Dive Into You

by Chris Keniston

  “The movie about the telepathic kid?” Tim asked.

  “That’s the one. The used-car-salesman father was played by Danny DeVito,” Emily explained.

  Tim shrugged. “He was okay.”

  Doug looked to Emily, and she almost laughed. From his expression it was clear he thought Danny DeVito was more than okay.

  Taking the DVD from Doug, she opened the case and slid the disc into the player. “You’re all going to love this movie. It’s great.”

  Halfway through the film, the pizza was gone, and both kids were on the edge of their seats. They’d just watched the part where the young man—who had joined the army to escape being sent to prison—was found out and arrested.

  “So,” Jennie started, and Emily hit Pause. “He was really smart. And just pretending to be dumb.”

  “Maybe,” Emily answered. “Or maybe he simply never gave himself a chance to see how smart he really was.”

  Jennie leaned back, and Emily hit Play. Perhaps she’d suggest to the counseling department that showing this movie to the freshman class every year might not be a bad thing. Though she wasn’t sure Doug would agree with her. Lips pressed tightly together, he looked much too serious.

  “Oh, my God,” Jennie exclaimed at the scene where Danny DeVito followed his students up the obstacle course.

  “That doesn’t look so hard.” Tim shrugged a shoulder and shoved his glasses higher on his nose.

  On the other hand, Doug’s cheeks now looked ready to split with laughter. “Let’s agree that this entire scenario is extremely unlikely.”

  “Did you have to do training like that?” Jennie asked.

  Doug nodded. “And lots more. I learned to climb mountains, cross deserts, swim underwater and jump out of airplanes.”

  “What did you do in the navy?” Tim asked.

  “EOD.”

  The young man’s eyes sprang wide and round. “Explosive Ordinance Disposal. You disarmed bombs?”

  The laughter in Doug’s eyes from moments ago smothered quickly. He nodded.

  “Did you work with the Foster-Miller TALON?”

  Surprise flashed across Doug’s face. “Yes.”

  “Cool. Infrared vision, multiple cameras, claw-tipped arm. What about microwave generators?”

  And whatever else was said between the two was completely lost on Emily. For technotalk, Tim gladly abandoned his spot beside Jennie and moved to the chair by Doug. He and Tim were off in the kitchen chatting away like a couple of old hens when the drill sergeant at the end of the movie marched the new recruits, singing, “Left. Right. Hamlet’s mother is the queen. Bites the dust in the last scene. Drinks a cup of funky wine. Now she’s Satan’s valentine. Left. Right. Left. Right.” Jennie sprang from her feet and joined the men. By the time Emily had put away the DVD and sat down with the group, the conversation had shifted to Doug’s time as a skydiving instructor.

  “Wow,” Jennie said bug-eyed. “Thirteen thousand feet. That must be so scary.”

  “Not if you focus on the beautiful view.”

  With every question the kids asked, Doug had a casual, calming response. Listening, it dawned on Emily that Doug was just the person to convince her brother that she wasn’t insane for wanting to put a little more excitement in her life. Though Emily realized she didn’t need to tell Billy about all the plans she had, she also knew Kona wasn’t a big place, and, somehow, someday, word would get back to Billy—and her mother.

  * * *

  What was it John Lennon had said about life happening while you’re busy making other plans? Doug glanced up at the clock. Almost 9:00 p.m. He hadn’t thought it possible to spend almost four hours with a woman and two teenagers and have such a good time.

  Actually, except for football, he’d never considered three-plus hours of anything recreational—that didn’t involve intimate interaction with the opposite sex—to be worth his time.

  “I’d better go.” Jennie grabbed the strap of her backpack and hoisted it over her shoulder.

  “I’ll follow you,” Tim said before anyone else could offer.

  Jennie hesitated a second before nodding and turning for the door. “Thanks, Miss Everrett.” She pulled open the front door.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Tim echoed, holding the door for Jennie to pass through before keeping pace with her to the street. For whatever reason, Doug was finding this ordinary teenage interaction interesting. Not that Tim could be considered ordinary. The kid had a mind like a computer chip.

  Emily stood in the doorway watching the kids mumble and nod before splitting up toward their own cars, and it struck Doug that he and Emily were alone. If he knew what was good for him, he’d march out the door right behind the kids. He’d accomplished what Billy had asked of him: represent the dive shop at the impromptu soiree. If he wanted to keep Billy’s trust, he’d get his ass the hell out of here.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Emily closed the door and spun on her heel, heading straight for the kitchen without waiting for a response from him.

  “I really should get going. It’s late.”

  “Not enough time for one cup?”

  “Caffeine keeps me awake.” So would dreams of Emily.

  “I have decaf.”

  Knowing it was risky, he followed her into the kitchen and, moving beside her, reached out and stilled her arm. “I can’t stay.”

  He wished she hadn’t looked at him. The hurt in her eyes cut at him more painfully than shards of shrapnel. Why couldn’t she understand?

  “I see.” Only she didn’t move, and, the way her gaze locked on his, he was pretty sure she didn’t see at all.

  “Emily.” Her name came out like a sigh. In the time it took him to blink, she’d eased closer. Or maybe he had. He wasn’t sure. “I shouldn’t.”

