Anchored Hearts

by Priscilla Oliveras

  A sense of déjà vu tickled the back of his neck. Taking early-morning photographs off the White Street Pier with Anamaría as his model was nothing new. Back then he’d been practicing, learning, deleting . . . trying to hone his craft.

  This time, he was here for her. To support her career aspirations, not his. Something Alejandro was ashamed to realize was a first.

  He had always been certain about pursuing photography as a career.

  Anamaría had been uncertain where her passion lay. He had pushed her to join him, thinking she could find her place out there with him. But she had come into her own here. Her island roots, interwoven with those of her familia and their comunidad, had grown stronger, helping her to flourish.

  “¡Buenos días!”

  Anamaría’s good morning cry coming from down the pier had Alejandro’s finger slipping off his Canon’s shutter button.

  Today was important to her. That meant he’d do whatever the hell was needed to ensure its success.

  She had encouraged him when he’d been starting out. Now, he had a chance to show his appreciation for the gift she’d given him back then by doing the same.

  Chapter 11

  “There they are.” Anamaría pointed at Sara and Alejandro up ahead as she and Brandon Lawson strolled down the White Street Pier together.

  Despite her trepidation about the forecast for potential morning showers, the weather had cooperated marvelously for her first AllFit photo shoot. Clear, picturesque skies with cotton candy clouds tinted by the sun’s peachy, pinky rays greeted them and a salt water–tinged breeze chased away the humidity.

  She called out a greeting to Sara, perched on the concrete balustrade ledge lining the perimeter of the large open area at the end of the pier. The few remaining jitters in Anamaría’s belly settled as her gaze moved to Alejandro, sitting in his wheelchair, a padded black backpack unzipped on the ground near his feet. With his back to her, she couldn’t tell for sure, but she’d bet he was already snapping pics and making adjustments.

  Sara had worried that having him here might be a distraction. That Anamaría would feel awkward or strained, which would definitely affect the photos. Oddly, she found comfort in having him behind the camera for her first big shoot. She could almost pretend this was like all the other times they’d spent with him snapping pics of her for practice. No pressure. Only fun.

  Beside her, Brandon gave his signature head toss to send his floppy bangs out of his eyes as he waved to Sara. Picking him up at his downtown hotel had been a good icebreaker for Anamaría and the well-known trainer, as Sara had wisely suggested. Turned out, Brandon was good friends with one of AllFit’s founders and had been their “face” from the beginning, even after his status as a professional tri-athlete and go-to celebrity trainer had taken off. And yet, despite his notoriety as a leading social media influencer in his field, like Sara he was surprisingly down-to-earth.

  “Good morning!” Sara hopped off the railing and spread her arms wide in welcome, the skirt of her yellow sundress billowing in the breeze. “Who’s ready to take some pics that’ll have followers racing to share and clamoring for more?”

  Brandon laughed at the overly boisterous greeting. “That’s the plan. Not a bad way to spend my first visit to Key West.”

  Alejandro palmed the wheelchair tires, swiveling himself around to face Brandon and her. He had swapped his wrinkled-tee look for a respectable short-sleeved button-down and chinos but hadn’t bothered to shave again. His wind-tousled hair, trendy sunglasses, and scruffy beard gave him a roguish vibe that fit with his adventurous streak. Unfortunately for someone trying to squelch her unwanted attraction, his vibe stroked a lusty chord within her.

  Sara strolled over to give Brandon a hug, making small talk about his flight down and his accommodations.

  “AM, you ready?” Alejandro asked, his voice pitched low, drawing her closer so she could hear.

  “Excited. Maybe a little nervous.” She angled away from the others before admitting, “I don’t want to screw this up.”

  “Just be yourself. The camera loves you. It always has.”

  She was certain his pep talk was simply meant to bolster her confidence, not touch her heart. Still, it did. “Ale, I really—”

  “Here, let me introduce the two of you.” Sara ushered Brandon over, interrupting Anamaría. Probably saving her from being the one who made the photo shoot awkward by letting old emotions color this new phase of their relationship.

