Latinx in Publishing is pleased to exclusively reveal a chapter from Island Affair by Priscilla Oliveras, a perfect romantic Caribbean escape.
Sought-after social media influencer Sara Vance, in recovery from an eating disorder, is coming into her own, with a potential career expansion on the horizon. Despite the good news, her successful siblings (and their perfect spouses) have a way of making her feel like the odd one out. So, when her unreliable boyfriend is a no-show for a Florida family vacation, Sara recruits Luis Navarro—a firefighter paramedic and dive captain willing to play the part of her smitten fiancé . . .
Luis’s big Cuban familia has been in Key West for generations, and his quiet strength feeds off the island’s laidback style. Though guarded after a deep betrayal, he’ll always help someone in need—especially a spunky beauty with a surprising knowledge of Spanish curse words. Soon, he and Sara have memorized their “how we met” story and are immersed in family dinners, bike tours, private snorkeling trips . . . sharing secrets, and slow, melting kisses. But when it’s time for Sara to return home, will their fake relationship fade like the stunning sunset . . . or blossom into something beautiful?
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 an- other 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 al- ways talking shit. Especially if it made him look better than some- one 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 fire- fighter 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 re- tracing 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, de- spite 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 en- trance 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. Fuel- ing 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 al- ready 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.
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 every- one 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 tar- mac, 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.”
His brother’s plea slammed into Luis like a battering ram to the chest. It caught him by surprise, but not enough to shake his re- solve.
“That’s because I don’t need saving.”
He simply needed to keep his mind busy, distracted. That’s what kept unwanted memories and thoughts at bay.
Carlos let out an exasperated huff as he rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a week off, use it to figure out how you can get out of your rut.
Hell, surprise us all by shaking things up a little. It’ll do you good, my saintly brother.”
Hands on his hips, Luis squinted up at Carlos, shocked by his unexpected, unsolicited advice.
Rut? What the hell?
“I have no idea where this unnecessary pep talk is coming from.
Like I said, I’m fi—”
“Fine. Yeah, I heard you,” Carlos interrupted. “I’ve been hear- ing you for years now. I’m just . . .”
Raising an arm to wave off his brother, Luis hurried down the last few stairs. “Okay, okay! I’m off to ‘shake things up.’ I’ll catch you later. Don’t pull a muscle climbing into your truck to inspect those runways. I know how demanding that can be on your old- man body!”
“Bite me!” Carlos yelled back, his typical laughter back in his voice. Seconds later, Luis heard the station door slam shut.
Chuckling at his brother’s goodbye, he pulled his Ray-Bans from his T-shirt collar and slipped them on. He crossed the shaded area underneath the fire station to his dark blue Ford F-150 King Ranch pickup, parked in a spot next to the south end of the airport near the baggage claim area.
Shake things up. Get out of your rut.
Carlos’s words taunted Luis with their infantile “I dare you” undertone. He blew out an irritated breath, then pushed the conversation aside when his attention was drawn to a group of rowdy college-aged kids piling into a taxi van nearby. Voices raised, they excitedly discussed barhopping plans while snapping selfies with their cell phones. Behind them, two middle-aged couples dressed in shorts and matching tropical button-ups awaited the next avail- able taxi.
Luis fished his keys out of his front jeans pocket and watched passengers streaming out of the building. Some wearily dragging rolling suitcases. Most clutching cameras, island maps, sun hats, or some type of beach paraphernalia, their expressions bright with expectation.
So many people scrimped and saved for ages dreaming of visit- ing his hometown. They traveled for miles, vacationed for days, brought money to local businesses, then left. Poor souls.
He remained among the lucky ones who called Key West home.
Always had. Always would. A Conch through and through.
The highs and lows of his life had taken place here, or some- where within the stretch of Keys linked by the Overseas Highway. One of those lows, and the difficult aftermath it caused, had nearly pushed him to leave. Take a better-paying job at a firehouse on the mainland.
But no. His familia was here, had been for three generations. Even Enrique, the younger brother he now kept at a slight distance but would never shut out. Familia was familia. Good, bad, or indifferent. Their parents had tried to instill that loyalty in them. Unlike Enrique, if there was one thing Luis took seriously, it was his responsibilities.
