable doubts she’d been trying to silence. “I just, um, I was thinking maybe I should wait and share the news in a few days. Not jinx it, or anything.”
Could she sound more absurd?
Sara’s confused expression slid into yeah-right territory. Anamaría couldn’t blame her; she was in the same disbelieving boat as her friend. Stymied by her own reaction to a development she’d been working her butt off to achieve.
“Talk to me, girl,” Sara coaxed, the candor in her blue-green eyes showing how easily she had stepped into the role of protective big sis, even though she and Luis weren’t married yet.
Anamaría let her eyes drift shut, giving her a small reprieve from Sara’s probing gaze. Sucking in a deep breath, she filled her chest, upper abdomen, then belly; then slowly released the air in reverse order, relieved to find the breathing exercise soothing the anxiety gnawing at her insides.
When she opened her eyes, she found Sara watching her intently.
“I’m fine,” Anamaría assured her. “It’s still sinking in. That’s all. It doesn’t seem real. Y’know?”
Sara nodded. “I get it. When I made the decision to move to New York, after signing with my first few sponsors, I had doubts. My mom had just been diagnosed with cancer, and I was dealing with my own health issue. But I was determined and focused. Like you.” Sara pointed at her emphatically. “Girl, you are ready for this!”
Outside the window across the aisle, a team of Newark Airport employees transferred a hodgepodge of suitcases, duffel bags, and a set of golf clubs from a cart onto a belt moving toward the belly of their nonstop flight home to Key West.
Many of their fellow passengers were heading down for vacation. Excited for snorkeling, bike riding, sunset viewing, and relaxing on the beach. In need of an island getaway.
Anamaría was one of the lucky ones who lived in the Keys full-time. A local. A true Conch. Born and raised on her beloved island. Where she belonged.
AllFit had mentioned her traveling to trade shows. Mostly in the United States, occasionally in Europe if she could swing the time off from the fire department. The job was a dream. Especially since, after her aborted plans with Alejandro, she had never made it overseas. For lots of reasons.
Time. Money. Work. Fear.
Acknowledging that last reason drop-kicked her in the gut.
Common sense and her professional training told her a therapist could help her delve into the root cause of her fear. Regular therapy or counseling was an important part of self-care for many. She should stop dragging her feet and follow up with the therapist her familia’s long-time general practitioner had recommended.
But she also knew that she gained strength and a sense of purpose from her familia. The security and comfort they provided. The unconditional love they offered. The certainty that they would never leave her by choice. And she in turn would never leave them. Not for good.
Sharing this news with them would make it more . . . real. As if signing a legal document with AllFit and Arnold hadn’t.
For several years now Enrique had been harping on her to spread her wings. Stop keeping her feet rooted to the island like the gnarled mangroves growing in the marshes and the smattering of tiny islands dotting the area waters.
That was finally happening, which should have her jittery with excitement. Not nerves.
“What has you second-guessing yourself?” Sara prodded softly.
Anamaría leaned her head against the airplane wall, considering Sara’s question. This new development wouldn’t change anything she didn’t already want to change. She remained in control. Only now she was taking the advice she gave her clients about moving out of their comfort zone to experience growth.
She was ashamed to think about how long she’d fallen into the trap so many women got caught up in. Holding themselves back because of someone else. Settling when they didn’t have to. Sabotaging themselves and their opportunities. Often, as with her, without even realizing.