Island Affair
“Rich with emotion and breathtaking prose, Island Affair delivers a captivating love story that demonstrates the power of forgiveness and strong family bonds.”—Farrah Rochon, USA Today bestselling author
“Island Affair is a perfect, romantic Caribbean escape. Much like a warm ocean breeze, Priscilla Oliveras’s beautiful take on the beloved fake fiancé trope sweeps readers into a heartfelt story about two people who fall in love while helping each other overcome substantial personal obstacles. Don’t miss this lovely beginning to Priscilla Oliveras’s new series. Can’t wait to take my next trip!”—Jamie Beck, USA Today bestselling author
“Priscilla Oliveras writes about families and love with warmth and charm. If you love nuanced characters and big emotions, read Island Affair.”—HelenKay Dimon, author of The Secret She Keeps
Praise for Priscilla Oliveras’s Matched to Perfection series
“Moving familial relationships and splashes of Puerto Rican culture round out this splendid contemporary.”—Publishers Weekly, STARRED REVIEW
“Oliveras takes all the right steps in this sweet romance . . . Packed with emotion, humor, and memorable characters.” —Booklist, STARRED REVIEW
“Well written and full of fun, welcoming characters. Readers will laugh and cry and be uplifted.” —RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars
Books by Priscilla Oliveras
His Perfect Partner
Her Perfect Affair
Their Perfect Melody
and
“Holiday Home Run” in A Season to Celebrate
Island Affair
Priscilla Oliveras
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgments
Teaser chapter
HIS PERFECT PARTNER
A SEASON TO CELEBRATE
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Priscilla Oliveras
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-5017-9
ISBN-10: 1-4201-5017-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5018-6 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4201-5018-9 (ebook)
Dedicated to mi familia, those by blood and by choice, whose boundless support fuels my desire to create similar love-filled, beautifully diverse story worlds for readers.
Chapter 1
“Who the hell complains when their captain gives them time off? Oh, wait, you!”
“Forced time off,” Luis Navarro grumbled. Not that his older brother gave a rip about the clarification.
Sure enough, Carlos responded with a caveman grunt as he shoveled more of their mami’s black beans and rice into his big mouth. Luis glared at his brother from his side of the black leather sofa squared off in front of the big-screen TV in the lounge area at the Key West airport fire station.
The only reason Luis had volunteered to bring his brother’s lunch while Carlos pulled his shift with the county fire station was because Luis had expected the bonehead to commiserate with him. Not side with the damn Captain, who’d dropped his bomb earlier this morning. Right after Luis had finished his shift downtown with the city fire department.
¡Coño! Didn’t anybody see that time away from the job and the distraction it offered was the last thing Luis needed right now? Damn wasn’t nearly a strong enough word for his frustration.
“I should be so lucky that my boss made someone switch their Kelly day this month to give me a full week away from here,” Carlos protested around a mouthful of food.
“Will you pipe down? I don’t want people finding out about this.” Luis shot a pointed look through the open archway, past the high-top table in the eating area, and into the kitchen where another firefighter stood in front of the microwave heating up his own lunch. The guy normally worked at Station 17 up the Keys, so Luis didn’t know him well. No need for him to overhear Carlos and Luis’s conversation and spread the news from the city up through the county fire stations.
As the microwave hummed, the spicy scent of refried beans, onions, and bell pepper from a frozen burrito heating up filled the air. Luis scowled at his brother. The fact that Carlos, the ingrate, would have been stuck eating the same processed, frozen concoction if Luis hadn’t agreed to deliver their mamá’s freshly cooked meal upped the not-cool level of Carlos’s lack of empathy.
“What’s your problem?” Carlos complained.
Luis jutted his chin toward the dining-kitchen area where the sub had moved to the high-top table with his lunch. “I don’t want you fanning the trash-talk flames through the houses farther up the Overseas Highway.”
Carlos grunted again, though he reined in his caveman behavior by wiping his mouth with a paper towel instead of the back of his hand. “You think no one’s yammering about this already?”
Luis frowned.
“Right,” Carlos scoffed. “I guarantee you Soto’s been blabbing about what went down. You know him. Soto likes to kiss ass, trying to weasel his way into a Driver Engineer spot. Hell, I’d be surprised if he’s not telling people he and the Captain came up with the idea to swap your Kelly days. Ese tipo siempre está hablando mierda.”
Luis huffed a pissed-off breath. Carlos was right. Soto was always talking shit. Especially if it made him look better than someone else.