Luis reached his truck at the same time a beat-up beach cruiser sedan pulled out of the passenger pickup lane. Its engine revved, then backfired. The shotgun sound startled Luis, along with several passengers who ducked for cover. His keys slid from his fingers, clanking onto the asphalt near the rear driver’s side tire.
He bent down to pick them up, more of his brother’s words echoing in his head. It’s time you took a step back from helping everyone else.
Screw that. Helping was in Luis’s DNA. It’s what led him to graduate high school having already earned his EMT certification so he could immediately enroll in fire college in Ocala. Then straight onto a shift with the city.
No, what he needed was to find a way to kill the next seven days. If not, he’d go out of his mind, reliving the accident his truck had responded to several weeks ago. Consumed by the painful memories of another grim car crash the recent one had unearthed.
“What do you mean you’re not coming? You promised!”
A woman’s harried voice grew louder, her footsteps crunching in the gravel edging the airport sidewalk and the fire station park- ing lot. Crouched down behind his King Ranch pickup, Luis spot- ted a dainty pair of gold sandals and orange-painted toenails standing in front of his vehicle.
“Ric, you were supposed to be arriving thirty minutes from now.” Several beats passed, punctuated by one sandaled foot tap- tap-tapping on the gravel. “Unbelievable. You can’t possibly leave
me stranded like this. My parents are expecting both of us, and you know things have been tough for my mother. I just don’t see how you could . . . uh-uh, this has been on our calendars for . . . you gave your word, that’s why I’m upset. How could you do this?”
The mounting agitation punctuating the end of the woman’s question snagged Luis’s attention, even if her apparent distress al- ready hadn’t. He moved to stand, let her know the privacy she’d probably sought by stepping away from the other passengers hadn’t been achieved. His left knee creaked in protest, and he put a hand on his bumper for support.
Blond head ducked down, cell phone pressed to one ear and a finger plugging the other, the woman faced the building, her back to Luis. A pale peach tube dress draped her slim figure. Cinched at her waist, the material skimmed her slender hips, falling to play peekaboo with a set of shapely calves.
“I was counting on you this week. I’ve already admitted how uneasy it can be for me spending time with my family. They’re expecting . . . I’m not prepared to do this without . . . because you promised, that’s why.”
Whatever she heard on the other end of the line apparently didn’t make her happy. She shook her head vigorously, blond waves sway- ing along the top of her pale shoulders. Hopefully she’d packed plenty of sunscreen. If not, her fair skin would burn under the in- tense Key West sun.
Luis edged closer to the front of his truck, intent on getting her attention, stop her from inadvertently revealing more personal in- formation. Maybe offer her some assistance or local information if needed.
“Save the excuses. They don’t matter. This trip is supposed to help boost my mom’s morale after her chemo. Not cause more stress. You can’t . . . No, I just should have known better than to count on you,” she told whoever it was who seemed to have stood her up. “Whatever, Ric! We’re done! ¡Vete pa’l carajo!”
She jabbed her thumb at the tiny screen to disconnect the call,
frustration dripping from her throaty groan.
Surprised by the blunt “go to hell” spoken in flawless Spanish, Luis was caught off guard when the woman spun on her heel to face him.
“Oh!” she gasped, eyes wide as she stumbled back a couple steps.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He held up his hands, palms facing her to signal he meant no harm. “I was getting in my vehicle but couldn’t help noticing your distress. You okay?”
Hands pressed to her chest, the woman bit her full lower lip and nodded. The worry pinching her brow and darkening her deep ocean-water-colored eyes told him differently. Her gaze dropped to the KWFD emblem on his gray T-shirt before coming back up to meet his. Straightening her shoulders, she dragged her rolling bag in between them, like the silver hard-sided suitcase was a buffer offering protection.
Not that she needed protection from him.
“My name’s Luis. Luis Navarro. I’m with the Key West Fire Department.” He held out his right hand to shake at the same time he jerked his left thumb over his shoulder at the elevated building be- hind him. “I was just visiting my brother, a firefighter with the county, here at the airport.”
The woman leaned to the side and rose up on her toes. Chin jut- ting up in the air, she craned her slender neck to look over his shoulder in the direction he pointed. Her oversized reddish-brown leather tote slid down her arm until its strap snagged in the crook of her elbow.
