She could never tell him no. Not about something so important to him. His exhibition was a shared dream from their past. This was a chance for them to experience it together. Albeit, in a different way than anticipated.
A lump lodged in her throat, and she swiveled to face the open front yard again. The bougainvillea vines with their bright fuchsia flowers trailing up the inside of the privacy wall blurred. She blinked rapidly, willing away the sting of tears. It’d be hard, witnessing his achievement as an old friend, rather than his partner.
But coño, she did not want to be the bitter ex-girlfriend anymore. The one left behind, whose familia tiptoed around whenever his name came up.
She hadn’t done herself any favors by settling into that role, even if it had happened unintentionally.
This was a chance for her to prove she had moved on. Prove to him, her familia, and, more important, herself.
“If I’m not on duty, I’ll be there,” she promised. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
His shoulders relaxed, as if her acceptance removed some of the weight pressing on them.
“Bellísima’s a beautiful space,” she said, moving the focus off them and their past to a positive in their future.
“It is. Marcelo and Logan have a great eye.”
“I’m sure your photographs are going to look amazing there.”
He smiled, the excitement she had expected with his announcement finally dawning on his handsome face, softening his chiseled jaw. “Yeah, I’m already combing through my files, imagining different collections. Thinking about where they’d best fit in the space. Marcelo may bring in an art consultant he knows since we’ll have to pull this together so quickly. That’s why I’m roping in my mom. If I ask her to be in charge of the food and help with promo, she’ll stay busy.”
“Not, however, if she’s also worrying about your recovery. Tossing your PT wasn’t the brightest move.”
“Again, with the nagging!” He gave an exaggerated groan and spun away on his good foot.
The rubber grip on the bottom of his crutches stuck to the tile, and his left crutch clattered to the floor. His injured leg swung out erratically, both arms and the lone crutch he still held flailing through the air as his torso wobbled from side to side in his fight to maintain his balance.
Anamaría lunged forward hoping to catch him before he fell.
“I got it—Ow!” Alejandro groaned as her knee accidentally banged into the top external fixator ring.
Her arms encircled his waist, inadvertently knocking the second crutch aside, sending it crashing to the floor with the other. His eyes widened with an almost comical combination of astonishment as she tightened her hold, hugging his body against hers in an intimate embrace.
They wound up chest to chest, her face buried in the warmth of his neck, his woodsy patchouli and citrus scent filling her lungs. One of his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the other around her hip, his hand cradling her butt cheek.
Her brain sounded an alarm, warning her to step back, put some distance between them. Instead, she fisted his T-shirt in her hands, unable to let go of him yet.
A car pulled into the neighbor’s driveway, its squeaking brakes interrupting the charged silence on the Mirandas’ front porch.
Alejandro cleared his throat, a low rumble that vibrated against her nose and cheek, still nestled in the crook of his neck.
“Damn, woman, if you wanted to sneak a feel, all you had to do was ask. Not tackle me,” he teased.
Angling her head to peek up at him, she quirked a brow in challenge. “I’m not the one with a hand on someone’s ass.”
He winked, then had the audacity to flex his fingers on her butt cheek. Lust shot from her glute straight to her core, leaving her throbbing with desire.
“It’s pretty hard to resist when a good-looking woman throws herself at me. Not that I mind.”
“Uh-huh, I bet.” She started to pull away, enjoying the titillating feel of being in his arms again way too much for her own good.
Alejandro’s arm around her shoulder stiffened, holding her in place.
She started to object, but he ran a hand through the strands of her loose ponytail, his fingertips grazing the bare skin on her back between her sports bra and leggings, and her argument evaporated. Her pulse hitched as he twisted his wrist to wrap the length of her hair around his open palm like he used to do. Tethering himself to her. He lifted the tangled strands to his face and her eyes drifted closed, reveling in the rise of his chest pressing against hers as he sucked in a deep breath.
“Still using the same tropical shampoo you like, huh?” he murmured.
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Telling herself to step back. Put “friendly truce” distance between them.
But he sucked in another deep whiff of her shampoo, and she swore he stole the very breath from her.
“God, I’ve smelled this scent in my dreams so many times.” His deep voice rumbled over her, a rich, husky caress. “Thought I caught a whiff of it once at an open-air market in India.”
Tears burned her eyes, and she squeezed them shut even tighter.
His other hand slid from her butt to her lower back, leaving a trail of heat that burned with its intensity. She pressed closer. Not wanting to let go of him. Of this moment.
“Damn, I’ve missed you.”
His gruff admission was her undoing. A hot tear leaked out of the corner of her eye to trail down the side of her face.
He’d missed her. Just not enough to come back. Not until he was forced to.
And, inevitably, he would leave again.
Her watch and phone buzzed with an incoming text message alert, a welcome intrusion stopping her from revealing an admission of her own that she would later regret.
Loosening her hold, she eased back, careful to hold him steady. “We should get you inside. I’m sure the PT didn’t intend for you to ditch the wheelchair for good.”
Alejandro nodded but slid his hand down the length of her ponytail one last time, his fingers threading through the strands. The familiar gesture tightened twin knots of desire and regret deep within her.
He held on to her shoulder to steady himself while she toed one of his crutches closer, then bent to pick it up. When she stooped to grab the second one, her phone buzzed with another incoming call. She handed him the crutch and caught Sara’s name scrolling on her watch screen again.
“You mind if I take this?” she asked. “Sara’s tried to reach me several times since I got here.”
“Go for it.”
Answering on her cell rather than via speakerphone on her watch, Anamaría stepped to the far side of the porch. “Hey, Sara, what’s up?”
“Hi. Listen . . . I don’t want you to freak out about anything,” Sara said, her harried voice sounding like she might be freaking out herself. “I’m working on a Plan B. So don’t worry, okay?”
“What are you talking about? And, FYI, when you lead with ‘don’t freak out,’ it usually makes someone do exactly that,” Anamaría joked.
The crutches squeaked and she glanced over her shoulder to find Alejandro had moved closer. Just like one of their moms, he made no attempt to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping.
“I take it you haven’t seen Craig’s email to us?” Sara asked.