  “I know,” she breathed, her voice low and husky and full of longing.

  As much as his head shouted retreat, his mouth ignored him. His entire body advanced, pressing against her as their lips met. She tasted as good as he remembered. Better. Despite his brain still pleading for him to pull back, he was lost to the sensations seeping through him with every new point of contact. Lips on lips, tongue against tongue, hands to shoulders, then fingers to face and finally, dragging her fully against him, chest to chest.

  The kiss went from slow and easy to powerful and consuming. He wanted so much. Not just to hold her, have her, love her, but to be an ordinary guy from an ordinary family with an ordinary life. And he wasn’t.

  “Emily,” he muttered breathless against her lips. “Just friends. Remember?”

  Her head fell against his shoulder and dipped in weak agreement. “Couldn’t we be really good friends?”

  He felt the chuckle rumble up through his chest. They could definitely be really good friends. But no matter what had already transpired between them or what she thought, he knew she wasn’t the type to do friends with benefits.

  On a reluctant burst of determination and conscience, he stepped back. “I really do need to leave.”

  “Are you any good with your hands?”

  He felt his brows stretch to his hairline at the same moment the flush in her cheeks told him that she’d reinterpreted her own words.

  “I mean, with tools. If you’re not scheduled to do any dives the next few days, we could use some help with the sets.”

  Before his mind and mouth could confer, he’d answered, “Tomorrow’s my day off.”

  “Practice starts at nine. Some of the parents will be painting the sets we’ve already made. But our best set builder’s son graduated in May. We’re woefully behind.”

  “Woefully?” With ancient words like that, the woman should have been an English teacher. And a fund-raiser. Or a lobbyist. Because no matter how much his brain shouted to say no, his mouth spouted, “I’ll be there.” And afraid to kiss any part of her good-bye, he ran his finger down her nose. “See you tomorrow.”

  Focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, he didn’t look at he
r again until he was on the other side of the open front door.

  One hand on the doorknob and her other hand leaning on the door, she gave him a dimpled smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  Doug felt her eyes on his back the entire way to his car. As much as he wanted to look over his shoulder and wave, he knew better. Keeping his eyes on the road, he shifted into first gear and pulled away from the curb. Tomorrow should be a very long day.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “There’s no getting around it, Miss Everrett. We’ve got to have a catwalk that can double as the second-floor deck.”

  Emily knew the stage manager was right. She’d known getting around the upper-deck scenes for the play were going to be a challenge, but it was time to face facts. They needed a new carpenter. Standing in the middle of the stage, looking up at the painted set in front of her, she actually heard everyone around her still. She’d almost say the world stopped breathing. And then she knew. Doug.

  He stood where the center aisle would soon be. “Reporting for duty as ordered, ma’am.”

  For a moment she expected him to salute her. She hopped off the stage and realized everybody behind her was still frozen in place. “All right, back to work.”

  Doug scanned the surroundings. “What still has to be done?”

  “How good are you?” A single brow shot high on his forehead, and the twinkle in his eye told her that she’d done it again. “I mean, how good are you at carpentry?”

  “What do you need?”

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one who could ask loaded questions. “The production needs a second-deck catwalk.”

  He squinted at the ship’s backdrop already on stage and started forward. “Exactly what do you mean when you say catwalk?”

  “Something wide enough for a few characters to stand and sing from, while hopefully a few extras stroll behind them.”

  “That’s more than a catwalk.”

  Nibbling on her lower lip, she sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

  “Let’s take a look.” Doug executed a military turn, and, in only a few long strides, Emily had to trot to catch up.

  A few kids smiled at him. A couple actually braved to say hello. Doug acknowledged each one but didn’t veer off his path to examine the existing set. Standing behind the backdrop, his eyes surveyed the structure from one side to the other and back again. “How much of a budget do we have?”

  “Limited,” Emily answered. “How much do you need?”

  “We’ll have to build two sets of stairs. Unless you want the same strolling couple going back and forth?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then two staircases, with some simple two-by-four supports along here and some extra support there.” He pointed over, then up. “We can do it.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Not long. But, if you’re in a hurry, you may have to talk a former navy chief into taking over my dives.”

  “I can’t ask you to give up work. We don’t need it that fast.”

  “You sure?”

  She loved the way he tipped his head slightly, and one side of his mouth lifted upward in a lazy smile. It made her insides go all mushy. “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. I’ll ask Billy to lend me the shop truck to pick up the lumber. Do we have anyone at all who’s handy with a hammer?”

  “A few.”

  “Then point them out to me, and we’ll get started.”

  Three hours later a stack of lumber took up the back corner of the gym that was slowly turning into a theater, and Doug was busy measuring and cutting, and she was doing her best to keep her eyes on the rehearsal and off of him. And failing miserably.

  “It’s been a long morning. Let’s call it a day. Anyone who wants to stay and work on the sets a little longer is welcome to. Lunch is on me,” Emily announced. “Cheeseburgers and sweet potato fries from Kahuna’s.”

  “I can stay if you think it will be okay with Mr. Everrett,” Jennie said from her spot midway across the stage. Normally they went straight to the dive shop after play practice.

