Island Affair Page 15

  “I’m happy to spend this week with you,” he finally answered, speaking from the heart.

  As for what came after, Luis could only hope that, by then, Sara would have repaired the unraveled threads that bound her and her family. Doing so would make the guilt and their lies worth it.

  “I’m sure Sara has a perfectly good reason for being gone a little longer. If it makes you feel better, I’ll try reaching her when I take my bag upstairs,” Luis offered.

  “Thank you,” Ruth murmured, her faint smile tinged with sorrow. “Maybe my daughter will answer your call. She tends to avoid mine sometimes. Actually, often. Probably retribution for my neglect when she was younger.”

  Before Luis could come up with a suitable response, the front door swung open, chasing away the warbler with his song.

  “Mom, are you out here?” Robin stepped onto the verandah. She drew to a halt when she spotted him. “Oh, hi, Luis.”

  Her gaze zeroed in on Ruth’s hands, still clasped with his on her lap. The corners of Robin’s mouth curved downward, and she shot an annoyed glare out at the street.

  “Mother, you didn’t eat your oatmeal and fruit. You need something in your stomach with your vitamins and meds.”

  Ruth leaned toward Luis, her brows raised, lips tilted in a conspiratorial grin. “She talks to me like I’m her patient. Not the well-trained physician I am.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Ruth, but doctors are often the worst patients,” Luis mock-whispered to her.

  Sara’s mom tsked at his assertion, then chuckled when he tilted his head and shrugged as if to say, “You know it’s true.”

  “Exactly,” Robin asserted. “Come on, Mom, you have to eat something. Let Luis pick up the Sara worry stick for a while.”

  With a pointed look at him, Robin hovered at her mom’s side.

  Luis rose from his rocker. Ruth followed his example, like he’d hoped.

  “I’ll give Sara a call,” he said, as the three of them made their way into the house and the refreshing air conditioning.

  “Please let me know if you reach her,” Ruth asked.

  Luis nodded, then took the stairs to the second floor by twos. The door to Jonathan and Carolyn’s room had been left ajar, neither one in sight. Luis figured the couple was downstairs with the rest of the family.

  Trying not to worry about Sara, he pushed open the door to her room—technically their room now—and came to a halt.

  The subtle citrusy scent he’d come to associate with her lingered in the air, teasing him with each breath. The gold strappy sandals she’d worn yesterday rested side by side in front of the white-painted wardrobe on his right. A pale yellow sundress with skinny straps hung from one of the wardrobe’s wooden knobs. The short length was a sure sign he’d be treated to the sight of her shapely long legs once she slipped on the dress.

  Her silver rolling suitcase sat in the corner between the wardrobe and long shelf desk that ran the length of the far outside wall, bolstered by the two drawers on either end. The sun’s rays streamed through the skylight cut into the sloping ceiling, brightening the small space that would be home for the rest of the week.

  Uncharacteristic doubt raised its shrill voice. Luis shushed it, hoping like hell this hadn’t been a mistake.

  He crossed to the double drawers under the right side of the plank desk where he dropped his bag on the hardwood floor, then dug his phone out of his back pocket and dialed Sara’s cell. Immediately it went to voice mail. Either her phone was off or she’d run out of battery. Neither option would assuage Ruth’s worries. Or his, the more time passed without word from Sara.

  He wasn’t typically a worrier, but he was working with unknowns here, and he didn’t like it.

  His thumb tapped the darkened cell screen as he considered his next move. Unpack quickly, then go for a spin around the downtown area if Sara hadn’t arrived by the time he was done.

  It didn’t take long to add his shorts, tees, exercise clothes, and boxers to an empty drawer. He shook out the wrinkles from a red button-down shirt and hung it, along with one navy and one olive polo shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of khaki slacks, in the wardrobe. His plain, nondescript clothes lined up next to Sara’s brightly colored, frilly designer tops and dresses were a vivid reminder of their differences.

  That didn’t stop him from running his fingertips lightly over the gauzy coral material of a flowy top with multicolored ruffled sleeves.