No doubt the little prick was spinning some tale about him being such a team player that he actually offered to switch his extra day off this month. ‘Cuz he cared about helping his fellow firefighter decompress, “get his head on straight,” as the Captain referred to it, after the accident Luis had worked several weeks ago. An accident that was far too similar to and equally as senseless as the one that had altered Luis’s life six years ago.
The idea of Soto using Luis’s situation to paint himself in a good-guy color when the prick was anything but a team player at the station grated on Luis’s already-stressed nerves.
His ire rising, Luis plopped back against the sofa cushion. He plunked his scruffy workbooks on the scarred wooden coffee table beside his brother’s, tugging on his jeans leg to adjust himself. This damn situation kept getting rosier and rosier.
Thankfully it was a quiet day at Key West�
�s small airport. A United flight had landed about fifteen minutes ago without incident. Another firefighter had ridden out to notch one of the five daily runway inspections, while another sat in the Watch Room listening to the control tower over the radio and keeping an eye on the runway. Carlos and the new guy rounded out the team of four manning this shift.
So far, Luis’s visit hadn’t panned out like he had anticipated. On top of Carlos brushing off the Captain’s edict, the ungrateful jerk had barely mumbled his thanks when Luis showed up to deliver the glass container from their mom. Even though it meant Luis retracing his route this morning to make the ten-mile drive back down to Key West from Big Coppitt.
After his shift, he’d swung by his parents’ house for the obligatory bi-weekly visual check-in, which under no uncertain circumstance could be lumped in with their weekly familia dinner. Luis had planned to make his morning visit short but sweet. Long enough to appease Mami’s need to keep visual tabs on her kids, despite the fact that all four of them were adults.
Ever the dutiful son, he’d reached Big Coppitt Key and passed the turn to his house on Emerald Drive, where solitude and his boat, Fired Up, awaited in the canal out back. Instead, he made the next left onto Diamond Drive, heading to his childhood home. Praying he’d be in and out before news of his forced time off reached his parents.
The last place Luis wanted to be was sitting in his mami’s kitchen, her henpecking him for details about what was new in his life. Not that he ever had anything special to report or that he’d want to keep secret. Except for today.
His mami possessed a something’s-wrong radar the likes of which the US government would kill to possess. If—more like when—she got wind that his captain had felt compelled to sideline him, her worry gene would kick into overdrive.
Even now, safe from her watchful eyes, Luis cringed at the thought. Few things were more intense than a Cuban mami hovering over her offspring, hell-bent on making things better for them. Whether they wanted her help or not. Case in point, the multiple ways she consistently worked in a plea for him to make true peace with his little brother, Enrique.
No matter how many candles his mami lit after mass at St. Mary’s, praying for her middle and youngest sons to reach an understanding. That wasn’t going to happen. There were some things a man couldn’t get past. Not Luis anyway.
This morning, despite the ants-in-his pants sensation that had him as jittery as a rookie on his first call, Luis had tried to play things off, reassuring her with a casual, “Estoy bien,” when she asked how he was doing.
One look at her arched brow, right fist planted on her plump hip, and he knew she wasn’t buying his “I’m fine” routine. He’d realized right then and there, he needed to get out of her kitchen, outside her radar range, ASAP. Or he risked her interrogation.
Hell, he was too ramped up to discuss the reasons and potential ramifications of the Captain’s decision.
Too frustrated.
Too...
The word scared filtered through Luis’s head like the devil had perched on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. Luis shook the evil antagonist off, ignoring the obnoxious voice and turning his ire on his brother.
“Coño, ’mano, the only reason I volunteered to bring your sorry-butt lunch was ‘cuz I thought you’d side with me. Not Turner. You can’t possibly think the Captain’s right!” Luis glared at Carlos, who stabbed a piece of amarillo with his fork, then shoved the sweet plantain in his mouth. “Would you quit stuffing your pie hole for a minute and help me figure out how to change Turner’s mind?”
“Maybe,” Carlos mumbled around his food. “I think—”
A Tone Out rang through the speakers, interrupting Carlos. The series of low- and high-pitched sounds signaling an emergency, distinct for each firehouse in the county and city, alerted those on duty in seconds which station should be on the move. Within a couple notes of the Tone Out, the firefighters were either continuing about their business, like Carlos and the others here, or racing for their vehicle.
The walkie-talkie hooked to Carlos’s belt squawked a message from Dispatch relaying information from a 911 call. The rescue unit from Stock Island, the key located immediately before the entrance to Key West, was needed at a residence where someone was experiencing chest pain. Knowing how the Battalion Commander over there ran his station, Luis figured the truck would also head out in support of the ambulance.
