South Beach Love Read online

  He pulled up in front of the Art Deco building on Collins where a former hotel had been converted into condos. It boasted a new coat of bold yellow paint and gleaming white trim. The condo association had kept the neon sign with the original name of the hotel, though it had also been refurbished. The metal of the sign was painted turquoise and the neon would be a bright pink when lit.

  There was no parking anywhere even after he did a trip around the block. As he neared the door to the condo again, Sara stood at the curb, smiling and clutching a vintage straw purse with colorful pink, yellow, and green flowers on its face. The purse perfectly matched the pale yellow capri pants and electric white camp shirt that made her whole outfit scream “Retro” just like her condo building.

  She looked fabulous. His heart did a little jump in his chest. He grinned, excitement shooting through him at the thought of spending time with her.

  He pulled up to the curb, reached over, and opened the door from inside.

  “I couldn’t find a spot and was going to text you. I’m sorry.”

  She pointed upward. “I saw you from my balcony. You can’t miss the lime green.”

  “It is an eyesore, isn’t it?” he said as he pulled away to drive the few blocks to the News Café so they could have breakfast.

  “I kind of like the color,” she said

  Great, he thought. Already off to a bad start. Make her jump into your car and then tell her that her taste in colors sucks. “It certainly makes a statement. I like how it drives and it keeps big sis safe, so that’s all good.”

  Samantha rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Protective brothers. Gotta love them.”

  “You do.” As they neared the restaurant for breakfast, he realized he wasn’t going to be any luckier in finding a parking spot. They circled the block and went around and around several times when Sara said, “I have an idea. Head to Collins and 13th.”

  As he did so, he remembered the popular little cafeteria with the takeout window on the corner. Realizing what Sara wanted, he double parked. “Wait for me,” he said and popped out of the car to get them Cuban coffees and toast.

  It only took a couple of minutes to be handed the brown paper bag with their breakfast and he knew the perfect spot to drive to with their makeshift meal.

  “Hold on,” he said as he passed her the bag, opened the top on the Wrangler, and whipped out of the space. In no time they were on the causeway heading to Hobie Island Beach on the key for their impromptu breakfast picnic.

  He parked the Jeep with the front-end facing Biscayne Bay and faced her. “I’m sorry about breakfast not going according to plan,” he said as he accepted a coffee cup from her. She handed him a second coffee and he put the paper cups into the cup holders so they could grab the Cuban bread toasts from the bag.

  Sara shrugged, grabbed her cup, and sipped her coffee. With a smile, she said, “You must have forgotten how hard it is to get a parking spot in South Beach. Besides, what could be better than this view and a Cuban coffee to get you going in the morning.” She hesitated for a moment and shyly added, “And the company, of course.”

  “It’s the perfect sugar and caffeine rush.” He took a sip and sighed. “Thanks to your company, it’s a great start to the day.” He gestured to the view of Biscayne Bay. Cerulean waters were peaceful today, glittering under the bright Miami sun. A slight breeze rustled the palm trees all around them. There were a few wind surfers out on the waters, skimming the surface as their brightly colored sails caught the breeze.

  “Definitely a good start,” she said, before she bit into the long piece of buttered bread and murmured her appreciation. “Sometimes the simple things are the best things.”

  Tony couldn’t agree more. The sun beamed into the car while the breeze offered comfort from the typical Miami heat and humidity. Appreciating her sitting beside him, a simple thing, but a wonderful thing. “Being back home has reminded me how much I miss some of those simple things. Nice weather. Family. Friends. Good food.”

  Sara cocked her head to one side and a reddish bang swept forward and made her skin look even creamier. She skipped her gaze across his face, examining him. “You make wonderful meals in New York, don’t you?”

  He did, only... “Lately the food is missing...soul. Passion and fun, like what I’ve tasted at your place.”

  She peered at him over the rim of her coffee cup, took a sip, and then said, “I guess it’s a good thing you came home. Maybe you can find what’s missing.”

