“Maybe a small snack. I’m sure he’ll need to take his pain medicine soon. Right?” She directed the question to Alejandro.
Lips pinched with obvious discomfort, he nodded.
“¿Un sandwich de jamón y queso?” his mom asked.
“A ham and cheese sandwich would be great. Grilled, maybe?” Anamaría suggested, intent on getting his mom out of the room for as long as possible.
Not that Anamaría had any keen interest in being alone with him. But something wasn’t right, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want his mom to know.
As soon as the older woman left and the slap of her Kino sandals on the tile floor faded, Anamaría leveled a stern stare Alejandro’s way.
“Truth. On a scale of one to ten, what’s your pain level?”
“One,” he grunted as he pushed his hands into the mattress and tried shifting his position on the bed. His sharp intake of breath and full-body wince belied his answer.
“Try again, and don’t bullshit me. After what you’ve been through, this is no time to play he-man.”
“I was always more of a Batman fan, remember? You know, dark and dangerous. Lots of toys to play with.” His full lips twisted in what resembled more of a sneer than his cocky grin. The angles and planes of his haggard yet still remarkably handsome face taut with anguish.
Heaving a beleaguered sigh, Anamaría set her backpack on the low dresser.
“Look, cut the crap, okay? It’s obvious neither one of us really wants to be here.” Her back to him, she unzipped her bag, purposefully keeping her gaze away from the square mirror hanging on the eggshell-painted wall over the dresser. “Me, in this room. And you, anywhere on the entire island. But we can’t change that, so don’t make it any harder or more uncomfortable than it needs to be. Let me do my damn job and appease your mother, then we don’t have to see each other again. Deal?”
The words sliced her throat like shards of her broken heart forcing their way up. Doggedly, she reminded herself of her vow to no longer allow a ghost from her past to haunt her present.
“You look good,” he said, his voice gruff.
Her stupid heart tripped, then lurched into a higher gear. She clenched her fists, cursing the injustice of her reaction to his words.
Unwilling to let him see the effect his too little–too late declaration had on her, Anamaría ducked her head, pretending to search for something inside her backpack.
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you look like death warmed over,” she countered.
If death sported a week’s worth of sexy scruff covering a square jaw and highlighting his angular cheeks and full lips, plus a head of thick black wavy hair, windblown and mussed in a carefree style some paid hundreds of dollars in hair product to achieve.
Not that she had noticed or anything.
Behind her, Alejandro gave a hoarse chuckle. The raspy sound sent an unwanted shiver of awareness skittering down her spine.
“What are you talking about? I just got off a cruise,” he complained.
“Practically a stowaway. Leave it to you to hitch a ride on a cruise ship because you’re not medically cleared to fly.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
And he’d obviously had no will to return home until he’d been forced.
She’d known this already. Still, hearing his confirmation hurt. Not that she’d let him know.
Shoving aside her wallet inside her backpack, she grabbed the first-aid kit. “Well, unlike the rest of the passengers, you neglected to disembark with a relaxed smile and new tan lines. And that souvenir of yours . . . it kinda blows.”
“I didn’t bring this contraption on my leg home by choice,” he mumbled. “Believe me, I’ve been better.”
That made two of them.
A peek at his reflection in the mirror found him hunched forward, tracing a finger along the top Ilizarov ring.
“I’m wondering, is this is a new look or were you already going for gaunt and haggard before you went and slipped off that rock ledge while you were . . .” She set the kit and the bottle of sterile water on the dresser top. “Exactly what were you doing in the El Yunque National Forest, climbing up the side of a waterfall alone, anyway?”
When he didn’t answer, she glanced in the mirror again, surprised to find him staring back at her.
Dark eyes hooded, he lay sprawled on top of the comforter, a white-and-navy-checked pillowcase covering the pillow tucked behind his back, matching the two under his knee. His lanky frame was too thin. His skin too sallow. And damn it, his magnetism too strong.
A couple months ago, his image on her cell phone screen had appeared larger than life. Mimicking the photographs that made him a sought-after talent. Broad shoulders and chest evident under a formfitting gray tee tucked into a pair of black jogging pants cinched at the ankles. Muscular arms looped around a young guy on his left and a strikingly beautiful woman on his right, Alejandro shot a cocky, confident grin at whoever snapped the photo captioned “Ready to celebrate a successful shoot on location at El Morro, Viejo San Juan, Puerto Rico” followed by the camera and Puerto Rican flag emojis.
He didn’t post pictures of himself very often. When he did, she occasionally allowed herself a glimpse. Or two. Nothing more.
Even then, she couldn’t help noting the laugh lines radiating from the corners of his nearly black eyes. The faint grooves on either side of his mouth. Testaments to the laughter in his life. The joy he found wherever he was and in the people he spent time with.
The fact that she wasn’t one of them shouldn’t . . . couldn’t . . . didn’t bother her. Not anymore.
The mystery woman’s infatuated expression as she gazed up at him meant nothing to Anamaría. Her life and his had been separate for a decade. No longer the inseparable duo their classmates, familia, and friends had dubbed them.
He kept himself busy off photographing the world. Making a name for himself. Cavorting with people from all walks of life—celebrities and up-and-comers, hardworking villagers and unsung heroes in communities across the globe.
She was the one who had stayed in place. Marking time without realizing it. Unable to fully commit to either of the two serious relationships she’d been involved in. Silencing her secret dreams for too long.
But she was done with that. Over the past two years, she’d put her dating life on hold to dive 110 percent into her business. Now she was going places, too.
“When I set off to explore El Yunque, it was not with this outcome in mind.” He gestured at his leg.
“Accidents like yours rarely are. But I see them all the time on the job,” she answered, relieved to return her focus to his injury. Not their broken past.
“The rainforest has been hit hard by hurricanes in recent years. I wanted to document some of the change.”
Anamaría stepped toward the bed. “We’ve had some harsh years with hurricanes here in the Keys, too. Big Pine really took a beating from Hurricane Irma.”
“Yeah, I saw video and images online.” Alejandro shook his head in commiseration. “Thankfully, El Yunque’s slowly coming back to life. When I finished my job in Puerto Rico, I stuck around for a bit before I was supposed to move on to Belize. That day, I planned an easy hike. Thinking I’d unwind to the coquís singing their high-pitched frog song from the trees. A cool mist on my face from the rush of water tumbling over the rocks. Then I spotted an iguaca.”