“I have an idea,” she said. “A really good idea.”
The roguish grin of his that curled her toes and sent tingles to secret places flashed. “I’m listening.”
“You and I. We have some . . . some unfinished business. What if we simply enjoy our time together? And when you leave, this time, no hard feelings. No regrets.”
Her heart pounded in her chest at her bold offer.
Alejandro’s intent gaze searched hers. “Are you sure? The last thing I want is to hurt you.”
Bueno, she didn’t want that, either.
But what good would come from denying herself? Maybe what she needed in order to finally move on was closure. The healthy kind of closure. On equal terms.
Stepping toward him, she brought their joined hands to her chest.
“We didn’t get things right the first go-round. This time, we can. I know what I want, so I’ll be fine. What about you?”
Desire flared in his dark eyes. “Princesa, I screwed it up before. But there’s never been any doubt about what I want. You.” He ducked down to steal a kiss, speaking his next words against her lips. “If you’d hurry up and open this damn door, I’ll show you how fine I can be, too.”
“Ay, that ego of yours. It just might get you into trouble.”
“The best kind of trouble. Now, are you going to let me in, or are we gonna keep scandalizing your neighbors?”
* * *
Like one of his late-night fantasies come to life, Anamaría pushed her front door open, reached down to grab his crutches, and handed them to him. As soon he was situated, she stepped backward into her town house and crooked a finger for him to follow.
Alejandro didn’t need to be asked twice.
He step-swung inside, desire for her fueling him.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, spreading an arm out to encompass the first floor, with a little wave at the stairs along the left side heading up to the second level.
He let his gaze roam around the long, open space that comprised the kitchen, dining, and living areas, ending with a wide window and door to what looked like another small porch on the back.
“Two bedrooms, two and a half baths, almost twelve hundred square feet that are all mine.” The pride in her voice reminded him of the way he’d felt during his first exhibit. Man, how he wished she would have been there.
Now she was offering them a chance to have what they’d dreamed about as teens. For a little while at least. Which was way the hell better than the fat fucking nothing they’d had all these years.
“I like it,” he mused.
His gaze trailed around the main floor, landing on the little touches that spoke of her. The collage of family pictures stuck to the white refrigerator-freezer. The NutriBullet on the gray Formica counter, used in the smoothie recipe videos he’d watched on her website. A pair of black Kinos and tan pair of chanclas set neatly by the door exactly like at her parents’, the slip-on sandals ready for a quick trip outside to take out the trash or grab a forgotten item in the car.
Or meet up with your boyfriend when he swung by for a midnight rendezvous after the parents were asleep. Not that she had to worry about that anymore. But the shared memory made him smile. And grow hard anticipating their uninterrupted fun ahead.
He moved deeper into the house, past a light oak breakfast table for four with navy accents, the same color as the textured, woven fabric of a sofa sectional with a chaise on the far end. The perfect place to stretch out and elevate his leg. Or continue what they had started on her porch.
Hoofing it like an invalid with one good leg up the stairs to her bedroom was not the kind of foreplay he had in mind. But if—shit, he was hoping for more like when—Anamaría gave him the “go” signal, he planned to let her take the lead. He’d scale those stairs if need be.
“Do you want something to drink? Water, Gatorade?” She opened the fridge and scanned the inside while she asked.
“I’m good, thanks.” Good getting a feel for her sanctuary. Committing it all to memory so he could picture her here when he was alone, missing her.
There weren’t many knickknacks or dust collectors as she used to call the figures and mementos her mom kept around their house, but enough touches to make the place homey. A few family photographs in black frames were arranged along the stair wall where the door to a half bath stood slightly ajar. In the living room area, he spotted a Women’s Health magazine and a MacBook Pro laptop, its shiny blue protective case decorated with an AM Fitness sticker, both resting on a small black coffee table.
He perused the framed candid photos of her and her family, soaking up the events and moments he wasn’t a part of because he hadn’t been there.
“Whose birthday was this?” he asked, pointing to one of her and her brothers gathered around the dinner table, a cake with candles in the center.
“Luis’s. Three years ago, pre-Sara.” She held up a framed photo on the entertainment stand next to what looked like a fifty-inch TV. “These two handfuls are José and Ramón, Carlos and Gina’s boys, at the beach with Lulu and me. Here’s one after the mass celebrating Mami and Papi’s thirty-fifth anniversary earlier this year.”
The peek into her world proved bittersweet. Images of the fulfilling life she led without him, but instead with those he could count on to make sure she was okay when he was gone.
“I take it Mallory Square’s still one of your favorite hangout spots?” He gestured toward the large print of the Sunset Celebration ritual popular with locals and tourists alike.
“Uh-huh. The energetic hum of life juxtaposed with the calm inevitability of the setting sun.”
Kind of how he felt with her—alive with emotion and yet, at peace.
His attention caught on two vivid original paintings. One of Higgs Beach at sunrise and the other of a fishing boat much like her papi’s, the Salvación, out on the open ocean. Both took up the short wall that butted up against the angling stairs. The initials EN were slashed in the bottom right corner of each painting, identifying them as Enrique’s work.
“I’m surprised you have these. I thought he wasn’t selling or even displaying his pieces anymore,” Alejandro said, awed by her brother’s talent.
Anamaría joined him in front of the paintings. “He only gifts them now. And even that’s not too often. It’s such a shame because he’s so freaking talented.”
“I’m going to get that story out of him sometime. Right now though, there are more important things that have my attention.” He tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, let his touch linger over her jaw.
“The place feels like you,” he said, taking in the potted ferns and exercise bike angled so she could watch the television, probably the romantic comedies she had dragged him to all the time. “It’s comfortable. Homey.”
“Thank you, I think?” Her nose scrunched in a cute grimace. “Not sure many women like being described as homey or comfortable, but my house thanks you for the compliment.”
He chuckled as he leaned his crutches against the sofa, then sank onto the top of the back cushion.
“How about gorgeous?” he suggested.
She tapped her chin, her brow furrowed in an exaggerated frown, as if she were considering his response.