by Kate Aster
I stand like a fool in the parking lot, watching her drive away, until I turn on my heel to head inside.
“Don’t do it, Cam.” Arms crossed in front of his chest, Dodger greets me at the door with a threatening tone.
My eyes search for Stella and I figure she’s already in bed for her nap. Too bad. Because I’d rather talk to her than to Dodger right now. “Don’t do what?”
“Date her.”
“Are we really going to have this conversation again?”
“Look, if you need some action, go find a tourist at a bar like you usually do. Someone who’s flying out at the end of the week.”
I glare at him. “For your information, asshole, Annie’s not looking for forever. She’s planning on getting off this rock and going back for her master’s back on the East Coast. She’s not looking to settle down any more than I am.”
“She’s still the only babysitter you’ve got on speed dial right now. I’m telling you, if you screw this up, Fen and I aren’t covering for you with Stella while you play bartender.”
“I won’t ask you to. Besides, I won’t rush things with Annie. I’ll take it slow.” It’s not even his business; but I’m not saying it to him. I’m saying it to myself. “And why do both my brothers have such little confidence in my ability to have a relationship that lasts more than a week?”
He glances in the direction of Stella’s room as though to confirm she’s out of earshot. “Because we know you.”
He’s only stating a fact, so it shouldn’t bother me.
So why does it?
Chapter 10
~ ANNIE ~
“So wait a sec.” Kaila cocks her head as she says it, staring at me with such intense curiosity as if I’ve got a third eye appearing in the middle of my brow. “He’s cute. Has a car. Has a job. Has a home. Yet you’re still saying he should be off limits?”
“He’s my boss.” I can hear the uncertainty in my tone as I say it. “I shouldn’t date my boss.”
“You do with island rules.”
“What?”
“Island rules, hon. Rule number one: If he’s single and has a pulse, then he’s dateable.”
“Not where I come from.”
“Maybe, but you’re on an island now.” She shakes her head as she sprays down a table with disinfectant. “Look, men are scarce here. You’re not feeling it yet because you’ve been here—what? One month? Two? But hang around this island for a few more months and you’ll discover there’s a small pool of dateable men, especially if you’re not looking to hook up with a tourist for a one-night stand.”
I dart my eyes back and forth instinctively. It’s an awkward conversation to have in here seeing as five minutes ago, this room was filled with about fifteen kids learning how to hula.
“Seriously, I don’t know why you wouldn’t make a move,” she barrels on. “Unless you want to go months without sex, you’ve got to pick from the pool that you’ve got.”
I feel no need to tell her that it’s already been months since I’ve had sex. Many, many months, in fact, despite what the evening news is saying about me back on the mainland. It’s a little hard to have a relationship when you’re a live-in nanny, unless you’re content with a quickie in the back room while the kids are playing at Gymboree.
“I nearly did,” I confess.
Her eyes widen with something akin to hope. “Did what?”
“Make a move. At least, I think it was me making it. Might have been him. Not really sure.”
She smiles. “That’s the best way. So what happened?” she cringes suddenly. “The kid didn’t walk in on you, did she?”
“No.” I breathe it out in relief, even though reality isn’t much better. “One of his brothers.”
“Brothers?” Interest sparks in her dark eyes. “You didn’t tell me he had brothers.”
“Two.”
“Cute?”
“Gods. All three of them. They were in the military, but definitely kept up the look, you know? All biceps and triceps and pecs. The three of them look like they stepped out of a Men’s Fitness spread.”
“Biceps and triceps and pecs… oh my!” She says it like she should be skipping down the yellow brick road. “I should take up babysitting on the side.”
I should feel threatened by the possibility of competition in this business, except that I find myself intrigued by it. I could maybe use a partner in this. Someone to cover for me if I can’t take a job on. “Would you?”
“Babysit on the side?” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Nah. They’ve got me so booked up here, I can’t even take a piss without worrying about my timesheet. At least until they hire you full-time.”
I open my mouth, ready to ask her about that, and more than ready to tug the topic away from Cam. But she cuts me off with—“You should pick up a few of those cute sundresses at Ali‘i Gardens Marketplace. No offense, but you kind of dress like a fifth grade teacher, you know?”
I look down at myself. “It’s a uniform. You dress the same way.”
“Yeah, but I’ve seen what you wear after you change in the locker room downstairs. And it’s not very flirtatious.”
And that’s why I’ve been dressing like that, I want to tell her. If I haven’t learned by now the dire consequences of attracting male attention while I work, then I’m a pretty dim bulb.
“Get something strappy,” she suggests.
“Strappy?”
“Yeah, something cute to reel him in. Spaghetti strap tanks and sundresses. They’re cheap and sassy and say, ‘Hello, I’m available.’”
Just what I didn’t want.
Except, I’ll admit, maybe where Cam is concerned.
I also didn’t want her pulling me over to the big dance-studio-size mirror where the kids do their hula. Yet here I am, mortified to feel her tugging off my glasses and pulling the tight ponytail out of my hair.
