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“Is this your best sales pitch?” Jon asked.
“I’m looking out for your best interests.”
A tax attorney at his firm had referred him to Leila’s agency. Jon enjoyed working with her. She was patient, never pushy and committed to finding him something reasonable and affordable. They were becoming fast friends.
“What did I tell you about being so ethical?” he teased.
The wide front door was unremarkable except for the exotic grain of the wood. Jon took hold of the industrial hardware. “I like this.”
“I thought you would,” Leila said. “This house is made for a man like you.”
“Meaning?”
The question came from Sofia who had trailed behind, admiring the spare landscaping as if lifted from the Luxembourg Gardens. Jon loved her curiosity—where he was concerned.
“It’s not quite the bachelor pad you need,” Leila explained. “But it has the look, you know?”
Jon wasn’t looking for a pad, but a sanctuary. He worked long hours and needed someplace comfortable and calm to come home to. He had a good feeling about this house. The street noise was an issue, but the high-impact windows would block out most of it. He didn’t have a kid to worry about, and he knew to look both ways before crossing the street, whether or not he was chasing after a ball.
Leila let them in and went ahead, switching on lights and pulling back drapes. Jon waited for Sofia who was, it now seemed obvious, deliberately trailing behind.
“It’s been a couple of hours,” he said. “Missed me?”
“For the record,” she said, stepping up to him, “I didn’t know she was meeting you.”
“For the record, I know you’re not too upset about it.” He was over the moon about it. He’d thought she’d slipped away, and had considered asking his firm for the name of the event-planning business that had thrown his welcome party. Which reminded him of something. “Since when are you a real-estate event planner?”
“Since always!” she snapped.
“Come in, guys,” Leila said. “Feel free to look around, ask questions.”
Most Miami houses looked the same to Jon. A large main room generally opened to some kind of back patio. This one had clean uncluttered lines, and it was kind of sexy. The floors were the color of porcelain. A glass spiral staircase led to the second floor. What struck him was the wall of windows, two stories high, which framed the yard and pool. Midnight swim, anyone?
Sofia walked past him. “Does it come fully furnished?”
Jon gave the living room furniture a second look. The chocolate leather couch looked delicious. A glass coffee table caught the light of the starburst chandelier hanging above it.
“Look who’s suddenly interested in furniture!” Leila observed.
“Just curious,” Sofia said.
“The furniture is not included.” Leila explained the house was staged for effect.
Then she led them into the kitchen. The narrow space was made bright with pale wood cabinets and strategically placed recessed lighting. Leila pointed out the golden Italian marble counter. “This definitely comes with the house.”
“Gorgeous,” Jon said. He watched Sofia run a hand over the glossy countertop. The woman was gorgeous.
“You have a good eye,” Leila said. “Most men don’t.”
“Can’t take my eyes off it.”
Sofia glanced over her shoulder at him and quickly turned away. Her cheeks had that rich wine color he liked so much.
“This is where you’ll make breakfast for your women friends,” Sofia said innocently. “Since this is meant to be a bachelor pad and all.”
“I’ve got a Keurig,” he replied. “They’ll get coffee. Or tea.”
“Coffee or tea? Wow!” Sofia exclaimed. “You must sweep them off their feet.”
“I do all right.”
“Let’s check out the yard,” Leila said. “It’s killer.”
The kitchen opened to the yard with a framed glass door. It seemed to Jon the entire rear facade of the house was glass, a smoky glass that revealed nothing. The yard was modern day tropical. There were some grass and palm trees along the property wall, but mostly a slate-gray tile extended right up to the edge of a long rectangular pool. A “negative edge” pool, as Leila described it. Jon watched Sofia walk over to a canopy daybed and pull back the gauzy white cotton curtains. When drawn tight, he imagined they offered complete seclusion.
Sofia sank into the soft mattress. “Is this included?”
“None of it!” Leila snapped. “None of it is included.”
Sofia raised her hands. “Okay! Okay!”
Jon liked their chemistry, or lack thereof. They clearly had a bond that could take a blow or two.
“I’m thinking about a sunset affair,” Sofia said. “For the open house, I mean. Sangria at sunset.”
“Now you’re talking,” Leila said.
“Can I come?” Jon asked.
Leila’s phone rang. Before answering, she said, “Buy this house and you could invite us over for sangrias.”
Leila wandered off with the phone glued to her ear. Jon joined Sofia at the daybed. He wanted her opinion on the place. Did she like it? Did she swim? Would she come over for brunch? Would she stay the night?
He asked none of those questions, taken aback by her serious expression.
“Isn’t this too much house for you?” she asked.
“For me alone, maybe,” he said. “Don’t you like it?”
“I’m not the one you should ask that question.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot,” he said. “You’re off-the-market.”
She got up, crossed the yard to the pool. She stood at the water’s edge, looking down. He joined her there and said the one true thing he could think of.
“I missed you after you were gone.”
This time, in her haste to escape him, she nearly fell into the pool. Jon caught her just before she went plunging into the deep end. She clung to him, her hands gripping his shoulders. He could feel her heart.
“I got you,” he whispered.
She nodded, as though accepting this as fact.
Leila came skipping back. “That was Nick. He’s on his way over. How about we check out the bedrooms? The master suite is sexy.”
Chapter 5 (#ulink_ae7bb832-f048-5755-83a2-58a90afb0876)
Two in the morning and Sofia was smarting over the fact that Jon hadn’t remembered her right away. She got out of bed, went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. It had taken him half the day to figure out when and where they’d met. Meanwhile, it had taken her only a few seconds. Her life had changed so drastically since their first meeting, it would have been understandable if she’d forgotten all about him. And yet, she hadn’t.