  Brandon approached, his hand extended. “It’s great to meet you. I gotta say, after Sara mentioned your name last night, I Googled and am a new fan. Impressive work!”

  The two men, both striking in their own way, shook hands, their conversation becoming a display of mutual admiration for each other’s professional accomplishments.

  Sara stepped behind Brandon to greet Anamaría with a hug and cheek kiss, then looped an arm through one of Anamaría’s, leaning close to whisper. “Aren’t we the lucky ones working with these two today? Although they could say the same about us, right?”

  Anamaría grinned at her friend’s cheeky assertion while she watched the two men.

  One tall, golden sun-kissed blond, with a charisma and charm that drew countless followers and clients. His light aqua AllFit tank and navy running shorts putting the muscles honed from hours spent training his body on display for the appreciative eye to ogle.

  The other all lanky muscles with a broody, life-on-the-edge aura. Ale must have spent time in the Mirandas’ backyard because his skin had regained its bronze tan. The healthy glow and his thick, wavy hair were a foil for the flash of his rascally grin, a combination that made parts of her quiver with desire.

  Brandon gestured at the external fixator rings, wincing when Alejandro explained his fall in El Yunque. This launched a “recovering from an injury” exchange of war stories between the two adventure seekers.

  Sara led her away to step up onto the raised sidewalk lining the balustrade and railing, stopping to lean a hip against the concrete ledge near a Shallow No Diving sign. “You doing okay?”

  “Mm-hmm, Brandon and I had a nice conversation this morning. Thanks for suggesting I give him a ride.”

  “I thought it might be good to break the ice. And Alejandro?” Anamaría glanced at her ex, his head thrown back as he laughed at whatever Brandon was wildly gesturing about. This was the real Ale. On set, Canon in hand, enjoying the people and places he captured through his lens. Living his dream.

  And now he was lending his talent to help her get closer to living hers before he left.

  “It’s all good. Alejandro’s going to give us the best pictures of AllFit gear they’ve ever seen.” She leaned against the railing and shot Sara a sly glance, punctuated with a waggle of her brows. “Because I’ll be in them.”

  “That’s the attitude I’m talking about. Go get ’em, girl.” Sara slapped her on the butt, then motioned for her to follow as she called out to the guys, “Are you two done comparing war stories over there?”

  Alejandro jiggled his camera. “I was just telling Brandon, I’m happy to get out of the house for a bit. Helping familia makes this opportunity a win-win.”

  Familia, huh?

  Keeping their ex status out of the equation today worked for Anamaría. She was fine avoiding Brandon’s potential questions about her and Alejandro’s breakup. Talk about awkward conversation.

  Sara cupped a hand around the edge of her mouth, as if letting him in on a secret. “In case Anamaría didn’t already tell you, these two grew up together. Their families go way back.”

  “He’s my younger brother’s best friend,” Anamaría chimed in. “They were joined at the hip in junior high and high school. Best four-to-three double-play combination on the varsity baseball team.”

  Until Alejandro had given up his favorite sport for photography.

  His opening salvo in the battle of wills with his father. Unfortunately, Señor Miranda hadn’t budged, and Ale had never played ano
ther varsity game.

  “Some of us stayed here on the island; some went off seeking fame and fortune.” She ruffled Alejandro’s hair, trying to maintain a playful, brotherly love act. Only the softness of his thick locks sparked the urge to let her fingers linger, maybe take a stroll down to caress the scruff on his cheeks.

  Anamaría yanked her hand back before she gave in to temptation. “Key West is often a port in the storm for those who wander off. Alejandro may have dropped his anchor here for the time being, but once he’s healed, he’ll be off chasing the next awe-inspiring photograph, making us all proud, right, Ale?”

  “Who knows, I might find it right here.” Alejandro’s lips quirked and he lifted his camera to snap a picture of her. “Like that one.” He snapped another. “Or how about that one?”

  “Sto-o-o-o-op.” The word was more a whiney laugh than a command.

  She stiff-armed him and ducked her head, her ponytail swishing across her face. He grabbed her hand, his fingers tangling with hers.

  “None of those dorky pics will make it on my social media feed,” she warned.