She looks at my reflection. “Yeah, I thought so.”
My eyes flash with terror at her words. Holy shit. She recognizes me. “You thought what?”
“You could really look cute if you got contacts and did something with all this hair. I mean, the dye looks like it’s starting to finally wash out to a really pretty color.”
“How did you know I dyed it?”
She tilts her head. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen a few bad dye jobs in my time,” she says as if she’s an old sage. “You could totally nab a cute guy. Remember, island rules go both ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, guys have a hard time finding women here, too. Unless he’s content to hook up with a different tourist every week, then you’ll look like a prime rib to him.”
I’m not sure if what she just said is a compliment or an insult. So I decide to keep my mouth shut.
“I’m telling you—stop by Ali‘i Gardens. Clothes are so cheap there, you know. It doesn’t take much to be fashionable in Hawai‘i.”
I smile. I love the way she pronounces Hawai‘i like the true native that she is, using a “v” sound and breaking the name up into more distinct syllables. When I say it that way, I sound like an idiot.
I take in one last look at my reflection, seeing the image of my former self, and feeling grateful Kaila apparently doesn’t watch CNN. Then I snatch my glasses out of her loose grip and safely hide behind them again. When I’ve pulled my hair back into a ponytail, I feel my blood pressure return to normal. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Are you babysitting his kid today?”
“No, he didn’t need me. Thought I’d go A-Bay and hand out some more fliers.”
“You really should put up a website,” she tells me.
Like I haven’t heard that one before.
After I clock out and I change from my uniform, I drive down to Kona to get some groceries.
I can’t resist stopping at Ali‘i Gardens like Kaila suggested. She’s right, and I know it. Just because I’ve relegated myself to a life behind my mousey glasses doesn’t
mean I have to dress like I’m convent-bound. With the cash that Cam gave me yesterday, I manage to talk down the price of three sundresses with lively floral prints. They remind me of the me I once was (even though sundresses aren’t exactly trending in D.C.). But they’re cheerful and fun and yes, even flirty. After unloading some groceries, I slip one on and take a glance at myself in the mirror.
I tug off my glasses and feel a rush of anger brew inside of me. Since I found myself on a plane aimed toward paradise, I’ve managed to keep it at bay. Yet it’s still there, seething inside of me like a second personality that I keep locked behind bars.
Putting my glasses back on, I give myself a shake; I refuse to let the memory of him or the life I left behind touch me here.
Grabbing my keys and a stack of fliers, I head to the parking lot at ‘Anaeho‘omalu Beach—or A-Bay, as locals like to call it. I love the constant flurry of activity on this beach, and the predictable flow of people congregating to watch the last remnants of the day as the sun sets.
After my fliers are safely tucked under windshields, I follow the sound of the ocean, my pace increasing. The closer I get to the water, the faster I walk. Until at the very edge, I tug off my sandals, and desert them just beyond the reach of the waves.
The warm water touches my toes first, then my ankles. The sand isn’t as soft as the sand on Mauna Kea Beach. That’s one thing about this island—every beach seems to have a completely different kind of sand, even if they are just a mile in distance from each other. Tugging the skirt of my sundress upwards, I step in deeper and let the salty water soothe my soul as it tickles my calves.
I’m in Hawai‘i. That’s my reality now. And the people who share this beach with me don’t give a damn about what happened that night in D.C.
They don’t know that a single lie took away every ounce of power that I had.
They only care whether the surf is up or the water is calm enough for snorkeling.
Tugging my hair free of the ponytail, I feel a smile curve my face when the skirt of my dress gets wet. A laugh escapes me.
“Annie?”
I almost don’t acknowledge it. There are moments when that name seems foreign to me still. A soft breeze whispering in my ears shields me from the reality that there are other people on this beach with me.
“Annie?”
Spine straightening with recognition, I turn.
Don’t turn your back on the ocean, I’m reminded of what kama‘aina like Kaila tell newcomers to the island. But when I see Cam shirtless in soaking wet board shorts, I’m incapable of pulling my eyes off him. The water seems to highlight everything glorious on his tanned body, with tiny droplets of moisture making the ripples of his muscles glisten.
“Cam, what are you doing here?”
“Just took a swim. How about you?”
“Fliers… you know. And thought I might stick around for the sunset. I can never resist a sunset at A-Bay.”
“You and everyone,” he interjects, his eyes glancing to the people on the beach.
“Yeah. I come here for it any chance I get.” My eyes dart around. “Where’s Stella?”
“Fen had a cancellation, so with an open seat on an evening flight tonight, he asked Stella if she wanted a helicopter ride over a volcano.”
“Bet that was an easy sell.”
“No kidding. I think the little girl’s got her dad’s adventurous spirit.”
“It’s nice that your brothers seem to be coming around.”
“Yeah. It doesn’t hurt that Stella is so damn cute. She’s kind of hard to resist.”
So are you, I want to say.
But I don’t. I have to stop this. We nearly kissed last night and I can’t let it happen again. If he finds out the truth about me, it won’t look good. I have to cut this off before it begins.
