Out on the road, two mopeds puttered by as Ale, Sara, and Brandon waited for Anamaría to respond. Sure, going to Miranda’s might appease their mothers’ inquisitive nature, but it also meant seeing his father on his own turf. The same turf Alejandro had been kicked out of the night before he left for good.
“Are you sure you don’t need to head home and elevate your leg? I can fill the moms and the rest of your family in later,” she asked, giving him a believable out while tiptoeing around the topic of his dad.
Alejandro surprised her by shaking his head at her suggestion. “Mami’s been bugging me to come for lunch since I got back. Plus, Papi will be pleased to see you.”
Uh-huh. She understood Alejandro’s subtext. Victor Miranda would be happy to see her, just not his son. Which made it even more incomprehensible why Alejandro would agree to join them.
* * *
What the hell had he been thinking by agreeing to join Anamaría and the others for lunch at the one place he’d done everything he could to avoid since high school? Right up until he’d been banished from the premises by his father as a graduation present.
Elbow propped on the inside window ledge in Sara’s RAV4, Alejandro cradled his forehead in his palm. This had the potential of turning into a shitshow.
Of epic proportions.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Sara eyed him with worry as she waited for a van to pass them going east on Bertha, her left blinker flashing her intent to turn into Miranda’s.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled.
She pulled into the parking lot that ran the length of the restaurant’s side wall. Still painted the same tan shade it had always been.
Midway down the parking lot Alejandro sat up and leaned forward to peer through the front windshield. The paint job might still be the same, but apparently his dad had expanded, adding more indoor seating in the back of the building. When had that happened?
“Looks pretty crowded,” Sara mused.
Barely eleven and the spots were already filling up. Good sign for business.
Bad sign for someone not interested in airing familia drama in a crowd of locals and tourists.
Which begged for a straight answer to the same why question that had echoed in his brain seconds after he’d convinced Anamaría this was a good idea.
¿Por qué? the voice of reason he too often ignored asked again.
He could take the easy way out and say it was to please his mother, who’d been harping on him to show his respect by visiting their beloved restaurant.
Or that he wanted to avoid the awkwardness of refusing Brandon’s request to eat at the local hot spot his familia owned. But awkward would definitely describe the potential scene his papi might make when he spotted Alejandro.
¡Carajo! Alejandro dug two fingers at the spot between his eyebrows and rubbed at the dull ache intensifying with each taken parking spot Sara passed. Peeking at the side rearview mirror out his window, he watched Anamaría’s Pilot following. Brandon’s wide grin flashed, his hands gesturing with whatever story he was regaling her with.
That’s why Alejandro was here.
Because he was and always would be a sucker for the girl who’d stolen, then broken his heart. Though she’d done so only because, he was slowly coming to understand, he had selfishly pushed her to dream his dreams, not her own.
The crushing weight of guilt pressed on Alejandro’s chest.
All these years, he’d thought of himself as the one who had been rejected. Blaming her for the demise of their relationship. Channeling his anger and hurt and frustration into his career. Pushing the boundaries in search of something undefinable always just beyond his grasp.
He loved his job. He was fucking good at it. Brilliant, actually.
But this morning, with Anamaría as his main subject like in his early days, a weird, kind of carefree joy he hadn’t felt in ages buoyed him. Reminded him why he had initially fallen in love with the unique view through his Canon lens.
Once she got over her initial nerves, Anamaría was a natural in front of the camera. Her charisma and charm was palpable. The trust she placed in him by allowing herself to be vulnerable humbled him.
Today, he had soaked up her energy, allowing their emotional connection to feed his vision in a way he never let himself do with others. Not even with Morgan, who’d been more dear friend than wife. Something he should have admitted to Anamaría when she brought up his marriage out on the beach. Surprising the hell out of him.
He owed her a better explanation. Just not with others around to potentially interrupt or in the middle of wrapping up an important shoot that should be a boon for her business.
Which brought Alejandro back to why he was sitting in Sara’s car, agreeing to enter the one place in Key West he’d rather avoid.
There was value in having a power player like Brandon Lawson in Anamaría’s corner alongside Sara. Showing the guy a good time while he was here would benefit Anamaría. So, even if it meant walking into the lion’s den, Alejandro would do it. For her.
“Here we go.” Sara pulled between the white lines of a spot near the dumpster in back and cut the engine. Anamaría’s SUV angled in beside them.
If luck was on his side, his mami’s relief at seeing him would outweigh his dad’s resentment. Big if.
A long sigh, weighty with his resignation, escaped before he could stop it.
“You and I don’t have to go in,” Sara offered, compassion pooling in her blue-green eyes. “You’ve been on your feet for a while. Anamaría and Brandon can stay, and I’ll drive you home.”
He shook his head, ignoring the dull throb in his leg that matched the one pounding behind his eyes.
Anamaría tapped her knuckle on his window, startling him. She grinned and opened his car door. “Brandon’s grabbing your wheelchair while I help you—”
“I’m not using that thing here.”
“It would be better—”
“No, it wouldn’t.” He already felt like a wounded pup, crawling back with his tail between his legs. No way was someone going to push him inside Miranda’s when he could damn well walk.
She huffed out an irritated breath, one fist jammed on a cocked hip. “Ale, you were on your crutches the entire time we took the photos at Higgs Beach.”
“And I’ll be sitting inside the entire time we’re here. So we’re even,” he countered.
“That’s not funny.” She scowled, her repetitive toe-tapping warning him that her irritation was edging toward pissed off. “Your injury and recovery are not a joke.”
“Do you see me laughing?”
She growled. Like actually growled, as she shook her head. “Who is the professional medic here? And who needs to stop being so freaking contrary?”
Fire flashed in the specks of gold in her hazel eyes, and he realized she wasn’t going to back down unless he gave her a good reason.
Alejandro turned to Sara, who watched their exchange with interest from the driver’s seat. “Would you and Brandon please go inside and let my mother know we’ll need a table for four?”
The woman he hoped might eventually become a friend, like her fiancé, looked from him to the doorway, where Anamaría now loomed.