Island Affair

by Priscilla Oliveras

  “Or you could just eat it and enjoy the good food,” he suggested.

  He never understood the compulsion to send someone a photograph of your plate. It’s not like they could taste it. Seemed more like a, Ha, look what I’m enjoying that you’re not.

  Sara’s smile dimmed.

  Damn, maybe his bluntness had offended her. Remorse prickled his conscience. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll definitely be eating my sandwich, too. That’s part of the fun with my job. Having new experiences and sharing them with others. Although our arrangement is a little outside my norm, and I certainly don’t plan on mentioning it on my blog.” Sara closed her notebook and set their paper bag on top with a flourish. “My followers know I’m on vacation, and though I didn’t say where for privacy reasons, I promised to share highlights and recommendations after. While I’m here, I’ve scheduled a few posts to go up and my assistant will cover the other days. That way it’s only a matter of replying to comments and adding some live posts to stories. I’m compiling pics and notes for a future travel blog. Plus, I’ll be doing some recon for an expansion deal that’s in the works in Miami.”

  Luis tried to keep up with the flurry of activities she rattled off. But for a guy whose life revolved around the fire station, occasional charted dive tours on his boat, familia and friends, workouts, and sleep, all her social media talk about posts and going live and commenting made his head spin. She might as well have been speaking a different language.

  Give him a lazy afternoon on Fired Up. A cooler full of food and cold drinks. His cell off. A fishing line in the water. That all made for a great day.

  “Seems like this is more of a working vacation for you,” he noted, buckling his seat belt.

  “Honestly, there’s always something I can be doing for my business. I don’t mind because I love what I do. Although . . .” Her dull emphasis on the word had Luis cutting a look her way as he put his truck in gear. One corner of her mouth hitched up, drawing his attention to her glossy lips. “Thanks to Ric, the vacation part of this trip is what’s shaping up to be stressful.”

  “Speaking of Ric, or me stepping into his shoes.” Luis made a U-turn to head toward White Street Pier and Higgs Beach. “I ran into a buddy of mine from high school in line. He saw you waiting for me and asked about you.”

  “Does that happen often?

  “All the time. Island life and the close-knit local network can be a blessing, unless you’re pretending to be someone else. With a different name.”

  “Oh no!” Sara’s eyes widened with surprise, dismay swimming in their depths. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” Luis rolled his shoulders, pushing off his lingering misgivings over the lie now set in motion. “I hedged a bit. Said you were a friend from Miami. We’ll have to be careful and stick with that if we run into any other locals. It’s probably inevitable that word about us being seen together will get back to my family.”

  “I totally understand. If we see someone you know, I’ll follow your lead. Listen—” Swiveling in her seat to face him, she placed her cool fingers on his arm below the edge of his T-shirt sleeve. Luis’s skin tingled at her gentle touch.

  “I know this is a lot to ask,” she said. “More than a lot. That’s why I’m serious about donating to whatever nonprofit you’d prefer. Just, please, don’t back out on me.”

  Luis kept his gaze on the road ahead as he turned onto Atlantic Boulevard, then pulled into an empty parking space in front of the picnic tables on the beach side of the road.

  Without even looking at Sara, he could already picture the entreaty in her blue-green eyes. The earnest plea puckering her smooth brow and blanketing her classic features. Back at the airport he hadn’t been able to say no to her. Fat chance of him doing so now. Not with her light citrusy scent teasing him. Urging him to lean closer and drag in a deep whiff of whatever she’d spritzed on her creamy skin.

  “I’m not backing out,” he assured her. “Like I said, once I give my word, you can depend on it. On me.”

  He cut the truck’s engine.

  “Thank you.” Sara’s fingertips lightly brushed his biceps, the soft caress strangely both soothing and tempting. Then she reached down to grab her purse, and he found himself missing her touch.

  “Look, I know we’re both worried about keeping things straight. Hence, my notebook.” She tapped her pink pen on the edge of the leather-bound book before dropping both items inside her bag.

