light and he played along. At some point, she lifted the weight of her hair off the nape of her neck to better feel the breeze. When she leaned forward to reach for a napkin, the deep V-neck of her dress revealed more than she might have wanted—and he remembered everything.
The party.
Champagne.
The woman in the kitchen.
That evening, she’d worn her hair in a knot and was dressed plainly in a black shirt and pants. She’d managed to calm his ex down. And Viviana wasn’t a woman who was easily calmed. More importantly, she’d compared him to a shot of rum. He would’ve gone for whiskey.
No wonder he’d forgotten! That whole week had been emotionally charged. He’d made the decision to move to Miami only minutes after receiving the offer for a lateral move as a partner. He’d acted on his instincts. And when Viv tried to turn a summer thing into a more permanent one, those same instincts told him to nip that in the bud. Still, even during that windstorm, he’d noticed this woman bent over a table, tense over having to pour from a respectable bottle of champagne. The opening of her loose blouse had offered the same gorgeous view as now. How could he have walked away?
Sofia pointed to a pelican perched on a dock, its damp feathers coated in mud. “Poor little guy.”
“I have a question for you,” he said.
“Yes?”
“How do you like your rum? With Coke, ice or like I like it, neat?”
She went still. “You remember.”
“Every little thing.” He leaned back in his seat. “You never thanked me for helping out with the champagne.”
“I never asked for your help,” she said evenly.
“And women wonder why chivalry is dead.”
“You weren’t being chivalrous. You were showing off.”
“Okay,” he said. “You got me.”
“Just curious. How’s your friend?”
“She’s fine,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about her.”
She shook her head as if she’d lost all faith in mankind. “You never thanked me for defusing that bomb.”
He thanked her with a tip of an imaginary hat. “You have my undying gratitude.”
She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Just doing my job.”
Now he better understood her reticence. “You think I’m a jerk,” he said. “A woman cried and you bought the whole act.”
“Was it an act?” she asked.
“I think so,” he said. “Does that make me a jerk?”
“I don’t know what it makes you. I don’t know you that well.”
He leaned forward. “Let’s get to know each other, Sofia. Really well.”
She mimicked his move, resting her arms on the table and leaning in. “That’s not going to happen, Jon.”
“How significant is this ‘other’ of yours?” he asked.
If he’d taken a second to think, he might not have asked the question, not so bluntly anyway. But now that it was out there, he had to know.
“Well...” She scooped ceviche with a cracker.
“I’m listening.” He wiped his hands on his cloth napkin and gave her his full attention.
“We’re engaged.”
The blow left him winded—and inexplicably angry. “That’s pretty significant. Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“That option wasn’t on the jury questionnaire. It was a choice between Married, Single or Significant Other.”
“You could’ve penned it in,” he said.
She gave him a quizzical look. “For the benefit of the court?”
“You’re not wearing a ring,” he observed.
She dropped the cracker and drew her hands onto her lap. “I don’t wear it every day. It wouldn’t be practical. It’s really big.”
“Oh, is it?” he asked.
He’d hammered every syllable. Then he watched with some satisfaction—no, he watched with life-sustaining satisfaction as color drained from her cheeks. She raised her glass to her lips, took a couple of gulps of beer and once she’d regained her composure, she suggested they leave.
“I don’t think there’s time for seafood pasta. Maybe we should head back.”
“There’s always time for seafood pasta.”
Their waiter arrived with a fragrant bowl of linguine loaded with shrimp, clams, mussels and calamari. He had to be the luckiest man alive.
There was time for pasta followed by better coffee than they could hope to get at the courthouse snack bar. There was also time for a slow stroll back to his car and for more questions.
“Why don’t you tell me more about what you do?” he asked.
“If I thought you’d believe it, I’d say it’s all very glam and fun.”
“Then tell me how it really is.”
“Long hours. Demanding clients. Some days it’s a three-ring circus.”
“Why do you do it?”
He held open the car door for her. She stopped and gave him a thoughtful answer. “When everything comes together, it’s like magic. Then you blink and it’s over. You’ve got to pack up the circus.”
“But you know you’ve made magic.”
She smiled and ducked into the car.
Jon drove slowly, which was against his very nature, in an effort to stretch their time alone together. They made it back to the courthouse just in time. His plum spot in the parking lot was taken. He squeezed into a space between a boxy Scion and a sporty BMW.
“Look at that,” she said. “We’re parked next to each other.”
He turned to the Scion.
She poked his arm. “That’s what you think of me?”
The BMW then... It was a white convertible with a black cloth top. It suited her. And then it hit him how badly he’d wanted to impress her with his credentials, career and yes, his car. He had to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“I really am a show-off.”
