Unconditionally Mine. Nadine Gonzalez

tax evaders and embezzlers.”

      “Can you name some of your clients?”

      “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

      “What’s that?”

      “The one-sided conversation. I invented that trick.”

      “All I’ve done is ask a few questions,” she said defensively. “If you weren’t so careful, you wouldn’t mind.”

      “Careful? No one’s ever accused me of that.”

      “Not an accusation,” she said. “An observation. You’re careful with words.”

      “I’m good with words.”

      “You’re not at all modest,” she observed.

      “Not even a little,” he said. “I’ll note that we have a past that you’re trying to bury. So who’s being careful here?”

      She held him in her soft brown gaze. “But if you can’t remember our past, does it exist?”

      “And if a tree fell in the forest...?”

      The clerk returned to the microphone, this time to announce an extended lunch break. He invited her out to eat.

      “I’m going to pick up a salad at the medical campus across the street,” she said. “You’re welcome to come with.”

      They rode the elevator to the courthouse ground floor. Outside, the aroma rising from the hot-dog carts made him nostalgic for New York City. With a hand on her elbow, he steered her across the street toward the parking lot. His Porsche was parked in an open lot reserved for jurors. Its steel-blue glaze matched the hazy Florida sky.

      She yanked her arm free. “We can walk to the salad place. It’s not far.”

      “We’re not going to the salad place. I heard there are seafood restaurants along the river not far from here.”

      She came to a full stop in the middle of the street. “I’m not getting in your car.”

      She really didn’t trust him. He wondered what he’d done to her? And why couldn’t he remember? He was sharper than this.

      “I’ll bring you back in one piece,” he promised from the sidewalk. “How else will you collect your fifteen bucks?”

      She stood rooted in place, stubborn. A patrol car turned a corner and signaled a warning for her to move out of the way. This was her chance to escape; all she’d have to do was turn and run. They locked eyes, engaging in a mental arm-wrestling match. Another whirl of the police siren propelled her into motion. Picking up the pace, she made her way toward him. He watched in quiet fascination as the wind tossed her hair and her body moved under a fitted blue dress.

      “Let’s go to Garcia’s,” she said. “It’s the best.”

      * * *

      He let her take charge at the restaurant. She chose the table on the terrace overlooking the bloated river. She ordered on his behalf with the assumption that he, the guy with the questionable Spanish skills, would not know how to order Latin food. He watched her come alive in the fresh air, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, eyes glistening, gesticulating madly as she talked. Over ceviche and cerveza, she kept the conversation 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