And I need to do this while his shirt is off? Seriously?
Reality is a bitch.
“Listen, I’m kind of glad I ran into you,” I begin carefully. “I wanted to tell you—”
“Watch out!” His words jolt me just as the wave strikes me from behind, soaking my backside and sending me falling forward… and into Cam’s arms.
Holy shit.
He’s laughing as he holds me up, his gentle hands on me seeming so incongruent to his muscular body.
Don’t let go of me, every fiber in my body seems to cry out. I could stay like this forever in his grasp. And these several moments, I do just that, allowing myself to memorize this feeling of being held by him.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to never turn your back on the ocean here?” he teases.
My face is flushed, but not from the embarrassment I should feel. It’s sheer warmth, soaking in this sensation of his skin on mine. The receding wave tries to pull me down the slope toward deeper water, but he’s too strong, tugging me closer as my balance fails. I’ve felt so vulnerable, so under attack by the world these past months, that relinquishing all my power and just being held by someone is like a balm to my chafed soul.
I want more of this. I want to feel protected again.
“What were you saying?” he asks.
What was I saying? “Nothing,” I manage to stammer.
“Come on,” he tells me, his hand now at my waist as he eases me up the incline of sand. “I’ve got a towel over here. Let’s get you dried off.”
Chapter 11
- CAMDEN -
Note to self:
If I’m trying to take things slowly with a woman, it’s best to keep my hands off her.
Especially when she’s wet.
Because seriously, with her in my arms I feel my alpha side rally, making me want to snarl at every guy on this beach right now.
She’s also Stella’s babysitter, I remind myself. And I need to be cautious about this.
Yet it’s hard to even think of her as the babysitter when there’s no Stella in sight. Only me and her and a few dozen beachgoers this late afternoon.
If I’d just met her randomly… well, hell, with this much chemistry between us, I’d know exactly how this evening would end. I’m pretty confident there.
But this is Annie. She’s not some tourist out for a meaningless fling with the guy who spends way too much time in the weight room at my condo’s gym. And even though she’s made it clear she’s not on the island for the long haul, if I start something with her, it’s got to last at least until Stella is back on the mainland.
Because while I might be able to find another babysitter, Stella’s grown pretty attached to this one.
But, damn, so have I.
“Here,” I grasp my towel which is resting in the sand. I should just hand it to her, but I do the dumb thing—the insanely stupid hormone-driven thing that makes me wonder if I ever evolved past seventeen. Starting at her perfectly delicate ankles and moving upward, I proceed to pat down her legs myself.
It’s not me trying to cop a feel. I’d swear it. It’s that somehow I feel this need to take care of her the same way she takes care of Stella.
“Thanks,” she says, and I can’t help noticing that she doesn’t tug the towel free from my hands and wipe herself down on her own. That might prove promising.
“Hope that sundress isn’t dry clean only,” I say. A stupid comment. I don’t even know if there is a dry cleaner on the Big Island.
“No,” she replies. “I should know better than to turn my back on the ocean.”
“Happens to us all, one time or another. The Pacific loves a sneak attack.” I sit in the sand, stretching out a towel alongside me with the hope she’ll want to take a seat. “For every time I warned a tourist not to turn their back on the ocean here, I swear the ocean hears that and thinks, I’m gonna get that guy one of these days.”
“And has it succeeded?”
“Once it did a hell of a job on me at Kua Bay,” I admit.
She looks different to me as she smiles now somehow; I can’t quite put my finger on it until I notice how her eyes are hidden by speckle
s of water on her glasses. “Here,” I say, easing her glasses off her nose.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking somewhat horrified.
I pick up the t-shirt I’d set down on my extra towel a few hours ago, shake it lightly, and rub its material against her glasses. “Just cleaning them. My t-shirt’s made of microfiber. Good for that kind of job.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s no big deal.” I wipe the water from her glasses and rub away the drops. “You won’t be able to drive home looking through these.” Holding them up to the light, I peek through the lenses, looking for any remaining spots. I start to lower them, but something catches my eye as I look through them—the sight of the world completely undistorted through her lenses. I look again to confirm that I can see everything as clear as day.
Her glasses aren’t prescription.
My hand stills for a split second, peering through them.
I give myself a shake. It shouldn’t even raise an eyebrow. Lots of people wear glasses just for the show of it. But then I notice again how brightly the sunlight reflects along her blonde roots.
Dyed hair. Glasses.
My brothers would say my observation skills with women are not the best (and I’d say the same of them). But it doesn’t take a brick to hit me over the head to realize that this girl is trying to disguise herself in some understated way.
None of this should surprise me. She wouldn’t be the first person to seek sanctuary on this island. A running joke here is that the island is really just a mecca for people in the witness protection program.
And, being me, I can’t help feeling the need to ram my fist through whatever or whomever she’s running from.
After settling her glasses back on her nose, my hands rest at the side of her face for a moment. Just a moment, barely discernible.