  “At least Franco bought the idea of me playing tour guide for your family when he noticed you waiting. Me helping out a friend isn’t too farfetched.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Her droll tone had chagrin warming his neck.

  “Unfortunately, while the tour guide story might be enough to cover things on your end,” she said, back to business, “we’ll have our work cut out for us convincing my family. We really need to get started on our meet-cute story.”

  “Our what?”

  Pushing open the passenger door, she slid out onto the asphalt, banging her elbow when she lost her footing as she landed. “Wow, I didn’t realize that would be such a far drop.”

  “Try using the running board to step down next time,” he suggested. “And for the record, I don’t normally do cute.”

  “Meet-cute, tough guy. It’s a rom-com term,” she explained. Like that made any sense to him. “You know, when the hero and heroine meet for the first time. Sparks fly. Attraction shimmers in the air. But there’s some problem getting in their way.”

  Hell, if you asked him, they could check all those boxes.

  Each time she touched him sparks flew.

  Her lush lips had him craving a sweet sample like an infatuated teen, definitely attraction.

  As for a problem, the big fat lie they were gearing up to tell everyone certainly qualified.

  But in the short time he’d spent with Sara, her engaging smile, palpable frustration with her family, the joy on her face when she talked about her career . . . who was he kidding? The whole package that made up Sara Vance was one he’d like to keep unwrapping to discover what other surprises lay hidden inside.

  If nothing else, spending time getting to know her sure beat moping around his place feeling sorry for himself. Dodging memories he didn’t want to face. Ignoring a truth that stung worse than snorkeling through a school of jellyfish.

  It just might knock him out of the rut Carlos had baldly accused him of living in. Not that Luis would admit his brother was right. It wasn’t a rut, more like a slight hitch. There’d be no living with Carlos and his crowing if Luis allowed him even an inkling of an “I told you so.”

  Bottom line, Sara might think he was doing her a favor. In reality, she was saving him from himself.

  “Come on, Vinny D., you and I have some homework to get done if you plan to help me save the day.” With a playful wink, Sara pushed the door closed, then traipsed through the sandy ground toward the concrete picnic table under a nearby cabana.

  Vinny D. to the rescue sounded a hell of a lot better than Saint Navarro. Especially since Luis found himself entertaining more than a few unsaintly thoughts when it came to Sara.

  Oh, he might have reservations about this zany plan, but he couldn’t think of a single reservation about spending more time in Sara’s company.

  Chapter 4

  Sara pulled the supersize sandwiches from the brown paper bag and set them on the cement table. Good Lord, everything about Luis Navarro seemed extra large—his truck, his muscles, his nice-guy streak. Even the sandwiches he’d bought them for lunch.

  She snuck a quick look at the handsome firefighter from under her lashes.

  Luis sat across from her, patiently waiting while she opened her sandwich and smoothed out the butcher paper wrapping for a makeshift place setting. If he felt any of the same anticipation zinging inside her over their plan, he hid it well under his steely, calm façade.

  Behind him, t
he sandy beach and wide-open ocean created an inspiring backdrop. Sunlight glistened across the water in wavy ribbons. Off to the right, an old wooden walking pier jutted out into the water, and a friendly coed sand volleyball match was in full swing nearby. Shouts of victory accompanied the smack of hands punching the ball through the air.

  Luis twisted the cap to break the seal on her water bottle but didn’t remove it.

  “There you go,” he said, setting the drink closer to her. “You good?”

  When he sat back on his bench, his unwrapped sandwich dwarfed in his big hands, she realized he was making sure she was ready to enjoy her meal before he started on his own.

  “You are a wonderfully considerate person, you know that?” she told him.

  The serious expression she was quickly coming to know as his default morphed into a confused frown. “That’s a bad thing?”

  “Not at all. Simply an observation. And a compliment.”

  His thick shoulders rose and fell in an easygoing shrug. “Any good manners or behavior on my part stems from my parents’ strict rules, and my mom’s chancleta.”