  Vibrant. Delicate. Fun.

  Basically, Sara.

  He rubbed the material between his fingers. Pictured doing the same while she actually wore the flimsy blouse. Imagined her soft gasp as he traced her skin along the top’s scooped neckline. Caught the heat in her seawater eyes as she gazed up at him. Just like when he’d held her in his arms as they danced last night.

  The sound of Ruth’s and Robin’s raised voices carried up the stairs, jolting Luis out of the silly clothing fetish stupor he’d fallen into.

  Downstairs, the front door opened, then closed with a slam that reverberated through the walls.

  Time for him to get a move on it.

  Snagging his duffel bag off the low shelf desk, Luis strode into the adjoining bath to unpack his toiletries. His blue toothbrush and tube of Crest toothpaste were dropped into a white ceramic glass alongside Sara’s red one. A bottle of dandruff shampoo went in the shower. He was elbow deep in his bag, reaching for his razor and shaving cream, when the front door opened and slammed again. Raised voices made him pause. He strained to make out what was said, but as quickly as they’d risen, the voices lowered.

  Hurrying to finish, Luis pulled open the medicine cabinet door, moving aside random bottles of ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and heartburn relief to make room for his shaving items.

  “You too, Jonathan? How could you snoop like this!”

  Luis spun around at Sara’s impassioned cry.

  She stormed into the bathroom, her face a mutinous scowl. The instant she saw him, she drew to an abrupt halt. Her eyes widened with shock and surprise. “Oh! It’s you.”

  Dressed in a pair of black formfitting leggings and a neon yellow tank, a light sheen of perspiration shining on her chest and face, blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail with sweat-darkened curls clinging to her slender neck, she looked like a sexy post-workout magazine ad come to life.

  Her gaze darted from the open medicine cabinet to his empty duffel and back. Suspicion narrowed her eyes as her gaze met his. “What are you looking for?”

  “Just putting my stuff away,” he answered, purposefully keeping his tone casual. “You have a nice run?”

  Sara’s throat moved with her swallow. Fear, indecision, and distrust chased each other across her face. She took a hesitant step backward. “I, uh, I thought you were Jonathan. Sorry. Didn’t mean to barge in on you like this.”

  “What would your brother be snooping for?”

  “N-nothing.” She shook her head and backed up another step.

  Luis followed, unwilling to let her keep shutting him out.

  Her sneakers squeaked in protest against the hardwood floor as she spun away from him.

  “Sara, wait! Don’t keep pushing me away. We can’t work together if you do.”

  His softly spoken words must have reached her, because instead of walking out, she reached the open door and stopped. Her left hand squeezed and released the brass doorknob indecisively.

  “You can trust me,” he promised, praying she believed him.

  Several tension-filled seconds passed before she softly closed the door, then rested her forehead against it. Relief seeped through him like an afternoon rain shower washing away the sun’s heat. Her slender back rose and fell on a sigh so weighty he felt the heaviness himself.

  Silently Luis moved to sit on the foot of the bed.

  “I don’t want you to look at me differently,” Sara finally said, her back still to him. Her forehead still pressed against the door.

  “I won’t. I couldn’t.”
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  Her fists clenched at her side, she swiveled to face him. Resolve stamped her classic features. “I thought you were Jonathan, ransacking the bathroom looking for a hidden stash of laxatives.”

  Hidden stash of laxatives?

  What the hell? That didn’t make sense. Why would she be hiding—The question dissipated as quickly as it had formed as Luis sifted through moments of their time together.

  The weird food-sharing dance her family had done over dinner last night. Her mom’s fears about Sara extending her morning run. The use of words such as “recovery” and “obsessive behavior.” The belief that her brother might be combing through her belongings in search of laxatives or purgatives.

  Each clue clicked into place, the puzzle finally starting to make sense as the pieces aligned to show a clearer picture. Sara suffered from—

  “I have an ED. An eating disorder,” she clarified. Though Luis understood the acronym.

