“I love it!” Sara cheered. “Work it, girl! That peach tank really pops against the blue sky.”
Anamaría hammed it up, blowing a kiss for the camera.
Without missing a beat, Alejandro pretended to snatch her kiss out of the air, lowering his hand to press his palm against his heart.
Her own heart stuttered, then hiccupped into a faster rhythm, at how naturally he executed their old move. Something he’d started one day when she’d blown him a kiss in the middle of the hallway in between classes at Key West High. Enrique had called him a sap. She’d fallen a little more in love with him for it.
She stared at him, confused by how easily he seemed to fall back into old habits. Joking with her, offering to be her sounding board after that tough call on Monday, teasing away her qualms. Making her feel like, in his world, she mattered.
The sounds of a Jet Ski motoring by . . . a seagull squawking overhead . . . Sara asking Brandon a question . . . it all faded into the background as a maelstrom of emotions, all tied to Alejandro, swirled through Anamaría.
His arms relaxed, lowering a fraction. His dark eyes peered back at her over the top of his camera. Intent. Questioning.
She had no answers, though. The clear path she’d planned for herself over the past couple of years had started to become a bit hazy.
It was absolute foolishness really. His being forced to come home changed nothing. At best, they might be friends when he left. That’s all they could ever be to each other.
As if he read her thoughts and could see the line in the sand she made herself draw between them, Alejandro gently wiggled his camera as if to say, Back to work; then he disappeared behind it once again.
By now Brandon had walked over to talk to Sara, who tapped Alejandro on the shoulder to include him in whatever they’d been discussing. While Anamaría waited, her gaze slid to Higgs Beach where two bikini-clad girls dragged an orange kayak into the shallow water. Nearby on the sandy shore, two guys wearing long board shorts swatted a rubber birdie back and forth with short paddles.
More memories from her and Alejandro’s past assailed her. Interlopers intent on sabotaging her morning.
The two of them hanging out with friends on the beach during the day. Him pushing her on a swing at Astro City when teens took over the park at night.
Later, when the group broke up, the two of them would drive around in his beat-up Corolla, often winding up parked in the back corner of the tennis courts where they made out. Both hot and bothered and not nearly satisfied by the time her curfew rolled around.
Doggedly, Anamaría closed her eyes, drawing a curtain on the images.
Damn him for waking up these old ghosts. She’d fought hard to put them to rest. To drive around her island home and not feel like a piece of her was missing.
She smoothed an unsteady hand over her slicked-back hair to her ponytail and sucked in a deep breath. The familiar briny scent of the ocean filled her lungs. The sun warmed her skin. The typical sounds of life along the ocean—birds and boat motors and people splashing in the water—soothed her.
“Look out, gorgeous, I’m joining you.”
Brandon’s playful warning was exactly what she needed to help her switch gears and refocus. Arm muscles bulging, he pushed himself up, then hiked a knee to step onto the balustrade beside her.
“Careful,” she warned when he twisted at the waist to take in the shallow water lapping against the base of the pier.
Two pelicans bobbed on the tiny waves nearby, one clutching a squirming gray fish in its beak. The other bird dipped its head closer as if asking for a bite.
“I was thinking we might try that Dirty Dancing lift from up here. But we should probably save that move for the sandy beach,” he suggested.
His boyish grin drew a laugh from her. “Uh, yeah, that’s a better idea.”
“No injuries on my watch, please,” Sara threw in. “Señora Navarro would not approve if something happened to Anamaría. I’m all about gaining future-mother-in-law points, not losing them.”
“And while I’m usually all for daredevil escapades, I’m already dealing with my pissed-off Cuban mami. I don’t need a second one on my case,” Alejandro added, his beleaguered tone drawing laughter from their group.
The light-hearted conversation allowed Anamaría to regain her internal footing.
Alejandro didn’t seem encumbered by their past. She shouldn’t be, either.
“Show me your moves, Princesa,” he ordered, his camera poised and ready. “I know you got some.”
She narrowed her eyes at his use of her familia’s nickname. The second time this week. His cheeky grin told her he’d known it would get a rise out of her. Put her in kiss-my-ass mode. Just like when her brothers teased her and she set out to prove she was as capable as them.
Raising her fists, she shot Alejandro a squinty glare, ruining it with a playful smirk she couldn’t hide. Grudgingly thankful for his prodding.
“Let’s get ready to rumble,” she told him, before swiveling to face Brandon.
Although her new AllFit partner stood a good eight inches taller and several inches wider, he mirrored her fighting stance. They faced off like two boxers at a weigh-in, expressions serious. For all of five seconds. As soon he crossed his eyes, she couldn’t hold back a giggle, and their mugging for Alejandro’s camera began in earnest.
Arms crossed, they stood back to back, her head barely reaching his shoulder blades. Brandon made a pssst sound, drawing her attention. She glanced up at him through her lashes and found him staring down at her, one brow arched in a pretty decent imitation of the Rock’s signature look. Recognizing a challenge when she saw one, Anamaría swiveled to a wide-legged stand, shoulders back, chest proud. She lifted her arms at her sides and bent her elbows to display her “guns.” Brandon flashed a Wow! face for the camera and gave her biceps a pretend squeeze.
“That’s my girl!” Alejandro shouted, humor lacing his cry.
Anamaría started with surprise. My girl?
“Brandon, you going to let her show you up like that, or what?” Alejandro’s baiting chatter shook her from her brief stupor. This was part of his job, cajoling his subjects, putting them at ease.
Brandon took the proverbial ball lobbed his way and ran with it. He dropped into a push-up position. She followed suit. Heads craned so they stared at each other, they did a set of ten. He switched to one-handed for the last two, and she raised a leg in the air for hers.
“Show-offs!” Alejandro teased.
Sara whooped her praise.
Feeding off their encouragement, Anamaría flipped over to do a V-up, her straight arms and legs shooting toward the sky until her fingers touched her toes. Brandon copied her. They held the pose, turning it into a who-can-stick-it-the-longest competition.
She won, though she’d bet a smoothie from the stand usually parked at Smathers Beach that Brandon let her.
It showed how well he didn’t know her. There was no need for any guy to “let” her win; just ask her brothers. Or Alejandro.
“Looking good,” he told them. “Rest for a second while I make some adjustments.”
He fiddled with his camera, his brow furrowed in concentration. The humid breeze picked up, pushing his wavy hair onto his forehead, and he finger-combed it back absently, his gaze never leaving his camera’s display screen.