  “I don’t know, dorky is one of your best sides. You two should see some of the ones I took when we were kids.”

  He chuckled at her wide-eyed, you-wouldn’t-dare glower. Then he flat-out belly laughed when Sara chimed in with, “I have got to see them. Do you have any of Luis?”

  Swiping at the strands of hair that had snagged on her ChapStick, Anamaría shook her head at him, recalling the irritating way he used to tease her when he didn’t want to talk about something. Like his father. The camera was the shield Ale hid behind, randomly clicking away until she laughed and waved him off or body tackled him, so he’d stop.

  Of course, body tackling often led to—

  Sara sidled up to her and bumped their hips together, inadvertently bumping aside memories Anamaría needed to keep buried.

  “Well, we are thrilled you agreed to fill in for Craig, aren’t we?” Sara said. “Here, let’s get a dorky sister pic.”

  An experienced selfie taker, having grown her own social media reach to over half a million followers, Sara dipped her chin and tilted her head the precise way she knew would give Alejandro her best angle, then she stuck out her tongue. Anamaría joined in with her own funny face.

  The soft click of Alejandro’s Canon answered.

  “Hey now, I want in on the action.” Brandon joined the fray, looping his arm around Anamaría’s shoulders on her other side.

  The three of them hammed it up for several minutes. Alejandro encouraging, pulling back to remove his sunglasses and check a setting, then snapping away again.

  Eventually Sara begged off and moved to stand behind Alejandro. Brandon ducked down to scoop behind Anamaría’s knees.

  “O-kay!” she squealed, grabbing onto his shoulders when he swept her up in his arms and strode toward the cement balustrade.

  “I say we need an ‘I am woman’ with the ocean behind her. What do you think?” he called out.

  “Yes!” Sara answered.

  “Go for it,” Alejandro chimed in. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

  Ha! Fat chance of that happening.

  Brandon set her down on the two-foot-wide surface, then gave it a slap with his open palm. “Hop up.”

  She hesitated, for some inexplicable reason suddenly awash with a wave of insecurity. She glanced at Sara, who smiled with encouragement, then at Ale. His earnest gaze held hers, telegraphing his belief in her.

  Shit, this was going to be an excruciating experience for them all if she didn’t get out of her head. Trust herself. More important, trust Alejandro. He was good at what he did.

  So was she.

  Energized by the self-truth, she scrambled to her sneakered feet, mindful of the small ledge. She smoothed down the hem of her racerback AllFit tank, the peach color matching the tiny stripe running along the outside seam of her black cropped leggings.

  “Careful. We don’t want you tumbling onto the rocks on the other side,” Alejandro warned.

  Hands on her hips, she sent him an are-you-kidding-me stare. “That’s more your signature move, not mine.”

  Her teasing earned her a sexy grin that peeked from under the bottom edge of his camera.

  Encouraged, she flexed her right biceps à la Rosie the Riveter and tilted her face toward the sun hovering over the hazy horizon.

  “I love it!” Sara cheered. “Work it, girl! That peach tank really pops against the blue sky.”

  Anamaría hammed it up, blowing a kiss for the camera.

  Without missing a beat, Alejandro pretended to snatch her kiss out of the air, lowering his hand to press his palm against his heart.

  Her own heart stuttered, then hiccupped into a faster rhythm, at how naturally he executed their old move. Something he’d started one day when she’d blown him a kiss in the middle of the hallway in between classes at Key West High. Enrique had called him a sap. She’d fallen a little more in love with him for it.

  She stared at him, confused by how easily he seemed to fall back into old habits. Joking with her, offering to be her sounding board after that tough call on Monday, teasing away her qualms. Making her feel like, in his world, she mattered.

  The sounds of a Jet Ski motoring by . . . a seagull squawking overhead . . . Sara asking Brandon a question . . . it all faded into the background as a maelstrom of emotions, all tied to Alejandro, swirled through Anamaría.

  His arms relaxed, lowering a fraction. His dark eyes peered back at her over the top of his camera. Intent. Questioning.

  She had no answers, though. The clear path she’d planned for herself over the past couple of years had started to become a bit hazy.