  Sara chuckled as Luis mimicked the age-old threat of Hispanic mamás everywhere—a slipper clutched in hand, waving it in the air, ready to fling at the perpetuator of mischief if needed.

  “My Mamá Alicia had a chancla, too,” she shared. “Granted, I never experienced a chancletazo from her, but I was around when that slipper found its mark if one of her sons misbehaved.”

  Luis raised his brows and nodded as he took a bite, in obvious commiseration.

  “And Mamá Alicia is?” he asked, once he’d swallowed.

  “My nanny growing up. Well, more like a second mom, really.”

  A wistful sigh blew through Sara’s lips as she recalled the woman who’d been there for pretty much every important moment. Especially the most life-changing ones.

  “She was an incredible person,” Sara murmured.

  “Was?”

  “She passed several years ago. A brain aneurysm.” Sara ducked her head, blinking away the tears that still formed when she thought about that call from Pedro, Mamá Alicia’s youngest son. The mental battle Sara had gone through, working to not let the subsequent grief become another trigger. Something her mother had worried about as well.

  Luis’s warm hand covered hers on the table, startling Sara out of her sad memories.

  “It’s never easy when a loved one dies. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  His earnest tone was a balm easing her sorrow. Quieting the rush of loss cresting through her. More than likely this was a skill or gift he relied upon to calm victims when responding to emergencies at work. Now his tender, sympathetic nature soothed her.

  “I bet you’re great at your job,” she blurted out. “Like firefighter of the month all the time, right?”

  He pulled his hand back, a grimace chasing away the kindness from his tanned face. Silly, but now that it was gone, she realized she liked the comforting weight of his hand over hers. The light brush of his thumb across her skin.

  “I’m not sure my captain always agrees. What makes you think that?” he asked.

  “For being such a tough guy, you’ve got a compassionate, protective nature. It’s nice.”

  An embarrassed flush climbed his cheeks. His gaze shifted away, tracking a car that passed behind her.

  That small vulnerability, his honest humility, made him all the more likable.

  Not for the first time, Sara considered herself lucky for running into Luis Navarro. After her string of crappy dating experiences in recent years, Luis was a refreshing reminder that there were still some good fish in the proverbial sea.

  Useful info for when, more like if, she decided to eventually dip a fishing pole in the water again. After this debacle with Ric, concentrating on work seemed like a safer bet.

  On that thought, Sara picked up half of her Cuban mix and angled it against the other half to better show off the ingredients inside. Melted Swiss cheese blended with rows of dark roast pork and lighter ham. Green dill pickles and a slathering of yellow mustard added a dash of color in between the doughy white Cuban bread. Leaning away from the table, she ducked down, eyeing her food. At the same time, she reached for her cell and thumbed the screen to activate the camera app.

  “You’re missing out on a tasty meal,” Luis said, before taking another he-man-sized bite.

  Sara cut her gaze over to him, marveling at the fact that in just a few bites nearly a quarter of his sandwich was already gone.

  “I’m taking my time,” she answered. “The better to savor it. Unlike someone else I know.”

  A full-mouthed humph answered her.

  The typical tough guy grunt had her smiling. Pleasantly surprised at the sense of ease she’d found with him.

  There’d been a moment, back in his truck, when he chided her about eating her food, that had sent a trickle of unease dribbling down her spine. Just as quickly, she realized his focus was on simply enjoying the moment, not her actual lack of food consumption. There was no need to let her personal issues color his words.

  Even before Ric had dropped his no-show bombshell, she’d been feeling the stress of a week with her family. Second-guessing her decision to introduce Ric to everyone. The two of them hadn’t been clicking for a while. Probably because she had ignored the fact that he was more her parents’ type than hers. More suitable as part of a power couple, rather than capable of making a real, honest connection with someone.

  Her flight had landed in Key West with Sara waffling between dread and blind hope. Ric’s no-show move had tipped the scales toward dread.