  As he looked at her, he thought, Maybe I have. He couldn’t admit that aloud just yet, so instead he said, “Are you ready for the rest of our date today?”

  “Totally,” she said and grinned mischievously.

  “We’re off.” He started the car and pulled onto the Rickenbacker Causeway, heading farther away from Miami and toward Key Biscayne. Barely five minutes later they were at the entrance to the Miami Seaquarium and Sara did an excited hop in her seat.

  “OMG, I haven’t been here since I was a kid. I love this place,” she said with a broad smile, her eyes alight with pleasure.

  “I remembered how much you used to like it. Except for that time that a seagull swooped down and stole your hot dog.”

  “I was totally annoyed,” she said as she jumped out of the Wrangler.

  “You were,” He laughed as he came around to her side of the vehicle. He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb across her lips. “It was cute in a weird sort of way.”

  Touching her like that was a big mistake, he realized, because there was nothing cute about the feel of her lips beneath his thumb or the way her eyes widened in surprise before she shifted away from him. Obviously as affected by that simple touch as he was.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your space,” he said and pulled away from her, needing the space to keep from touching her again.

  She shrugged. “No harm, no foul. I’m a big girl now.”

  Sí, I know. He kept that thought to himself. “I’ll go get the tickets.”

  Sara laid her hand on her stomach and took a breath to calm her skittering insides. It had been an innocent enough touch, but there was no denying that her crush on Tony Sanchez was as alive today as it had been nearly a decade earlier. And if she wasn’t misreading the signals, Tony no longer saw her as Rick’s little sister or the ten-year-old who had tagged along with them whenever she could. Nope, Tony was seeing her as W-O-M-A-N and while it was something that she’d hoped for so long ago, now she had no clue how to handle it—or him. Especially since she wasn’t sure that Tony intended to spend more than a month in Miami.

  She couldn’t open herself up to the kind of hurt that would happen if she let herself get involved with him and he returned to New York.

  Luckily the Seaquarium was a blast from their childish past and not the kind of place intended for romance. At least she didn’t think it was as they sat to watch a seal show and then worked their way to a touch pool filled with small bamboo sharks, fish, and stingrays. But as she skimmed her hand across the top of a passing stingray, he slipped his hand over hers, sending a jolt of awareness through her. She kept her hand there and, hands joined, they skimmed them over the docile sharks and stingrays until it was time to move to another exhibit.

  Somehow it felt natural to twine their fingers together and walk hand-in-hand toward a natural mangrove area overlooking Biscayne Bay. They were greeted there by an assortment of colorful tropical birds that flitted through the trees. A flock of pale pink flamingos stood, knees awkwardly bent, in a shallow shore area. Tony and Sara lingered at the railing, looking at the birds and Sara said, “I always wondered if I had too much red in my hair because I loved to eat shrimp just like the flamingos. Silly, right?”

  “I like the red in your hair,” he said and combed his fingers through the short strands.

  At his touch heat rose to her cheeks and she hoped they weren’t as pi
nk as the flamingo feathers. With a wrinkle of her nose, she said, “Thank you, but you’re just being nice.”

  “Nope, not just nice,” he said and grasped a lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger to rub it gently. “You’re beautiful.”

  Suddenly flustered, she said, “We’re going to miss the dolphin show.” She grabbed hold of the hand that had been in her hair and dragged him across the grounds to the stadium for the show. Many of the seats were filled, leaving them to sit up front, close to the glass walls that surrounded the pool where the dolphins would swim. Much of the ground in that area was wet from the earlier show, but before they could shift to another section a group of kids, probably on a school trip, filled in the seats around them, trapping them in their place.

  With a wince, she said, “Sorry.”

  Tony smiled and gave a reassuring squeeze of her hand. “It’s okay. I don’t mind getting a little wet. We’ve got the best view in the house. We’ll be able to see the dolphins dive down to the bottom of the pool and then shoot up.” He emphasized it with an upward swipe of his hand. He had strong hands, masculine but also elegant. The scars from small nicks and cuts, a silvery one from an old burn possibly, marked them as the hands of a blue-collar man. She was a sucker for hands and his called to her in ways that would be dangerous to her peace of mind.