Dispatch quieted down, but an uncomfortable sense of dread lingered over Luis. As it had after every Tone Out that had sounded over the past few weeks. Especially when the call from Dispatch involved a car accident. Just like—
Tension seized his chest. The knot in his gut, the need to lash out at someone, something, had him jittery and on edge. He clenched his jaw, burying the unwanted responses. This would pass. It always did. It had to.
Running a hand down his face, Luis wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow. A check of his watch told him he should get out of the way here. Carlos and the other three men would need to start their daily medical and fire training as well as the extra duties required by the FAA since they were located at the airport. Luis wasn’t getting any sympathy over the unfairness of his current dilemma anyway.
“You know what? Forget I said anything,” he grumbled. “I don’t know why I thought you’d understand.”
Lifting his feet off the coffee table, Luis pushed up to a stand. The weight of frustration pressed down on him, squashing his anger, leaving him irritatingly tired. Tired of people telling him how to cope. Tired of hearing that he should seek professional help or he’d never move on.
He didn’t need to sit down with a grief counselor. Forget having another chat with the fire department’s chaplain. The best therapy for him involved pulling shifts at the station. Losing himself in the rhythm of the day-to-day required duties and responsibilities. Fueling his body with the occasional adrenaline rush.
Carlos should understand. The adrenaline was a big part of what drew them all to the job. That whoosh of pulse-jumping excitement when you pealed out of the station, ready to help someone in need.
“Oye, come on. Don’t leave all pissed off.” Carlos set the glass container on the table as he stood. “I’m just saying, maybe some time out on your boat will do the trick. A little sun, fresh ocean air, dropping a line in the water. Yeah, that’s it! Go catch some fresh fish for us.” Carlos’s lips spread in a silly grin, his straight teeth a white flash against his deeply tanned face.
Luis gave his brother the finger on his way through the eat-in kitchen, heading toward the front entrance. Carlos followed, their boot heels thumping on the linoleum floor.
The other firefighter waved at Luis but didn’t look away from the baseball game on the small TV mounted on the wall above the table.
“Take the Fired Up out past the reef on the Atlantic. Troll for some mahi and bring home dinner,” Carlos persisted.
“I hope you get indigestion from wolfing down Mami’s food so damn fast,” Luis said over his shoulder as he pushed open the main door. Hot, humid air blasted him in the face. Early May and already the intense summer sun beat down, threatening to bake tourists and locals alike.
“Bite your tongue,” Carlos complained.
“Bite me!”
His brother barked out a laugh and jabbed Luis on the shoulder with a sharp punch. “Ohh, that mouth of yours. What would Mami say if she knew her quiet, saintly son talked like that.”
“Whatever.” Luis dodged Carlos’s second jab and stepped onto the landing. His brother followed him outside, but while Luis continued to the top of the concrete stairs leading to the parking area below the fire station, Carlos stayed behind.
“Hey, I know this isn’t what you want!” he called out. “Pero . . .”
Halfway down the stairs, Luis paused. “But what?”
He turned to find Carlos still on the landing, one hand wedged between the frame and the door so it wouldn’t close all the way while allowing them a bit of privacy.
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They squinted at each other for a few heavy seconds. Luis watched his older brother weighing his words. Carlos’s jaw muscles worked as he chewed on whatever advice he contemplated offering. Advice Luis probably wouldn’t want to take. His brother’s easy grin from moments ago had been wiped away by the serious expression now blanketing his face. He stared back at Luis with the same pursed-lips scowl he used when his young sons misbehaved in a way that might cause harm.
“But maybe it’s time you took a step back from helping everyone else and . . . and thought about helping yourself.”
Across the tiny parking lot, on the other side of the chain-link security fence separating the public area from the runway and tarmac, the prop plane that shuttled tourists to the Dry Tortugas for snorkeling trips cranked its engine. The loud, sputtering noise mimicked the discord pounding through Luis’s chest.
“There’s no need to. I’m fine,” he assured his brother. A refrain Luis had been repeating for years now. Whatever good it did. “I wish everyone else would get that through their heads.”
To Luis’s surprise, Carlos muttered an oath and moved to the top step. The fire station door clicked shut behind him. “Look, I get that you’re pissed about the way the Captain handled things. But you’ve been simmering like Mami’s old pressure cooker off and on for a while. That call a few weeks ago made it worse. I’m not saying you gotta fix things with Enrique, but—”
“Don’t go there,” Luis warned, an angry edge in his voice.
Carlos held up a hand, stalling Luis’s argument. “I’m not. That’s between you two. I am saying, you were dealt a raw deal back then. Sure, we handle things our own way. The thing is, as much as you’d like to think so, you can’t save everyone. But shit, you’re not even trying to save yourself.”