  Chin high, shoulders stiff and straight, she stared back at him. Almost daring him to prove himself wrong. Change the way he thought or felt about her based on whatever incorrect label her disorder might lead others to brand her with.

  Luis had studied the basics about EDs as a paramedic. His sister, Anamaría, a firefighter paramedic and a physical fitness trainer–nutritionist herself, knew a hell of a lot more about the disorder. What he did remember was that while recovery was a healthy stage for Sara to have reached, individuals suffering from an eating disorder benefitted when they had support and encouragement from their loved ones and those within their close inner circle. He also knew without a doubt that he wanted to belong in Sara’s inner circle.

  “Thank you,” he told her.

  “For what?” Her brow furrowed with confusion.

  “For trusting me. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

  Her slender shoulder hitched, an apathetic shrug from the woman he knew hurt more than she wanted to admit. Also one he believed was stronger than she recognized.

  He held his hand out to her.

  Sara dropped her hesitant gaze to his open palm. Her fists curled again, then slowly relaxed at her sides. An innate certainty told Luis that this was the moment. Right here. Right now. In this small upstairs bedroom with the Key West sun streaming through the skylight turning Sara’s high ponytail a burnished gold. They tiptoed on the edge of a precipice in their crazy, swift-moving, no-longer-only-made-up relationship.

  The need for her to take that leap, to truly trust him, roared in his ears. It squeezed his chest like a vice, tightening with each second that ticked by without her answering. He waited, patience personified on the outside, while on the inside his gut clenched with his need for her to let him all the way in.

  He didn’t stop to ask himself why this was so important. For now, he simply accepted that it was.

  Her gaze slowly traveled up his arm, rising to meet his, and Luis found himself drowning in the hope he saw churning in the sea green depths of her expressive eyes.

  She edged a baby step forward to place her cool hand in his. Her fingers trembled. The proof of her vulnerability humbled him, and Luis curled his fingers softly around hers. The corners of her mouth tipped up the tiniest bit, and in that instant he knew he was lost.

  “Come, sit with me for a sec, will you?” he asked, relieved when she nodded and joined him.

  Chapter 11

  Sara plopped onto the queen-sized bed next to Luis, hyperaware of her sweaty workout clothes and ripe post-run smell. Especially when the scent of his musky aftershave drifted over her like an aphrodisiac.

  She wanted nothing more than to skip the soul-baring conversation and, instead, bury her face in his neck and breathe in his deliciousness. Allow the warmth from his bronze skin to seep into her, melting the cold dread in her chest.

  Thanks to her therapists, she’d come a long way from the high school girl disillusioned and hurt by her lack of parental love and support. Or the college kid desperately trying to find her place in the world, convinced she’d never be good enough to follow in her parents’ and siblings’ footsteps. Lack of self-confidence coupled with the need to feel a sense of control over something, anything, had nudged, then pushed, then fueled her down a path that quickly spiraled into an uncontrollable addiction.

  “It’s not really a secret,” she started, her gaze trained on her gold sandals paired off in front of the wardrobe a couple feet away.

  Beside her, Luis remained silent, their hands lightly clasped.

  “I mean, I’ve talked about it in a few interviews. I just don’t, you know, advertise my struggles with OSFED.”

  “That’s your official diagnosis?” he asked, his tone low. Devoid of recrimination or, worse, pity.

  “Yeah. Other Specified Feeding or Eating Disorder. I’ve suffered from a mix of bulimia and binge eating, with a propensity for over-exercising. Although this morning had nothing to do with that,” she rushed on, anxious to assuage any concerns. “I stopped to talk with the owner of a small clothing boutique I came across during my cooldown walk. I didn’t even realize my phone had died.”

  He rolled his lips in and slowly nodded. “Makes sense now.”

  “What does?”

  “Your mom’s worry when I arrived, and you were still out.”

  He traced the knuckles of her hand, absently running a finger lightly up and down the back of hers. Tingles danced up her arm at his faint touch.

