* *
He blinked and it was over. The minute they returned to the jury room, she was selected for a panel. He’d swear her eyes clouded with regret. “It was nice meeting you again, Jonathan-Gunther-defense-attorney-single-no-kids.”
It was great that she’d memorized his stats, but that goodbye sounded too final. “How can I get in touch with you?”
She shook her head, lifted that huge purse and left the room.
* * *
Jon exited the courthouse at three-thirty without having ever been selected for a panel. He’d spent the afternoon in the quiet room replying to emails, but mostly counting the minutes until he could camp out in the parking lot and ambush her. Now he skipped down the courthouse steps and stopped short when seeing from across the street that her car was gone, and his car looked lonely for a friend.
The note tucked under his windshield wiper didn’t catch his eye until he’d started the engine. He got out and grabbed it. Two words beautifully penned on the back of his business card in that unmistakable indigo ink: Thank you.
Sofia wasn’t clear when chatting had crossed into flirting, or even how he’d roped her in, but here she was, tied up in knots. The man was magnetic—clever, witty and fun. When the time had come to leave him, she couldn’t pull herself away. Then the case for which she’d been picked was dismissed. She had the choice of leaving early (forfeiting her fifteen bucks) or returning to the jury pool. Her brain opted to leave; the rest of her wanted to rush back into the auditorium to be with him. Although she’d managed to follow the other elated jurors out the door, she couldn’t resist leaving something behind. He must think her nuts, going on about her engagement one minute and leaving him a note the next.
She was nuts.
Driving in circles, finding her way out of the parking lot, she wondered what had gotten into her. The first time they’d met, she was able to dismiss him pretty fast. But things had been different then. She had really been engaged, and now she was only pretending to be. Not pretending, she reasoned. She and Franco had privately ended their engagement. They simply hadn’t gone public with that information yet.
Who was she kidding? Nothing about their situation was simple.
She drummed the steering wheel. What to do now? It was only two thirty. She had a meeting at five. Leila Amis, a Realtor and friend, had recruited her to throw an open house for a new listing in Miami Beach. Part of her business had always focused on providing local Realtors with the services they needed. With the influx of foreign investors, Miami’s luxury real-estate market was thriving. Sofia was being offered more and more work. She could head back to her office to start on a concept or...
Was Jonathan Gunther built like a boxer under that suit? Looked like it.
For the love of God, Sofia!
In need of a lifeline, she called Leila, who barely gave her a chance to say hi. “Hey! I know we agreed to meet at the house.” Her voice poured through the car speakers. “Any chance you can swing by the agency later to pick me up? My car is in the shop. It broke down on I-95 this morning. They towed it away. It was a mess.”
Sofia looked up and around to better situate herself. She was at the junction of I-95, and all she’d have to do was head south to Brickell. “Any chance we can do this now? I’ve got time to kill.”
“In that case,” Leila said, “I’m going to put you to work.”
* * *
Brickell was two things: a trendy neighborhood lined with luxury condo buildings and the center of Miami’s financial district, if one in fact existed. Joggers, dog walkers and professionals in business suits mingled on the sidewalks. The afternoon sunlight set the buildings’ mirrored surfaces on fire.
Leila and her boyfriend, Nick, ran a boutique real-estate agency from one of the newer buildings. Sofia pulled up and spotted Leila out front chatting with the doorman. In a former life, Leila used to be a pageant queen and it showed in the way she walked. Sofia watched as she approached and elegantly lowered herself into the passenger seat. She wore a fitted cream jumpsuit that flattered her deep brown complexion.
“First stop,” she said, “the downtown Hyatt. I have to meet with a client—five minutes, tops. Then we’ll head out to South Beach—can’t wait for you to see the listing. The photos I sent you don’t do it justice. Then maybe we could stop somewhere for drinks? Catch up a little.”
Sofia eased back into the slow-moving traffic. “Or we could shop for a new car. Don’t you think it’s time for an upgrade?”
Leila had been driving the same Mazda Miata for as long as Sofia had known her. She’d won it at a pageant, but her sentimental attachment to the thing bordered on ridiculous.
Leila quickly switched topics. “Took a day off?”
“Nope. Jury duty.”
Leila made a face. “How did that go?”
Sofia answered without thinking. “I had a good time.”
“At jury duty?”
Sofia scrambled to correct herself. “I had...a good book.”
Leila was quiet for a while, messaging clients. They arrived at the Hyatt and Sofia waited in the car, listening to the radio, for at least fifteen minutes. Leila wrapped up her meeting and they headed out to Miami Beach.
On the causeway, Sofia lowered the convertible top. The bay stretched out on either side of the strip. As the breeze tossed her hair, she felt a tinge of excitement. She was eager to visit this house. She’d thought the photos were spectacular and had instantly fallen for the house’s modern design and open layout. But Leila was right: there was nothing like touring a house to get a feel for it. Her father owned a construction company and all her life she’d toured homes at various stages of development. Even the most cookie-cutter of homes had a personality. Which reminded her of something. Nick and Leila had been renovating a house in Bayshore for the better part of a year. Some days it was all Leila could talk about.
“How’s progress on Barbie’s dream house?” Sofia asked, knowing she’d regret it.
“There’ve been some delays getting permits for the garage,” Leila replied. “It’s pissing Nick off. But did I tell you about the custom furniture?”
“Many times.”
Leila squealed. “I get a sneak peek of the living room furniture tomorrow.”
“Good luck sleeping tonight!” Sofia teased.
“I’ve got a question for you, smart-ass,” Leila said. “When’s the wedding? Forget car shopping. Why aren’t we out shopping for a gown right now?”
“Did my mom put you up to this?” Sofia asked.
“You put me up to this. What kind of maid of honor would I be if I didn’t ask?”
Sofia’s