“Fire department, huh?” she murmured.
“Yeah, with the city. Finished my shift this morning; now I’m off for a few days.” Whether he wanted to be or not.
She lowered back onto her heels, eyeing him with guarded interest. One corner of her mouth hitched in a cute little half frown as she seemed to weigh her options.
Finally, she clasped his hand with her own. Strong, slender fingers wrapped around his in a firm shake. Her smooth palm nestled against his, cool and soft, and Luis found himself loath to let go.
“Hello, Luis Navarro, local firefighter. I’m Sara Vance, tourist.” “Nice to meet you, Sara Vance, tourist.”
His teasing response earned him a husky chuckle paired with a full-blown grin that rounded Sara’s cheeks and sucker-punched him in the gut. She slid her hand from his to heft her big purse back onto her shoulder.
“Wow, talk about impressive service. I haven’t even called nine- one-one and a rescue squad has arrived. Not that I need saving or anything. Because I don’t.” Her confidence nearly convinced him, but he caught the flash of worry washing over her face before it whisked away like a tiny wave on the beach’s shore.
“You sure about that?” he asked.
“Um, yeah. I just need to, uh . . .” The humid breeze blew her blond tresses against her cheek, and she tucked them behind her ear with a crooked finger. “Reevaluate a few things, I guess. Yeah, that’s all.”
Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
Luis cocked his head, thinking about the conversation she’d just had with some guy who, by all indications, seemed like an absolute loser if he was dumb enough to leave her high and dry in the Keys. Sara glanced down at the phone clutched in her left fist. Her short, manicured nails, painted the same orange as her toes, were a stark contrast to the shiny black case. The name “Ric” flashed across the screen, signaling an incoming call. Lips pinched with anger, she pressed the side button to ignore the call, then dropped
her cell in her shoulder bag.
Fascinated by her resolve to jettison this Ric guy when doing so seemed to put her in some kind of pickle, Luis waited for her next move.
Chin tucked into her chest, she rubbed at her forehead, as if the reevaluating she mentioned caused her pain.
When several moments ticked by without a word from her, he stepped backward toward his truck, his helping-hand instinct telling him to do the opposite. “Well then, if you’re all good, I’ll head out.”
He turned away, craning his neck to catch one last glimpse of her slender figure over his shoulder. She gazed down at the gravel scattered at their feet, her brow puckered, her bottom lip caught between her teeth once again. Far too often he’d seen a similar look of devastation on a person’s face when he responded to a call. Loss, uncertainty. Their mind scrambling to make sense of the situation.
“Good luck and welcome to the island,” he called to her.
The soft click of his automatic door lock made her flinch. Her chin shot up.
“Wait!” Indecision and desperation swam in the depths of Sara’s blue-green eyes. “I’m not. Not good, I mean. Actually, I’m more like . . .” Her voice drifted off as she jabbed her fingers through her hair in obvious frustration. “More like in a mess, actually.”
She winced as if the admission hurt.
Intrigued, Luis lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head, meet- ing her gaze.
Sara swallowed, took another deep breath, then squared her shoulders, like a rookie set to answer her first alarm. “Everything’s a wreck, and I’m about to disappoint my parents. Again. If your offer is serious, I could really use your help.”
And just like that, Luis knew his first day of forced time off was definitely about to get interesting and maybe help him “shake things up.”
Used with permission from Zebra Books, an imprint of Kensington Publishers. Copyright (c) Priscilla Oliveras, 2020.
Priscilla Oliveras is a USA Today bestselling author and 2018 RWA® RITA® double finalist who writes contemporary romance with a Latinx flavor. Proud of her Puerto Rican-Mexican heritage, she strives to bring authenticity to her novels by sharing her Latinx culture with readers. She and her work have earned praise from the Washington Post, New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist, amongst others. Priscilla earned her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University and currently serves as adjunct faculty in the program and teaches the online class “Romance Writing” for ed2go. While she’s a devotee of the romance genre, Priscilla is also a sports fan, beach lover, and Zumba aficionado, who often practices the art of napping in her backyard hammock.
To follow along on her fun-filled and hectic life, visit her on the web at https://prisoliveras.com/books/, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/prisoliveras, or on Twitter and Instagram via @prisoliveras.