  The kids around them were antsy, forcing them to shift ever closer together to avoid the jostling and pushing that was going on as the adults with the group tried to control them. The two of them were so squashed that Tony had no choice but to let go of her hand and wrap an arm around her shoulders and draw her close to avoid the crowding.

  I fit against him perfectly, she thought as he tucked her tightly against him. It felt right—maybe too right. It made her wonder again how strongly she’d feel his absence once he left Miami. Too strongly to risk getting closer? She asked herself.

  The show began, only she wasn’t really paying much attention to the dolphins or their handlers. She was too conscious of everything Tony. His scent, masculine with the hint of citrus. The feel of his lean body and his calloused palm as it caressed the side of her arm. The sound of his laugh as the kids jumped when a trio of dolphins came zooming around the edge of the pool, sending a small wave of water up and over the top of the wall.

  She looked at him, exploring the strong line of his jaw and defined cheekbones. There was a small scar beneath one eye, and she remembered that he’d gotten the cut when he’d been on the football team with Rick. His lips. Sigh, how she’d dreamed as a teenager about those lips.

  But she wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was a woman and one who wanted more than just a temporary fling with a handsome man. No matter what she was feeling now, she had to protect her heart to keep it from getting broken, but she couldn’t avoid looking at him and wondering what it would be like if this thing between them became serious.

  His body tightened beside her and he slowly turned to look at her. His brown-eyed gaze grew darker, more intense as he realized that she was gazing at him. How she was gazing at him. Suddenly he was bending closer, bringing those lips nearer....

  A tsunami of ice-cold water washed over them, dousing them and all the kids around them as the trio of dolphins landed with a huge splash in the pool. For a second, they sat there stunned, water streaming down their faces, but then they both started laughing. Beside them the kids jumped up and down as they shrieked their joy at the deluge.

  “Let’s give a shout out to all those people brave enough to sit in the splash zone for giving the rest of us quite a laugh,” the MC for the show shouted into the microphone and motioned to the group, but somehow zeroed in on Tony and her. Or at least that’s how it looked to Sara.

  Tony shook his head, cupped her cheeks, and wiped away water and tears from her face. “Not quite what I had pictured for our first date.”

  She chuckled, reached up, and brushed back the wet locks of hair from his face. “I’d say it’s downright perfect.”

  As he grinned and slipped his hand into hers, she supposed that he felt the same way.

  Chapter 9

  Tony’s family wanted upscale variations on traditional Cuban foods served at the quinceañera, but Tony wanted to try something new. For that reason, he’d been trying out new recipes in his parents’ kitchen. Luckily, he’d paid to have it updated three years ago after his last visit because he knew how much his mother loved to cook and because the old stove and fridge were more of an obstacle than a help.

  With the quinceañera rapidly approaching, Tony was satisfied with his final recipes, but now his family members were about to taste test so he could get their approval.

  For the roast pork Tony had decided to go with a variation on an Italian porchetta, but flavored with a twist on the standard Mediterranean spices. The day before he had deboned and butterflied a pork shoulder and carefully trimmed off all the skin to make some chicharrones for another dish. The crispy cracklins would be perfect in some appetizer-sized tacos. Next he’d marinated the pork shoulder with a traditional Cuban mix of juices from Seville oranges, lemons, and limes, as well as garlic, cumin, salt, and black pepper.

  The pork had been sitting overnight in the marinade and now it was ready for the final preparation before cooking.

  “Mijo, what are you doing?” his mother asked from beside him. She watched with interest as he spread out the pork shoulder on a cutting board.

  He grinned as he picked up a handful of the paste he’d made just minutes earlier and slathered it on both sides of the meat. “Giving the lechon a twist.”

