Señora Miranda’s pleased grin rivaled Lulu’s the last time Anamaría had taken the little girl to the panadería for a sweetbread treat. Maybe, just maybe, she could influence her husband while their oldest was home.
The two brothers exchanged a backslapping farewell hug, and Anamaría could have sworn she heard Ernesto murmur, “Good luck.”
He waved good-bye to everyone and strode toward the entrance, reading something on his cell that had him frowning at the device. Whatever errand Señor Miranda had him running in the middle of the lunch rush, it had to be important. As soon as the glass door eased closed behind him, Alejandro sent her a quizzical look that told her he was thinking along the same something’s-up line.
His mom didn’t seem to have noticed anything, so Ale shook his head with a beats-me shrug. He sidestepped awkwardly around the table to take the chair on the end where he could extend his left leg while also keeping watch on the kitchen door in the back. No doubt standing guard for his father.
Anamaría took the seat between Sara and his mom, who lovingly patted Anamaría’s thigh as she settled in her chair.
Señora Miranda handed Brandon one of the laminated menus wedged between the black napkin holder and the condiment tray. Like a proud second mami, she pointed out the healthy options Anamaría had championed: baked chicken breast with amarillo, the sweet yellow plantain pan sautéed in a light spritz of olive oil instead of deep fried; black beans and brown rice paired for the congrí; and picadillo made with ground turkey breast, the flavorful mix of meat, cumin, and other savory spices cooked with diced peppers and served with black beans and brown rice or on its own for those cutting carbs.
“See how smart she is. And she is working hard to help people everywhere eat and live healthier with her website. Have you seen it? We are so proud of her.”
Anamaría’s cheeks heated under the maternal praise. She leaned her head on Señora Miranda’s shoulder with a fond smile, gazing in awe at the AM Fitness logo and web address on the new menus.
“Even though I’m the child she birthed and Anamaría is familia by choice, I guess you can see which one of us is my mom’s favorite,” Alejandro complained, drawing a laugh from Brandon and Sara and an “ay, por favor, que exagerado” from his mami.
He tapped a finger at an item on Brandon’s menu. “Picadillo is Anamaría’s comfort meal. Or . . . I guess, it used to be.”
“Still is,” she answered, touched that he remembered.
When Iona sidled over to take their order, Señora Miranda stepped away to assist the hostess-cashier in training. By the time she returned to their table, Iona was back with their meals.
“Wow, this all looks fantastic!” Brandon exclaimed.
“Here, you must taste a little of everything,” Alejandro’s mom insisted.
She had wisely asked for an empty dinner plate, onto which she promptly dished a small portion from each meal. Brandon’s face lit with excitement as she spooned off some of Anamaría’s ground turkey picadillo peppered with raisins and green olives, then a few bites of Alejandro’s ropa vieja, and finally cut a few pieces of her bistec empanizado for their visitor. Anamaría doubted that Brandon normally ate breaded cubed steak, but he’d be glad he made the exception once he tasted Victor Miranda’s recipe along with the brown rice, black beans, and sweet amarillo sides.
Sure enough, Brandon moaned like he’d tasted manna from heaven after his first taste of the ropa vieja.
“That’s my favorite,” Alejandro said, pointing his fork at the sample from his meal.
Sara held out a spoonful of her sopa de pollo, and Brandon leaned across the table to taste the savory chicken soup.
“Man, that’s delicious.” Brandon licked his lips, earning him a satisfied smile from the Miranda matriarch.
“My husband, he is a good cook, no?” she preened.
Brandon nodded and shoveled some picadillo in his mouth. Moments later, he gave Anamaría a thumbs-up at her menu selection and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think I can pick a favorite. Everything’s incredible. Looks like I found my treat meal spot when I’m in town.”
Satisfied that their guest had been properly introduced to the bounty of Miranda’s kitchen, Alejandro’s mom motioned for the rest of them to enjoy their meals. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes; then the conversation turned to Brandon’s first visit to the island, his hope to return for a longer visit, and the ways he and Anamaría might pair up for AllFit.
“And you will go to these big events together?” Alejandro’s mom asked Anamaría.
“Well, we’ll meet up there. When I can get off from the department or if an expo falls around my Kelly day, so I have the extra time off for travel. There’s one mid-July I may attend. AllFit is also checking to see if I can do a cooking demo to promo my YouTube channel.”
“Is that the one in London?” Brandon asked.
She nodded, looking forward to getting her first passport stamp.
“Great, I’m scheduled to be there for AllFit, too,” Brandon said. “Afterward, I head to Costa Rica for an exercise and self-care retreat I’m coordinating. Alejandro, I thought you mentioned spending time there. Got any tips and must-see sites I should consider?”
The conversation turned to the six weeks Alejandro had spent in Costa Rica a few years ago and his annual trips back to visit the village he had photographed. Brandon mentioned the locations of several other retreats he had coordinated over the past year for clients, a new venture that allowed him to parlay his interest in travel with his fitness training.
“Maybe you could join me for a retreat sometime,” Brandon suggested, motioning to Anamaría with his glass.
She nearly choked on her sip of water. Surprised by his invite to travel together when they’d only just met.
