I arch an eyebrow. Is he flirting with me? Why would he want me when he has a city of beautiful women at his disposal? Why would he want me when he didn’t before?

“I’m sure you have plenty to desire in Miami.”

Rafa grimaces and runs a hand through his hair twice. His knee jiggles nonstop, making the tablecloth near my leg move ever so slightly. He’s nervous. Has been all day. I smile softly, thinking of how he lost his footing when he touched my arm while walking into the paper.

“What’s so funny?” he snaps.

“You,” I toss back.

Is his hair still soft? It’s much shorter now, close cropped. There are a few gray hairs near his temples. He’s thirty-five, a year older than me. Although the gray surprises me, probably because it means so much time has passed. And yet it makes him somehow hotter. More masculine.

“I’m surprised you’ve taken me to such a romantic restaurant. Maybe you’re trying to flatter me. Or seduce me.” Rafa pours more wine into my glass.

“Don’t get your hopes up for seduction. I chose it because I know you love Spanish food, because of your grandparents and all.”

He opens his eyes in mock-surprise. “So thoughtful of my needs, Justine. Such a change from our final few weeks together all those years ago.”

I open my mouth, ready to come back with a barb, something about how if he hadn’t rejected me years ago, none of this would be happening now. But I remain silent. I ignore his remark and lightly touch the glass with my fingers so he’ll stop pouring. The last thing I need is to be tipsy and in close proximity to Rafa. One glance, one touch, will send me crumbling into his arms. And his bed.

“I’m surprised you don’t have paparazzi following you around.” I immediately regret saying this. Now he’ll know I’ve read about him in the tabloids. Two months ago, while at the checkout at the grocery store, I’d flipped through a magazine and come upon a photo of Rafa with a Spanish TV star at a charity fundraiser. My stomach had churned at his image, and I’d abandoned my grocery cart and fled to the privacy of my car. I’d sat and bawled for what I’d lost. And at the thought I might never see him again.

And now, here he is, sitting across from me.

“So you’ve been keeping up with my life in the society pages?”

Extending my legs, I bump into his foot. Rafa presses his ankles next to mine, hard, sending shocks of electricity through my body. I slip a foot out of my shoe and trail my big toe down his calf, over the expensive, soft fabric of his trousers.

“Pfft. No. I happened to see you in some magazine somewhere.”

It’s as if my body wants to seduce him, and my brain wants to battle. I have to remind myself that he was the one who hurt me first. Not the other way around.

He laughs. “Ocean Life Magazine, perhaps? Or People in Español? I’m surprised, Justi. You always liked more serious reportage.”

His eyebrows arch suggestively, which both turns me on and annoys me more. It’s as if he’s short-circuited my brain and body, leaving me in an emotional chaos.

“I did see the Ocean Life article, the one where you posed for a photo in the gazillion-dollar penthouse,” I blurt. I have no self-control tonight, and I’m having a hard time getting a handle on my feelings. Part of me wants him. Part of me wants him to leave.

Another part of me wants to keep watching him stroke the sides of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger as he gazes into my eyes.

“Oh? The one where I wore the Tom Ford suit? And yes, that is my home. I’ve come a long way from that shitty apartment we shared together.”

I swallow and try not to think about that dismal apartment with the window air-conditioner, the one where we’d spent night after night on our futon bed, consuming each other until we were sweaty pools of flesh. I wonder if he ever thinks about that futon or how we’d reach for each other in the middle of the night, desperate and yet somehow innocent.

It’s a cliché to look back on your youth and think of it as the best days of your life, but in my case, it’s true. I was happiest in that one-bedroom apartment with Rafa, with our Ikea kitchen starter box and the iron floor lamp we’d dragged in from the curb on trash day, the one I’d painted white during my short-lived, shabby-chic décor phase.

“Yeah. That article. And details about your philanthropic work. You and that actress looked great together. Maybe you should bring her to St. Augustine? I’m sure she’ll be charmed by the romance here.”

He guffaws and swirls his wine. “I’m not dating her. She has a boyfriend, and we attended the event as friends. I started a charity because of my childhood. And in case you didn’t read the latest tabloid story, I’m single. Have always been single, since you left.”

The waiter appears with the bread and a plate of olive oil, momentarily diffusing the emotional strain hanging in the air. Rafa grabs a slice and rips it apart with his hands. He sets half on my plate.

“Eat,” he commands.

I shift in my seat and tear off a small hunk of bread. I dip it into the olive oil. As I raise it to my mouth, a drop of golden liquid lands on the tip of my middle finger. I put the morsel of bread on my plate and watch him stare as I massage the oil into my bottom lip.