  Then Luis arrived on the scene. All white knight–ish. With his monster truck and heart-palpitating hunkiness. And in spite of the charade they were preparing to play, Sara found herself enjoying his company.

  Maybe it was the magic of the island air. Maybe it was this generous man who’d agreed to help her, a woman who was a total stranger. Albeit one with a public following many in her line of business worked hard to achieve.

  More than likely, it was a combination of both.

  Either way, the weight she’d been carrying like extra baggage she couldn’t check on her flight had been chucked aside. Thanks to him.

  Squinting at the image on her cell screen, Sara concentrated on snapping a good pic for her followers. She moved the camera around her sandwich, mindful of her subject, noting the details framing her shot in the blurry background. The rough, grainy concrete table edging the opaque butcher paper, a flash of dark brown and green from a baby palm tree, the corner of an orange beach towel tossed haphazardly on the sand.

  Click. Adjust the angle. Click. Tap the screen to refocus. Click. Satisfied with the mix of photos, she slid her cell into her purse, swapping it for her notebook and pen.

  “How about we stick with the basics. Enough to get us by without tripping ourselves up,” she said, opening the book to the page she’d marked with his name earlier. “Age, birthday, family details. Favorites. Non-negotiables.”

  “Hm, I like that last one.”

  “Non-negotiables are key.” She wiggled her pen at him, emphasizing her point. “Like, scary movies? Hard pass. My stomach in knots, spending most of the time covering my eyes or burying my face in my date’s shoulder because I can’t look. Not my jam. You?”

  “I can take or leave ’em. I’m more of a documentary or action flick viewer. Let’s see, my hard pass would be . . .” Luis wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, eyes squinting at something in the distance as he considered his answer. Seconds later, his pensive frown brightened. “Got it! Karaoke. Definitely not for me.”

  “No way?!”

  “Yes way.”

  “Come on, karaoke’s so fun.” Using her pink pen like a pseudo-mic, she pantomimed a singer. “I figured you and I’d be signing up for a duet. Maybe ‘Summer Nights’ from Grease.”

  The horrified expression on his rugged face was so meme worthy Sara threw back her head and laughed. A
dd a WTH? caption and it’d easily go viral.

  “Nonnegotiable.” Luis enunciated the word clearly, his hell no tone softened by the laughter tilting his full lips and flashing in his dark eyes. He dipped his head toward their table. “Eat up. We have work to do.”

  “Fiiiine.” She scrunched her nose in protest but picked up her sandwich and took a hefty bite. “Mmmmm.”

  Her eyelids drifted closed as the mix of spices tempered by Swiss cheese with the added tang of mustard and pickles teased her taste buds. The explosion of flavor had her mouth watering. Swallowing, she opened her eyes to sample more.

  Her gaze connected with Luis’s across the table. She froze, spellbound by the intensity tightening his angular features. Sara licked at a trace of mustard on her bottom lip, her pulse blipping when his heated gaze followed the motion.

  A different kind of hunger, swift and unexpected, swooped deep at her core. An electric charge sizzled through her, leaving tingles of desire in its churning wake.

  Suddenly a bird’s squawk pierced the air. A seagull glided into their cabana to land on the end of their picnic table.

  Luis blinked, breaking their silent connection. He shooed the bird away, then gathered his trash into a ball with one fist.

  “Worth the wait?” he asked, indicating her sandwich.

  Sara nodded, still reeling from the startling awareness arcing between them.

  “Uh-huh. It’s, um, delicious.” Clearing her throat, she picked up her drink and worked to get her thoughts back on track. “I can see why Sandy’s made Key West’s Top Five Cuban Mixes list. Definitely a must-try recommendation for my followers.”

  “Told you so.”

  “Gloating is not nice. Don’t make me break out my chancleta,” she threatened.

  His raspy chuckle sent a delicious shiver across her shoulders.

  Dangerous.

  Thrilling.

  Completely inappropriate for the friendly agreement they had made.

  “Okay,” she said on a deep, get your head in the game breath. “Time to start Twenty Questions Fake Relationship Edition.”