  His mother leaned closer and sniffed the bright green paste. “Smells like chimichurri.”

  “It’s my own variation. I make it with a little Fresno chile and lemon instead of the vinegar,” he explained as he tucked the pork shoulder into a tight roll and then carefully placed it on a piece of pork belly that still had its skin.

  “Mijo, sabes that your papi doesn’t like anything spicy,” his mother warned with a tsk and shake of her head.

  Tony nodded, but continued with his preparation of the porchetta. “I know, mami, but it’s not really spicy heat, just some warmth. I’m betting you guys will love it later for dinner. And if you do, we’ll make it for the quince.”

  His mother pulled back a bit to look at him. “You won’t be home for dinner?”

  He grinned while wrapping the pork belly around the marinated pork shoulder. “I have a date with Sara.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, Mijo?” his mother asked after a long pause, one brow arching up in challenge.

  Surprised, Tony said, “I thought you’d be happy. Our families have been friends forever.”

  A dip of her head and an uneasy shrug warned that she wasn’t so much unhappy as conflicted. “We love Sara, but it’s sudden. And Sara is such a joy and so good to her parents and siblings.”

  “Not like me and Javi,” he said, well aware that the absence of the Sanchez boys pained his family and friends.

  His mother tsked again and laid a hand on his arm as he made a careful checkerboard of slices through the pork skin. After, he worked to tie the strings around the pork belly and shoulder roll he’d just created. “No, Mijo. You and Javi take good care of us and we understand that your jobs are important to you. But I do wish we could see you more.”

  After being in Miami for a week, even with all the quinceañera craziness, he wished he’d come home more often also.

  “I won’t stay away as long next time,” he promised as he salted and peppered the outside of the roll and then placed it on a rack sitting in a roasting pan.

  “Why did you cut slits in the pork belly skin?” his mother asked as he slipped the roll into the oven, prewarmed to a high heat.

  He smiled, loving his mother’s zeal for information. When they were kids, she had always brought home games and books to challenge them to learn but had learned rig
ht along with them. “It helps the skin crisp up and the fat melt to baste the meat inside.”

  She nodded. “I’ll have to do that with the roast pork for Noche Buena. Do you think we’ll see you this Christmas for a change?”

  The holiday season in New York was one of the busiest for his restaurant and he preferred giving free time to employees with families rather than taking time off himself. But he had a family, too, and if he was in New York—and for a moment it again surprised him that it was an “if” and not a “when”—he’d man-age to find the time to come home, even if he had to hire extra help for the holidays.

  “I’ll be home, mami,” he said, and his mother wrapped her arms around him and hugged him hard.

  She barely came to below his chin and he realized with surprise that she’d shrunk a little. She was slight in his arms and the sudden sense of her fragility gave him more reason to keep to the promise he’d made and be home for Christmas. Maybe he could even convince his brother to take some time off from his bigshot tech CEO position on the West Coast and join them for the holidays in Miami.

  As they broke apart, his mother surreptitiously wiped away a tear, peered at the oven settings, and let out a sharp cry. “Five hundred? That’s high isn’t it?”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it reassuringly. “Only for forty minutes, then we’ll turn it down to three hundred until it’s done. The internal temperature should get to about 145 degrees on that instant thermometer I gave you. Then you’ll have to let it sit for about fifteen minutes –”

  His mother’s laughter stopped him. “Once your father sees this, he won’t wait fifteen minutes, Mijo. He’ll be in here picking off all that tasty skin.”

  Tony grabbed a wooden spoon and mimicked a whack. “Just keep him away with this.”

  His mother snatched the spoon away and kidded that she’d whack him. “Go get ready for your date. And be good to Sara.”

  “I will, mami. Besides, we’re just friends right now,” he said, hoping to allay any fears his mother might have about his relationship with Sara. He didn’t mention that if he had his way, they’d be more than friends. He snatched the spoon from her to toss it in the sink before she could use it on him—the way she surely would if she saw through his lie.