“I’ve had a mixed group with all three of the retreats so far. We could tag team workouts, and classes. Maybe you could offer a healthy cooking demo and nutritional meal planning. If we divvy up the logistics planning and share the financial arrangements, we’d each have time on our own to individually explore our location when the other takes the reins.”
“Oh, that’s a smart idea!” Sara scooted sideways to face Anamaría, who could practically feel Señora Miranda’s over-protective radar sounding an internal alarm at the thought of Anamaría traveling to a foreign country with a man she barely knew.
She agreed with Sara, though: Brandon was capitalizing on a fabulous way to travel while earning money and building his business. There were plenty of healthy vacation packages touted on the internet these days.
Still, she could hear the concerns about Brandon’s offer as if her own mami had joined them at the table to list them. With her three brothers joining in with their two cents. Papi would naturally wait to weigh in when she asked his opinion, because she typically did.
“Hey, if you two teamed up, I bet AllFit would even sponsor. If they don’t already. Do they?” Sara threw the question at Brandon, her shrewd business mind that had most recently resulted in the launch of her own clothing line off and running with his suggestion. “They’d be crazy not to cash in on the promo op. If you two go with this.”
“I had been waiting to crunch numbers. Gathering feedback and reviews from the first three retreats, but I mentioned it to them this past weekend when we were all in New York,” he answered. He grabbed his drink and adjusted the paper straw for a sip. “We’re negotiating.”
“Yes!” Sara balled her fist and tapped the table beside her empty salad plate. “I think it’s a perfect opportunity for you two.”
“Maybe,” Anamaría hedged. She didn’t want to commit to anything without thinking through it. “Everything’s still pretty new with AllFit. They might want to see the response from my sponsored posts before investing more in me.”
Sara waved off Anamaría’s argument, her blond hair dancing along her shoulders as she shook her head. “The response is going to be fabulous. I’m sure of it. You two have gre
at energy together. And Alejandro got some incredible shots today. Right?”
She motioned toward him, inviting his agreement.
Alejandro’s lips quirked in a cocky grin that had Anamaría giving him a playful eye roll because she knew what was coming. Sara had opened the door wide for an ego trip he couldn’t help but take, as would most of her brothers.
He had the audacity to wink at her, and a delicious thrill sizzled through the secret spots in Anamaría’s body. “Even though my mami tried to teach me it’s not nice to brag, I have to say, in my hands, most subjects wind up looking incredible. But these two made it easy. So yes, I got some shots today that are pretty badass.”
“Mi hijo, so humble,” his mom lamented before taking a sip of her cortadito. The coffee and steamed milk’s strong scent was a familiar one, reminiscent of Anamaría’s childhood when she used to sit on her abuela’s knee watching her win at dominoes.
“I can see why he and your baby brother get along so well,” Sara said, joining the fun. “Both their own biggest fans.”
“Ay verdad, nena.” Señora Miranda reached across Anamaría to clink her coffee cup with Sara’s water glass in solidarity of them speaking the truth, as the older woman lamented. Their shared laughter burst louder when Anamaría added her drink to the toast.
“Bro, these ladies are a force to be reckoned with. I’m with you, though, sure we got some sick pics at the beach.” Brandon stretched a fist across the empty chair between him and Alejandro, who lifted his for a good-humored bump.
“Exactly,” Alejandro agreed. “But, Mami, I’m only following your advice. You always said Ernesto and I should never lie.”
Señora Miranda’s tsk of disapproval had the rest of them chuckling.
“AM, you told me that you’ve always wanted to travel,” Sara said, circling back to their topic. “This is the perfect way to make that happen.”
“She’s right. You two made a great team today.” Alejandro’s agreement had Anamaría’s surprised gaze flying up to meet his. He motioned between her and Brandon.
Was he serious? He couldn’t possibly still be stuck on the idea of her and Brandon hooking up. That might be Alejandro’s MO, but she had made it clear to him that she was not interested.
Alejandro dipped his head in the tiniest of encouraging nods. She squinted a glare, uncomfortable with his bizarre matchmaking. It was too weird. Too . . . wrong.
She wanted to be a big enough person to wish him well when he eventually left. But she highly doubted any scenario in which she would encourage Alejandro to be with another woman.
Equally as strange, for someone who constantly poked her toe . . . bueno, more like her whole body . . . into her kids’ and those who were like her own kids’ business, Señora Miranda rem-ined uncharacteristically quiet. No opinions or unsolicited advice doled out.
The Cuban Inquisition had ended midway through the meal, a sign Brandon had made the first cut. His rave reviews about Miranda’s had definitely earned him points. If he stuck around for long, there would be more questions, especially if the two of them pursued his retreat venture.
That was the blessing and curse of having mamis whose sun rose and set on their children. Something Anamaría never took for granted. As much as she might complain about it.
“If you’re interested, let me know,” Brandon told her. “Find out when you can get time off from the fire department. We’ll pick a location we’d like to hit up and start working on details.”
Picking up his lemon water, he leaned back against the padded vinyl chair, one arm hooked on the empty chair between him and Alejandro. “Or we could start smaller, make it a long weekend retreat here. I’m betting with our combined trainer experience, your nutritionist certification, and my contacts, we’d make a good business team.”
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, ho
la, 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.”
Anchored Hearts Page 21