Business team.
The phrase calmed her knee-jerk reservations about him getting any wrong ideas regarding the two of them. Sure, Brandon had flirted a little, but not once the whole morning had she gotten a creepy vibe. He genuinely came across as a good person. Not hyped up on his image or his name, which could have been the case given his social media popularity and stature in the physical fitness industry. Like Sara, he seemed to know how to work the angles and channels available to him in the right way.
A friendly business relationship between them would be ideal.
“Okay, let’s find a common open date on our calendars and make something happen here in Key West,” she answered.
Brandon’s “now we’re talking” and Sara’s “fabulous idea” tumbled over each other. The two of them laughed, reaching across the red tabletop for a high five.
Anamaría watched the two of them excitedly talking, their conversation slowly dimming to white noise as she allowed the reality of recent events—earned from her efforts learning, working, and building the AM Fitness brand—to sink in.
Over the past few weeks she had gained an agent, signed a contract with her first sponsor, held her first official photo shoot, and agreed to partner in a new project that could allow her to combine one of her long-sidelined passions—international travel—with one of her professional goals—helping others learn healthier eating and living habits. Things with AM Fitness were suddenly racing ahead at warp speed.
The old Anamaría from a few years ago would have worried she was moving too fast.
Today, she wanted to stand on that balustrade railing at the pier like the proud woman in Alejandro’s favorite picture and yell, Bring it!
When it came to AM Fitness, hell, her freaking life in general, for a while her speed had been molasses slow. It was past time to kick it in high gear.
Excited, she turned toward Alejandro, wanting to share her elation with him. Head bowed, he traced a finger through the sweat from his glass that had pooled on the table. He dragged his finger through the watery circle, completing it and going on to add a squiggly line on the bottom. He added another squiggly line next to the first one, and when he started on a third, she realized the figure was a jellyfish.
Nostalgia settled over her like a warm blanket as she recalled another watery creation of his, drawn on the hostess-cashier counter one hot summer evening after the dinner rush had died down and only a few stragglers stuck around.
Back then, he had stood behind her, his arms spread on either side of her, palms flattened on the counter. His water drawing had started with a large heart. A smaller one followed, embedded inside the first. Then he leaned close, his mouth hovering near her ear to whisper three precious words for the first time.
I love you.
Her heart fluttered at the memory. One of many shared firsts.
And today, they had shared another. Different from the others but important all the same. Their relationship was evolving. She wasn’t quite sure how or where they’d wind up, but it had to be a healthier place than where they’d been the past decade.
The bell above the restaurant’s front door jangled, and Alejandro glanced up from his water figure drawing, toward the entrance. His oh-shit expression came and went as fast as a pesky no-see-um biting her on the beach before she even realized the tiny bug was there.
He lifted a hand to greet whoever had arrived, but his tentative smile told her he was not thrilled to see them.
Chapter 14
Anamaría followed Alejandro’s gaze to a man near the hostess-cashier counter, hooking a pair of Ray-Bans in the vee at the top of his tightfitting pale blue button-down. His shaggy, product-styled hair, dark gray skinny jeans, and matching suede Oxfords gave him a trendy vibe much younger than the mid-forties her patient assessment experience pegged him at.
The guy scanned the tables searching for someone, and as soon as he spotted Alejandro his mouth spread in a welcoming smile, a flash of straight white teeth in his darkly tanned skin.
Something niggled in her brain. A familiarity, like she knew this guy, but she couldn’t quite place him. Maybe a call at the station or a—
“¡Alejandro, hola, que bueno verte!”
The man’s deep voice exclaiming his pleasure at running into Alejandro clicked a memory into place in Anamaría’s head. Marcelo, one of the owners of Bellísima. The gallery planning to host Alejandro’s exhibit.
The exhibit that, as of yesterday, he hadn’t mentioned to his mother. Certainly not his father. Now, should there be a break in the lunchtime crunch in the kitchen, Alejandro’s papi might venture out to the dining area to greet customers. Then both his parents would learn about his upcoming show at Bellísima.
The savory picadillo, brown rice, and black beans she’d eaten sank in her belly like the Salvación anchor dropped overboard. The familia restaurant he had turned his back on to pursue the passion set to be recognized by the upcoming exhibit might not be the best place to make his announcement.
Alejandro shifted uncomfortably. “Marcelo, I didn’t expect—”
“No, no, no, please don’t try to stand.” The gallery owner held up a hand, stopping Ale when he made to push back his chair to rise.
Sinking in his seat, Alejandro gestured around the table at their party. “Mi mamá, Elena Miranda, Anamaría Navarro, who you may already know through Enrique, Sara Vance, Luis’s compro-metida, and Brandon Lawson, in town for some work with Anamaría. Everyone, this is Marcelo López, co-owner of Bellísima, a private art gallery on Duval.”
“Hola, welcome to paradise.” Marcelo shook hands with Brandon, then stepped around the table toward her. “Anamaría, the prettiest of the Navarros,”
She rose to return his hug. “Guilty as charged; nice to see you again, Marcelo. I think it’s been a couple years.”
“Es un placer.” Señora Miranda extended her hand to take his, her eyelashes batting when Marcelo bowed low to kiss the back of hers.
“My pleasure as well.” He winked, an obvious charmer, which probably served him well as an art dealer. “I see you are finishing up, so I won’t keep you. Alejandro, I forwarded you an email from the consultant we discussed for your exhibition. Natalia’s available. Please let me know what you think.”
“Will do, gracias. Enjoy your meal.”
“I always do when I eat here. It is almost like my mami’s cooking back home in the DR.” Marcelo stepped aside, allowing two women in beach attire to pass by on their way to the cashier.
“Don’t let my Victor hear that ‘almost.’ He will take it as a challenge,” Señora Miranda warned with a wily smile.
“¡Sí, señora, I will keep that in mind! I hope to see all of you at Bellísima for Alejandro’s local debut in July.” With a sharp two-finger salute, Marcelo started winding his way through the crowded seating area.
About midway through the main dining room he stopped at a table for two. A blond man around Marcelo’s same age, casually dressed in skinny jeans and a distressed red tee with “I’m a dealer... of art!” emblazoned across the chest, half-rose to greet Marcelo with a kiss on the cheek. Once the couple sat, their clasped hands resting between them on the tabletop had Anamaría guessing the other man was Marcelo’s husband, Logan, whom she had yet to meet.