Seashells & Mistletoe
Hawaiian Holiday
Rachelle Ayala
http://rachelleayala.net
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Author Bio
Acknowledgments
HAWAIIAN HOLIDAY THANK YOU
Cruising into Christmas Excerpt
Sweet Romances by Rachelle Ayala
Copyright © 2018, by Rachelle Ayala
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher or author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.
Cover Design by Raine English, Elusive Dreams Designs www.ElusiveDreamsDesigns.com
Published in the United States of America by Lovely Hearts Press, 2018
Introduction
Spend the holidays in Hawaii! Get ready for six weeks of romance with a new Christmas series brought to you by USA Today bestselling authors…
Hawaiian Holiday!
Six exciting, sweet novellas linked by a unifying theme. You’ll want to read each one!
HAWAIIAN HOLIDAY SERIES
Six women set out on a twelve-day holiday getaway cruise to the Hawaiian Islands. Each woman decides to enjoy a beautiful, much-deserved holiday in an exotic locale and ends up unexpectedly finding love along the way.
This is Seashells & Mistletoe …
My Christmas wedding is out the door, and all I want to do is drop off the face of the earth.
When my best friend gifts me a Christmas cruise package to Hawaii, I’m on it like flies on my ex-fiancé’s face. Twelve days and nights with complete strangers; no cell phones or internet. Sounds like the perfect getaway for me.
I’m in trouble as soon as I board the S.S. Bird of Paradise. The first person I run into is—Jordan Reed, the boy who pulled my pigtails, threw spit wads at me, and made grade school a nightmare come true.
It’s too late to disembark, and why should I? I’m here to put fun back in my life and show that ex of mine that I’m doing just fine. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone. Both these guys need a lesson from Dani, (that’s me).
Is it wrong to have a bit of fun along with revenge? It’s not like anyone is here for love, right? A bit of fun mixed with hijinks and pranks. It will be perfect.
Bring on the seashells and mistletoe. Let’s get this party started!
This Christmas season, take a cruise with all the Hawaiian Holiday novellas.
Christmas Charm by Raine English
Seashells & Mistletoe by Rachelle Ayala
Cruising into Christmas by Aileen Fish
Sunny Days Ahead by Julie Jarnagin
Aloha to Love by Josie Riviera
A Very Merry Christmas by Denise Devine
Chapter 1
The cruise ship S.S. Bird of Paradise looms above me like a humpback whale as I scan the arriving crowd for my best girlfriend in the whole wide world.
A few days ago, she was my maid of honor.
Now, she’s my ex-maid of honor through no fault of her own. My wedding was canceled last minute. Yep. Story of my life.
When the going gets tough, Dani Davison, that’s me, goes AWOL.
Not that Stephen wasn’t the perfect man for me. Oh no, he’s just a little too perfect from his manicured nails to his punctual to-the-second schedule.
I was on pins and needles the entire time I planned my picture-perfect wedding. Every ‘i’ had to be dotted, every ‘t’ crossed, and the accounting details had to be spread-sheeted and cross-checked to the nth degree.
He was the perfect man: intelligent, articulate, and successful. A complete package put together in Italian suits complete with cufflinks and ties. But when you’re that kind of perfect, you tend to demand perfection in a wife.
Should have thought about that before I crashed his bachelor’s party as the stripper. But then, how was I to know my perfect man had no sense of humor?
Sigh.
Here I am, right before Christmas, alone again, imperfectly.
Speaking of alone. Where is Jade?
True to maid-of-honor form, she exchanged my deluxe wedding package, held at her family’s top of the marquee hotel, for a Christmas cruise to Hawaii.
Twelve days and nights aboard the S.S. Bird of Paradise, including three days at sea to get away from it all, then island hopping from the Big Island to Kauai.
Just the two of us girls, shopping ’til we drop, spa treatments, sunning by the pool during the day, and dancing the nights away with each other.
It’ll be the bachelorette party I didn’t get and balm for her soul since the Navy SEAL she met at her tropical getaway six months ago went AWOL.
No calls.
No letters.
No text messages.
Nothing.
Both of us need bestie therapy here, and here I am.
