“I guess when you marry into the family whose ancestors discovered the island, there is a bit a pressure.”
“Your family founded a city?”
By the time Nate finished telling the story about the claim his grandfather many times over had staked on the island, located off the northwest coast of Florida, from the famous explorer Tristán de Luna y Arellano, Amelia was in awe.
The young explorer had tried to establish the Pensacola Bay area but was not successful. Hurricanes defeated many of the ships trying to enter the bay. And when another conquistador, Ángel de Villafañe, came and offered to take the settlers to Cuba, Vincente Torres and a few others stayed behind and were offered the opportunity to stake their claim in any part of land they felt they could tame. Vincente Torres inhabited the island, not far off the coast of Pensacola, and his descendants had already brought over several family members by the time Spain officially founded Pensacola in 1698.
Where the explorer failed, Vincente Torres managed to maintain the island, which had reminded him so much of his beloved city on the nearby island, and would become Puerto Rico; hence the namesake, Villa San Juan. In 1845, Florida became an official state. With Villa San Juan being a part of Florida, all inhabitants became American citizens.
“The wheels in your head are spinning,” Nate said with a chuckle.
“Your home sounds fascinating.”
He shrugged modestly. “It’s a small town, just like Southwood.”
Amelia frowned. “There’s no history here. Your family founded a city.”
“Perhaps, but everyone wants a piece of the Torres family, their wealth and their rum. At least in Southwood, everyone comes together as a community. Take the bachelor auction.”
The townsfolk of Southwood did come together, even when running a family out, she thought. “Whatever. Didn’t your community come together over a school shooting?”
The prideful gleam in Nate’s green eyes from when he’d spoken a moment ago disappeared. The thickness of his eyebrows hooded his orbs. A chill ran down Amelia’s spine.
“The shooting took place a long time ago. We’ve all gotten on with our lives.”
“Did you know the shooter?”
Nate poured a spoonful of coffee over his gelato, then set it against the ring with a clink. He blew out a sigh—the familiar sound indicating he did not want to talk about what happened.
“Did you leave town because of that?” Amelia inhaled deeply, then pressed her lips together. During confessionals on her reality sets, she always asked the hard questions—the thought-provoking questions, even the emotionally charged questions—and never felt any qualms over doing it.
“Tell me why you left Southwood.” Nate turned the conversation back on to her. The deep chuckle eased her mind. “What do you have against it?”
“Where do I start?” Before Amelia got the chance to rattle off a long list, a figure approached their table. Amelia stiffened at the memory of the familiar face.
“It has been killing me all night long,” the tall, slender woman said with a friendly smile. “Amelia Marlow, right?”
“Emily Keaton,” Amelia acknowledged coolly with a tight-lipped nod. She braced herself for confrontation, squaring her shoulders and sitting back against the vinyl of the booth. What she wasn’t prepared for was for the former head cheerleader to bend over and embrace Amelia in a friendly hug. The last time she’d seen the girl, she was making a cheer about Amelia leaving town. Not sure what to do, Amelia patted Emily’s back. Over the garlic and fresh bread, Emily smelled like a bouquet of flowers. “Hello.”
“What are you doing in town?”
“Family business,” Amelia said.
Emily tucked behind her ear a black strand of hair that had come loose when she bent over for a hug. “Please say you’ll be in town until Saturday. I’m getting married at the Methodist Church. I’d love for you to come.”
“You can’t be serious.” Amelia jumped when a foot connected with her shin. “Ouch.” She glared angrily across the table, only to find an unapologetic smile across Nate’s face.
At Amelia’s pain Emily turned her attention to Nate. “Oh,” she hummed knowingly.
“Emily, this is Nate Reyes.” Amelia made introductions.
Instead of extending her hand for a firm shake, Emily leaned over and hugged Nate’s shoulders. Of course they knew each other. Was there any woman in town who didn’t know Nate?
“Hey, Nate,” Emily cooed. “You have to promise me you won’t tell Lexi you saw me in here scarfing down some pizza. She’ll kill me if I go up a dress size after my final fitting.”
Nate cast a glance in Amelia’s direction. “I can honestly say my eyes have been on one person all evening.” He offered a wink in Amelia’s direction. The heat of desire boiled in the pit of her stomach. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank God!” Emily turned her attention back to Amelia. “So you’ll definitely come now, right? With Nate, he’s already going to come, so it’ll be fun.”