  It was absolute foolishness really. His being forced to come home changed nothing. At best, they might be friends when he left. That’s all they could ever be to each other.

  As if he read her thoughts and could see the line in the sand she made herself draw between them, Alejandro gently wiggled his camera as if to say, Back to work; then he disappeared behind it once again.

  By now Brandon had walked over to talk to Sara, who tapped Alejandro on the shoulder to include him in whatever they’d been discussing. While Anamaría waited, her gaze slid to Higgs Beach where two bikini-clad girls dragged an orange kayak into the shallow water. Nearby on the sandy shore, two guys wearing long board shorts swatted a rubber birdie back and forth with short paddles.

  More memories from her and Alejandro’s past assailed her. Interlopers intent on sabotaging her morning.

  The two of them hanging out with friends on the beach during the day. Him pushing her on a swing at Astro City when teens took over the park at night.

  Later, when the group broke up, the two of them would drive around in his beat-up Corolla, often winding up parked in the back corner of the tennis courts where they made out. Both hot and bothered and not nearly satisfied by the time her curfew rolled around.

  Doggedly, Anamaría closed her eyes, drawing a curtain on the images.

  Damn him for waking up these old ghosts. She’d fought hard to put them to rest. To drive around her island home and not feel like a piece of her was missing.

  She smoothed an unsteady hand over her slicked-back hair to her ponytail and sucked in a deep breath. The familiar briny scent of the ocean filled her lungs. The sun warmed her skin. The typical sounds of life along the ocean—birds and boat motors and people splashing in the water—soothed her.

  “Look out, gorgeous, I’m joining you.”

  Brandon’s playful warning was exactly what she needed to help her switch gears and refocus. Arm muscles bulging, he pushed himself up, then hiked a knee to step onto the balustrade beside her.

  “Careful,” she warned when he twisted at the waist to take in the shallow water lapping against the base of the pier.

  Two pelicans bobbed on the tiny waves nearby, one clutching a squirming gray fish in its beak. The other bird dipped its head closer as if asking for a bite.
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  “I was thinking we might try that Dirty Dancing lift from up here. But we should probably save that move for the sandy beach,” he suggested.

  His boyish grin drew a laugh from her. “Uh, yeah, that’s a better idea.”

  “No injuries on my watch, please,” Sara threw in. “Señora Navarro would not approve if something happened to Anamaría. I’m all about gaining future-mother-in-law points, not losing them.”

  “And while I’m usually all for daredevil escapades, I’m already dealing with my pissed-off Cuban mami. I don’t need a second one on my case,” Alejandro added, his beleaguered tone drawing laughter from their group.

  The light-hearted conversation allowed Anamaría to regain her internal footing.

  Alejandro didn’t seem encumbered by their past. She shouldn’t be, either.

  “Show me your moves, Princesa,” he ordered, his camera poised and ready. “I know you got some.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his use of her familia’s nickname. The second time this week. His cheeky grin told her he’d known it would get a rise out of her. Put her in kiss-my-ass mode. Just like when her brothers teased her and she set out to prove she was as capable as them.

  Raising her fists, she shot Alejandro a squinty glare, ruining it with a playful smirk she couldn’t hide. Grudgingly thankful for his prodding.

  “Let’s get ready to rumble,” she told him, before swiveling to face Brandon.

  Although her new AllFit partner stood a good eight inches taller and several inches wider, he mirrored her fighting stance. They faced off like two boxers at a weigh-in, expressions serious. For all of five seconds. As soon he crossed his eyes, she couldn’t hold back a giggle, and their mugging for Alejandro’s camera began in earnest.

  Arms crossed, they stood back to back, her head barely reaching his shoulder blades. Brandon made a pssst sound, drawing her attention. She glanced up at him through her lashes and found him staring down at her, one brow arched in a pretty decent imitation of the Rock’s signature look. Recognizing a challenge when she saw one, Anamaría swiveled to a wide-legged stand, shoulders back, chest proud. She lifted her arms at her sides and bent her elbows to display her “guns.” Brandon flashed a Wow! face for the camera and gave her biceps a pretend squeeze.