Just yesterday, I said to her, if he doesn’t come to you, definitely don’t contact him. She doesn’t disagree, but she gives me that secret smile as if she has something up her sleeve.
Wishful thinking.
So, where is she?
I’m in the terminal checking my luggage, scanning the departure area for her long, silky hair and large sunglasses. She had a last-minute romance writer’s conference: sign a few books, meet and greet her fans, and drool over the hunky, male cover models.
I don’t enjoy those types of meet and greets, and even though I’m a voice-over artist who reads audiobooks for romance authors, I prefer to hide behind my mic in the privacy of my sound studio and let my voice be my brand.
I can sound breathless and sexy while reading the steamiest love scenes, but no one would ever guess from looking at me that I’m the voice moaning and sighing in imagined ecstasy.
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m not an unattractive woman.
After all, I passed two long years as Stephen Sommers’s arm candy. My long, brown hair is wavy enough to be conservatively sensual, and it always behaves, never frizzy or tangled. My pale, smooth skin is unmarred by even a single freckle, and my willowy figure is shaped and toned by brutal CrossFit workouts.
Stephen would have nothing less than the best, including my judgment which failed miserably when I decided to jump out of that cake.
The ship’s horn blasts its last call. I better get on board if I don’t want to be left behind. This is one Christmas I do not want to face my large and boisterous family.
The disappointment on my mother’s face. My father’s hangdog look, my sisters alternating between syrupy, sweet condolences and gossipy speculation, and worst of all, everyone tiptoeing around me, acting like I’m about to die of embarrassment. It’s is enough to make me shout, “
Bah, Humbug!” to their “Merry Christmases.”
This cruise is the perfect hiding place. Christmas at sea among an ocean of senior citizens checking off adventures on their bucket list will be amusing and nonthreatening.
The horn blows long and loud, so I send my bestie an urgent text.
They’re blowing the horn already. Where the heck are you?
She’s usually as punctual as Stephen. If the airline says one hour, she gets there two hours ahead. If they say two hours, she stretches it to three.
By that logic, she should have been here by now.
I call her number, but it goes to voicemail.
The ship’s horn blasts again, and I notice the line is getting shorter as the stragglers march aboard.
Maybe Jade is on deck already, claiming a spot at the pool. Or she’s already gathered at the safety presentation, and she’s tired of my tardy ways.
I text her, Okay, I get it. You’re trying to teach me a lesson. Right. I’ll see you in the cabin.
With that, I slap my phone into my purse and flip my carry-on over my shoulder. Since it takes the cruise company a few hours to deliver luggage, I decided to pack my toiletries, sunglasses, a sundress, flip-flops, and any other items I might need in my carry-on. I take my place in line in front of the x-ray machine. The cruise ships aren’t quite as strict as TSA, so I don’t worry about my bottled water.
I take a swig of water and wait in line behind an elderly man with a walker. The metal detectors buzz all over him as he removes keys, spare change, and a dog leash from his heavily laden pockets.
I wonder what he needs that dog leash for. Kinky much?
The man looks innocent enough, but the guards check carefully for alcohol, unscrewing the caps on his “water” bottles and sniffing them.
I laugh when the elderly man insists the “water” is for his health, but the guards are unmerciful. Cruise ships charge a lot for alcohol, so he’s out of luck.
When it’s my turn, I slap my light carry-on onto the belt of the x-ray machine and saunter through the metal detector. No problem.
“Miss, we need to check your bag for secondary screening,” a dour-looking guard says.
“I don’t even have a laptop,” I exclaim. “I emptied my water bottles.”
“Step aside, please. There’s a suspicious-looking object in your bag.” He turns around and says in a loud voice, “Everyone clear the area. Dangerous object. Go. Go.”
The other passengers turn and stare at me with horror written all over their faces as they scurry back to safety behind the metal detector.
A man with gelled hair and aviator sunglasses raises his camera phone and snaps a picture of me.
I don’t have time to confront him. The guard drags me to secondary screening and forces me to stand there as he opens my flimsy, hot-pink carry-on.
My bikini is unfurled, my towel unwrapped, toiletries and makeup in plastic bags are set aside.
“I don’t have anything suspicious in there,” I protest.
