Island Affair (Keys to Love #1)(65)

“Aww, and you trust me with it? I’m touched.” She swatted the hat at him, secretly feeling like a high schooler, beguiled by the hunky team captain inviting her to wear his letter jacket.

“It’s a classic, so don’t lose it,” he warned, playfully. “Here, let me adjust it.”

He took the cap, deftly tightened the headband, then looped it over her head. His fingers carefully tugged her ponytail through the opening at the back.

“How’s that feel?”

Perfect.

“Good,” she answered.

“Now I won’t worry about your beautiful face getting fried. I doubt your followers would be happy about that.”

“I could always write a post about the importance of sunscreen, pairing it with an approved product sponsor.”

“Always thinking, aren’t you?” He tapped the tip of her nose and winked, making her swoon like a smitten teen again.

Soon they were pedaling down Eaton Street headed toward the main drag where they came to a stop at the red light.

“There’s too much traffic to bike down Duval,” Luis told her, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black Ray-Bans. “Let’s make a left on Whitehead and bike toward the Southernmost Point. Less bobbing and weaving around tourists rubbernecking the sights and not paying attention to where they’re going.”

“Hey, I resemble that tourist remark,” she complained.

He shot her a grin that softened the hard planes of his face with an appealing boyish charm.

A blue sedan crossed in front of them, heading down Duval. The driver honked the car’s horn, and the older couple inside waved at Luis as they passed. His smile faltered, but he returned the greeting.

“Everything okay?” she asked, watching the sedan make its slow crawl down the busy street. It stopped for a group of teens jaywalking, cell phones high in the air recording their antics.

“Uh, sure. That was Se?or and Se?ora Lopez. Friends of my parents.” The light changed, and Luis pushed off with his foot. “Let’s go.”

As they pedaled, he pointed out buildings and interesting sights along the way. Filling in personal stories of him and his siblings and cousins growing up.

She enjoyed hearing about him as a kid. Always the voice of reason in the group, or so his stories told.

On Whitehead, they stopped for Sara to take the requisite tourist photo at Mile Marker 0, the end of US 1. Or, as Luis referred to it, the Overseas Highway.

She snapped a selfie, tapping her cell screen to focus on the green and white mile marker and black and white highway signs, blurring her own image.

“Have you ever thought about starting here and driving all the way up US One until it reaches Maine?” she asked.

Her mind jumped to the travel blogs she could write featuring the different people and interesting local sights. The sponsors who might be interested in the advertising. “Imagine the various changes in landscape and scenery, especially if you made the trip during fall foliage up north.”

“Fall might be nice. Definitely not winter,” Luis answered once they’d hopped back on their bikes. “I’ve never even seen snow, much less driven in it.”

“Really?” Sara swerved around a pair of chickens pecking at the ground near a cracked street curb.

She’d already snapped a picture of a few of the stray chickens known to wander the island when she and Luis stopped to admire the huge kapok tree in front of the courthouse. He’d taken a photograph of her dwarfed by the towering tree with its unique trunk. Farther down the road, she’d marveled at an expansive banyan tree, its aboveground roots like thick gnarled fingers stretching up toward its branches.

“Not much chance of seeing snow when you live here,” Luis said.

“Winter in the city can get pretty bleak,” she admitted. “The snow’s beautiful when it first falls, but with the dirt and grime, eventually the pristine white fluff turns to black mush. Which I af-fectionally call snirt.”

He snorted a laugh and kept pedaling alongside her, his thigh muscles flexing. “Cute, but you’re not really selling city living to me. I’ll take the open water view of a blue horizon and the moped pace of island life any day.”

“Have you ever thought about living anywhere else?”

They reached another intersection and Sara pulled her blue beach cruiser to a stop next to Luis’s. One of the local Conch Tour Trolleys, seats packed with tourists, made the left turn onto Whitehead Street. A teen with her phone pointed out her window waved to them. Sara returned it with a friendly smile.

“No, not really.” He drove a hand through his closely cropped hair. Mouth curved down, he seemed to give her question some consideration.

Not for the first time since he’d changed into a black tank with a pair of gray board shorts and sneakers, Sara found herself admiring the natural ripple of his shoulder, upper back, and arm muscles whenever he moved.

“What about you? Are you a New Yorker for good now?” The light changed and Luis pushed into the intersection, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted once she’d caught up to him. “The city vibe is energizing. Though admittedly, it can be tiring at times. If this deal works out with the investors and boutique in Miami, I may relocate.”

Luis gave her a double take, his bike swerving dangerously close to the curb before he corrected it. “For good?”