  “I suggested that you’d probably just extended your run around the island to enjoy the early morning peace and cooler weather,” he continued, slowly shaking his head. “She was not happy. I guess she figured I knew a long run might not be the best idea for you. She seemed a little annoyed that it didn’t bother me.”

  Sara winced. “Sorry. I should have been up-front with you from the beginning.”

  “No, don’t apologize.”

  Luis scooted around to face her. His left knee bent between them on the bed, partially covering a green and dark gray octopus floating among waving seaweed leaves on the underwater-themed bedspread. “You don’t have to do or say or be anything you don’t want. Not with me. Not with anyone.”

  She ducked her head, swiveling to crook a leg next to his. Her gaze locked on the curve of his calf muscle, the light dusting of dark hair on his shin, the contrast of his tan skin juxtaposed with her paleness. Their clasped hands rested on his knee, their fingers entwined.

  “It’s taken me a long time to understand that,” she admitted. “And I don’t always remember. Especially when it comes to my family. But thank you for saying so. For understanding.”

  “It’s the truth. And when, or if, you’re ready to talk to me about your OSFED, I’m here for you. No matter what, anything you need.”

  Tears burned her eyes at his easy understanding, and she blinked rapidly trying to dry the moisture before it spilled down her cheeks.

  Luis continued to surprise her in marvelous, unexpected ways she wasn’t certain she deserved considering the monumental favor she had asked of him. But she knew she owed him the truth. At the very least, the basic details her family would expect him to be familiar with. It was selfish of her to keep him floundering in the dark simply to avoid altering his perception of her.

  Swallowing her discomfort, Sara channeled her fledgling confidence, along with her pride in how far she’d come in her recovery process, and clung to the faith that she could trust Luis with what had once been her biggest secret.

  “It started in, um, in high school.” She paused. Cleared the discomfort from her throat. “After I overheard my mom’s conversation about college and lowering her expectations for me.”

  Luis’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something. When he didn’t, she rushed on with her story, anxious to finally have it out in the open.

  College life, the binge eating in her dorm room aided by her unlimited meal pass. The unhealthy “body cleanses” she regularly put herself through. The hours she’d spent running through campus and along Tempe Town Lake pushing her b
ody, convinced she could leave her fears and shame behind her. Hiding the truth from roommates, sorority sisters, her parents, and siblings. Even Mamá Alicia, until the wise woman who’d changed her diapers, soothed her scrapes and bruises, and scolded with an eagle-eyed stare eventually caught on to Sara’s ways.

  “She saved me from my worst self,” Sara admitted softly, feeling tired and exposed. Yet oddly relieved.

  “And in doing so, she also helped you get back on track to finding your best self.”

  Luis’s words brought a lightness washing over her, like the sun’s rays reaching through the skylight above them. Oh, how she ached with wanting him to still see her that way—her best self.

  “Yes, she did,” Sara agreed. “Though it took me a while to get there. To get here.” She traced a finger along the wavy edges of a seaweed leaf on the comforter, memories of those difficult, scary days assailing her. “I checked into a rehab facility the summer between my sophomore and junior years. Inpatient therapy was followed by cognitive behavioral therapy. Now I maintain regular outpatient visits with my therapist in New York. There’s been the occasional backward slide. But also leaps and bounds of forward progress. And I’m making it.”

  Outside, the clouds shifted and a sunbeam streamed through the skylight, cutting a swath across the bed. It reminded her that there was light at the end of that dark tunnel of self-doubt and recrimination. She had found it. Stumbled, trudged, crawled, and reached it. Yes, she would always have to take precautions. Stay mindful of healthy habits and dangers. But she was succeeding.

  Luis’s fingers curled around her nape, their slight pressure drawing her gaze to his. Certainty shone in his dark eyes. “When I look at you, the woman I see is strong, resilient, sometimes scared because we all are, but equally determined. Full of love for her family and passion for her career. Beautiful, inside and out.”

  A heated blush crept up Sara’s neck at his moving description of her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, relief and awe over his uncanny ability to know exactly what she needed to hear clogging her throat. With Luis she felt whole and worthy. Seen in a way no one else ever had before.