Sofia went back to bed. She crawled onto the wobbly air mattress in her brother’s spare bedroom—the very symbol of how much her life had changed. After she’d caught her fiancé sexting with some faceless girl, then finding out that the faceless girl was only one in many, she’d had to move out of their condo in Aventura and in with her older brother, Miguel, who was still in a post-divorce funk.
Although months had passed, Sofia still had nausea when she thought about the night her life had fallen apart, which was often. She’d returned home after a late meeting with a client. The lights of their condo had been dimmed, bringing the sparkling water and city views into focus. The TV was on mute and a welcoming silence flowed through the rooms. She heard Franco moving around in the guest bathroom.
Exhausted, she’d stepped out of her heels, waddled over to the couch and curled up with her favorite throw pillow. The TV remote was on the far side of the coffee table next to Franco’s keys, wallet and phone. She’d stared at the remote, willing it to fly into her hands. When Franco’s phone started buzzing and chiming, her eyes had been too dry from her failed attempt at mind control to focus on the nude pic that had popped up in a chain of text messages, small as a postage stamp. Nonetheless, she’d seen it.
The bathroom door swung open. Franco came out, chuckling to himself and murmuring in that sexy way that used to make her hot. “Someone is impatient.” He came trotting into the living room, still dressed for work in a striped shirt and a pair of black trousers. She thought of a zillion things to say, but her jaw was clenched tight and the words jammed in her throat.
Franco froze when he spotted her.
The phone chimed again, this time with a text message consisting of several emojis, one of which was a peach. And say what you wanted about Franco, the former high school football star had impeccable reflexes. He leaped over an upholstered ottoman and snatched the phone off the table. Sofia, though, couldn’t move. She and Franco had been adrift for some time, and yet she had not seen this coming. She sat perfectly still while all the love she’d ever had for the man drained from her heart.
* * *
That night, Sofia had driven straight to Leila’s place. Nick had answered the door. “She’s at a yoga or meditation class or something.”
Sofia checked the time on her phone. It was eight thirty. “You know what? I’ll just go.”
She’d felt silly showing up like that. She should’ve stayed home and dealt with Franco like an adult. Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing since she’d staged her walkout. It rang then. She hit the ignore button and silenced the ringer.
Nick gave her a quick once-over. “She won’t be long. Come in. I’ll open a bottle.”
Nick was good, luring her in with the promise of treats. “No, I shouldn’t—” Her phone buzzed in her hand, provoking a jolt of anger. The next thing she knew she was screaming at the thing. “Stop calling me!”
Nick’s blue eyes flashed. If he was judging her, though, there was no trace of it. He stepped aside and ushered her in. “What are you drinking? White or red?”
“Tequila.”
“You got it.”
Nick called Leila while pouring from a bottle of Patrón. “Sofia is here...Ten minutes?...Don’t worry...I love you.”
Sofia sat on a kitchen bar stool. “You guys still say ‘I love you’ on quick calls?”
She’d known Nick long before he and Leila were a thing. Sofia had worked with him on various projects. But the moment Leila had joined his team, it was clear to everyone that they were head over heels in love. But everyone had expected the infatuation to die down, especially after Nick moved away to New York for a year. And yet, here they were, almost two years later, happier than ever before.
Nick placed a glass before her. “We still do a lot of things.”
She took a gulp. The tequila went down smooth, but still she choked on it.
“Slow it down,” he said. “What’s going on with you?”
“Franco and I...”
Nick raised a hand. He didn’t seem interested in the salacious details. “Just tell me it’s over.”
“It’s over.” Sofia took a breath. Saying it made it true.
“Good,” Nick said.
The two men knew each other. Nick used to stop by Franco’s car dealership to check out the inventory. Sofia had always suspected they didn’t like each other much. What Nick said next confirmed it. “Sofia, Franco is an idiot.”
“No. I’m the idiot.”
“Why blame yourself?” Nick asked.
“Who else is there to blame?” she cried. “We were in trouble for months, for years, and I still forced him to propose.”
“You can’t force a man to do anything,” Nick said. “Besides, Leila said you two were wrong for each other.”
“She said that?” Sofia sat up straight.
“Leila admires you,” Nick said quietly. “She had a feeling something wasn’t right, but trusted you knew what you were doing.”
“Is that what you two do, cuddle up in bed and gossip about me?”
Nick shook his head. “Not in bed, no.”
Sofia frowned. She and Franco never gossiped. Even if she came home with a hot story, he didn’t indulge her.
“Why did you want to marry him so badly?” Nick asked.
Sofia hid her face with her hands and groaned. “We’d been together for so long. Since high school! It was the next logical step.”
“Forget logic. It either feels good or it doesn’t.” Nick took her glass and poured the rest of her tequila down the kitchen sink. “So what are you going to do now?”
“No clue. And you wasted some perfectly good booze.”
“If you need a place to stay for a few days or weeks, you’re welcome to crash with us.”
“I’m heartbroken, not homeless. But thanks.”
Leila burst through the door. “Sofia! Why didn’t you text me, let me know you were stopping by? I would’ve skipped yoga.” She joined Nick behind the kitchen counter and planted a kiss on his shoulder.
Nick and Leila made a ridiculously attractive couple. The brown-skinned beauty and the blue-eyed Canadian had had their share of problems, but they’d come out on the other side.
“Are you up for dessert? I made rum cake.” Leila reached into the liquor cabinet and produced a brown bottle. “With this!”
She held up the bottle of Barbancourt, Haitian rum. Sofia and Leila had roots on either side of the island of Hispaniola. Sofia’s dad was from the Dominican Republic and while growing up Sofia had visited frequently. Leila, however, had never been to Haiti. She tried to connect with her culture through food—although, not very successfully.