“Miami’s most eligible bachelor,” I say in a singsong voice.

“Yes. A bachelor for years and I like it that way. Gracias.” The muscles in his jaw pulse and tighten as he clenches his teeth. Under the table, I run my toe down his shin, and he traps my foot tightly in between his calves. We’ve been in the restaurant what, a half-hour, and I’ve already pushed him to the edge. I won’t admit it to him, but it gives me a certain thrill to know he’s still affected by me.

“De nada. You were probably ecstatic to get rid of me so you could screw your way through Miami. You achieved your goal. Bravo.”

Rafa shoots me a withering smirk. “That’s interesting. I could have sworn it was your choice to leave me. For someone who prints the truth every day in the newspaper, you seem very willing to embrace alternative facts. And you have a loose grasp on how we ended, mi corazón.”

I try to stop my nostrils from flaring in anger but can’t. I straighten my posture and wriggle my foot from his legs.

“I’m not going to rehash our past, Rafa. I’ve put it behind us. I’m not discussing anything more than our impending business deal.” I pop an almond into my mouth.

“Our potential business deal. I have yet to make an offer.”

He smiles, slow and sexy, and all I can do is scowl.

* * *

For some reason, Rafa seems to be gripping the steering wheel of his car pretty hard. So hard I think his knuckles are white. His car is an electric Tesla, expensive and stealthy, and I’m a little intimidated by the sleekness of it all.

We don’t talk much on the way to my house. He’s always been intense when he drives. I stare out the window at the rain. Our barb-filled dinner had ended in détente, in the form of key lime pie because the restaurant didn’t have flan.

“Is it strange living in your parents’ house?” he asks after a long silence.

I shrug. “It’s not like I have any other choice. The mortgage is paid for, and I haven’t taken a salary from the paper in a few months.”

“So what are you living on?”

I pause. “A small inheritance and my father’s life insurance policy.”

“Are you living alone? Did you get the dog you always wanted? And what’s this about you dating someone?”

I don’t answer right away, and when I do, I change the subject. “This winter storm sure is unusual. Normally it never rains here in February.”

“Not going to answer my questions? Does that mean I get to meet your new boyfriend when we get to your house?”

I sigh. “There’s no new boyfriend. Yes, I’m living alone, and no, there’s nothing much to say about my ex. He worked at a TV station. He got a big job anchoring the five o’clock news in Los Angeles.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

I rolled my eyes. “If I hated Miami, wouldn’t I loathe L.A.?”

I leave out the part about how Jared was both attentive and superficial. How he was a great boyfriend, but didn’t have fire in his belly for anything other than his job. Well, that and the fact he couldn’t find his way around a vagina if his life depended on it. It wasn’t like I was a sex addict or anything; I simply desired physical contact more than Jared did. When he left, we’d parted as friends.

“And I didn’t ever get my dog. I’m not home much.” I shrug and turn my body to the window, hoping it will end the questions. I’m mentally exhausted.

The unusual winter thunderstorm sends sheets of water over the Tesla’s windshield and thunder crackles in the distance. Rafa stops the car in front of my house and kills the ignition. He glances at my little, yellow, 1920s-era bungalow with blue trim.

“Wow, that’s some déjà vu,” he says softly.

I nod and wonder if he’s thinking about the first time I brought him here, during Christmas break our sophomore year in school. It’s déjà vu for me, too, but I don’t tell him that.

“Thank you for dinner.” My fingers wrap around the door handle.

“Wait. I don’t want you getting wet and sick.”

Before I can protest, he produces an umbrella, climbs out of the driver’s seat, walks around to my side, and opens the door. He holds out his big hand.

“Come, Justi.” I’m not going to argue, because it’s probably better not to get drenched, not after this difficult day. I slip my hand into his, and his familiar touch sends warmth up my arm. We walk quickly to the front door, his hand wrapping around my waist and drawing me close. I pull back, shocked at how normal it feels to be so close to him, then yelp when the raindrops hit me.

“You’re half in the rain, chica. Get under the umbrella. I won’t bite.”

Yeah, right. Part of me wants him to sink his teeth into my skin, which is why my insides seem like they’re vibrating from being so close to him.

We pause on my doorstep. I gaze at him, his searching eyes illuminated by the porch light. There’s a sublime moment when I see a little glint of rain on his crazy-long lashes.

“Well, it’s late. I’ll see you at the paper tomorrow. Thank you again for dinner. I had—”

He doesn’t let me finish.

Holding the umbrella over us with one hand, he wraps his other hand around the back of my head and pulls me to his lips. I let out a little squeak, but the rain drowns it out. His lips touch mine, and I dissolve.

Ohhh, hell. I’m done.