  “That goes for me too.” Tim had helped unload the truck, and had been sorting and helping Doug ever since. Who knew the geek could wield a saw?

  “I’m sure it will be fine. Anyone else?”

  A few more kids meandered about picking up paintbrushes and choosing their projects. All the props had master drawings the art teacher had done to help the stage crew. Emily wished the department head would be a bit more involved, but most of the crew were upperclassmen who thankfully didn’t need much direction.

  “Where did you get all these tools?” Emily stood beside Doug.

  Easing off the board he’d been cutting, he set the skill saw on the floor and lifted his goggles. “Most from the dive shop.”

  “And the others?”

  “I picked up a few things the school or Billy didn’t have. You know what they say about a man and his tools.”

  He was teasing her, and she couldn’t help but grin at him. He certainly did have nice…tools. “If you give me the receipts, I’ll make sure you get reimbursed.” Somehow.

  He shook his head and picked up the saw. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Before he slid his protective eye gear back in place and turned on the electric saw, she touched his arm. “Did the navy teach you how to build? Because they sure didn’t teach my brother any of this.”

  Doug shook his head. “No.”

  Before she could ask anything else, he’d kicked the saw into gear and lowered his glasses. She didn’t have to hear the words to know that whatever story was behind his carpentry skills had just been pronounced none of her business.

  * * *

  It had been a very long time since Doug had taken on anything that required more than the use of a screwdriver or pair of pliers. He’d forgotten the feeling of working with his hands to make something happen or that he loved building things from scratch as much as he loved blowing them apart.

  Emily looked to her wrist. “It’s almost five,” she told her crew. “I think this is a good stopping point. Let’s clean up. Make sure all these paint cans are sealed tight, and we’ll meet back at nine tomorrow morning.”

  The few remaining students nodded and milled about for a little longer, tossing away trash, rinsing out paintbrushes and locking miscellaneous sundries in the storage closet. Thirty minutes later the gym was empty of teenagers, and Emily had done her third spot check.

  “The place could pass an admiral’s inspection.” Doug slipped his hand around the base of her back, nudging her forward. “Time to get food.”

  That brought a huge smile to her face. “Anyplace. I never got around to grabbing a burger for myself. I’m so hungry I could eat a burnt rhinoceros.”

  “I don’t think it will come to that. How about Bubba’s?”

  “No. That’s one of my brother’s favorites. I’d rather not.”

  “Sicily’s?”

  She shook her head.

  “Another one of his favorites?” Doug asked.

  “Angela’s.”

  “Maybe you should suggest somewhere.”

  “There’s a new place around the corner from me. Mom-and-Pop type. Want to give it a try?”

  “So long as it’s not sushi.”

  “I hear their coconut-banana fritters are almost as good as my mother’s.”

  Mrs. Everrett had brought her famous fritters by the office not long ago. Doug took one bite and seriously considered proposing marriage on the spot. “Then I’m definitely in.”

  “Or”—Emily snapped her fingers—“follow me.”

  Next thing Doug knew, he was in his car and following Emily’s taillights along the coast road toward Hilo. Emily took a sharp turn down a narrow road cut through a swatch of heavy greenery. When the cars came through to open land, there was a big old house nestled in a sandy cove. The place looked like a picture postcard.

  Emily whipped into a space in the small parking lot by the edge of the roa
d and jumped out of her car. “You’re going to love this.”

  He already did.

  “I remembered tonight’s the church luau. Old Man Miller hosts one every month during the summer. Very traditional. No tables and folding chairs like they do now for the tourists.”

  A cross between a foghorn and a wounded moose sounded loudly in the distance.

  “What the heck is that?”

  Emily grabbed his hand and darted off toward the beach. “That’s the pū. A conch shell blown to announce the beginning of important ceremonies. Or a luau.”

  A group of about twenty people were splattered across the beach on two large woven mats. A heaping mound of dirt encircled with round stones rose between the dinner guests and the ocean. Emily waved and smiled at a few people but didn’t stop until she and Doug reached an empty spot at the perimeter of the gathering.

  “Emily, dear. How nice to see you,” said the raven-haired woman seated at the end of the ground covering. “Who’s your friend?”

  Still holding onto his hand, Emily stiffened momentarily. “I’m sorry. Doug, this is Sally Kameah.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  Introductions were made around the makeshift table. Large leaves the size of banana trees were scattered across the center. After a few minutes of chattering and catching up, people popped up from their seats and made their way to the big pile of dirt. A couple of bare-chested guys—in what Doug presumed to be the male version of a Polynesian sarong—were shoveling aside dirt.

  “That’s the kālua pig.”

  Doug was perfectly content to be one of the only two people left at the makeshift table and watching the uncovering from a distance. “So it really is buried in a pit to bake.”

  “It’s called an imu, and, I don’t care what anyone says, it’s not the same in a Crock-Pot.”

  Doug had to laugh at that. He didn’t doubt it. He also wondered who invented the whole process. Roasting the thing on a spit had to be less labor intensive than digging a four-foot pit heated with rocks and vegetation, then covering and uncovering the hog several hours later.