"Hola." Cora boldly took a seat directly across from Mac and turned on a charm different from her plane persona.

"If that's Spanish for hello—and I think it is—then, hola back at you." Mac grinned wide. "So," he braced his forearms on the table as he leaned forward, "you were thirsty." He held up his glass and clinked it against hers.

"A little," she answered. "Flying dehydrates me."

"It does lots of things to me." Mac winked at her.

Cora suddenly lost her smile. "Look, buster, I didn't come over here to flirt with you. I—"

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. Juan Valdez over there won't tell anyone you're sitting with a tourist. I'll tip him on the way out." Mac patted her hand. "Your secret's safe with me."

Cora stiffened at Mac's attempt to make a lighthearted joke. She could only picture her aunt, the safety of the island and its people, and the consequences of revealing too much too fast.

"What secret of mine do you know?" Her voice flew an octave higher. "You have no right to any of my secrets!"

In a panic, she stood. Her thighs took the table with her. Both drinks slid into Mac's lap, where the ice-cold liquid no doubt stung his crotch as it seeped through the fabric.

"Is this your idea of a fiesta?" Mac wiped his pants with a stack of paper napkins he managed to grab during the table tilt.