“Be quiet, Miss.” The guard extracts a long object shaped like a gun. It is wrapped in aluminum foil. “Well, well, well, what is this?”
“I don’t have a clue what it is,” I sputter.
The crowd of geriatrics and that used-car salesman-like young man gasp. More than a few pull out their cell phones and point them at me.
The guard lifts the suspicious object and says, “Explain what this is used for.”
“It’s not mine!” I exclaim as he unwraps it and points it at me.
The guard pulls the plastic trigger, and the entire contraption starts vibrating. The tip pulsates in and out, in and out, while lights flash inside its plastic pistol grip. Even more embarrassing is the whoopee noise it makes, whoop, whoop, whoop, like the siren on a child’s toy space-gun.
The crowd is shocked silent for a split second before nervous laughter breaks out, turning into a full-fledged roar.
“It’s not mine!” I cry again, whirling around to face a bevy of cell phone cameras in video mode.
“As far as I know, there’s no rule against, ahem, whatever we think this is,” the security guard guffaws. He turns off the device and bunches it up with the aluminum foil. “Here.”
I refuse to take it, so he dumps it in my bag along with my hot-pink bikini, toiletries, makeup, and flip-flops.
My cheeks are boiling as I take my carry-on, duck between the crowd taking my picture, and scramble onto the gangway ahead of the large group still laughing and busy uploading my video to social media.
The young man wearing sunglasses gallops after me as if he wants to ask me for an autograph, but I dodge him by slipping through a set of double doors and up a winding set of stairs to my cabin.
Thankfully, it’s one that faces the outside and has a balcony. I step out, only to realize it’s facing the ocean side and I cannot spot Jade, if she’s still on the dock.
If she’s the one who put the embarrassing toy in my bag, I’m going to kill her. I pull out my phone and text her all innocent-like, wondering if she’s on board already.
Why isn’t she here to bask in her prank? Or to show me a video of my humiliation?
After I text my family to let them know I’m safe, I throw my carry-on onto my bunk, freshen my makeup, and decide to brave the Sail Away Party on the top deck to watch the ship leave the harbor.
I’m about to step out of my cabin when someone knocks on the door.
It’s the man with the aviator glasses who wore the biggest, smirkiest grin when I got caught with the suspicious object.
“I don’t know you,” I yelp and slam the door in his face.
Chapter 2
How absolutely freaking embarrassing.
If this cruise is supposed to be a Holly Jolly Christmas cruise, why is it feeling like Nightmare on Christmas Street, complete with Stalker Claus?
I unzip my bag and take out the pistol-shaped toy. Pulling the trigger sets it off. The “safety switch” adjusts the mode of operation and the spinning cylinder is the speed selector.
Very funny. I bet you’re a lot more satisfying than Stephen could ever be.
I stick the head in my mouth and gag at the plastic taste, while bubbles of giggles spill from my lips. As pranks go, this one was ingenious, although a cruel reminder that I’ll be screwing a pink pistol in lieu of my Christmas honeymoon.
Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I sneak one last peek at social media before leaving the harbor. I feel like posting a picture of my new friend, Pink Pistol, on Stephen’s page, letting him know he’s been supplanted.
But when I arrive on his page, my boiling blood curdles into cold clots.
My ex-fiancé’s short, terse message simply states. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the event has been cancelled. Please contact Maggie, my personal assistant, for help with refunds and change in travel plans.
No mention of me or how he feels about our cancelled wedding. It’s like I didn’t exist outside of being a future political prop for him.
All of our posed, professional engagement photos have been deleted. His friend lists are cleaned, and his relationship status changed back to single and looking.
Since he miraculously hasn’t unfriended me, I type a message. If you believe you’re qualified to be my replacement, please submit a job application, along with two letters of recommendation to Stephen’s assistant, Maggie, for further consideration. Stiff upper lip a must.
I snap a selfie of me and my plastic pleasure tool and upload it with a note: This is my replacement.
Quickly, before I can chicken out, I hit “post” and close my browser. Let’s see how long it takes for the ever-efficient Maggie to delete both me and the “dick” pic before Stephen can chew her out.
No sense of humor, those two.
But then, I knew what I was getting into when my dad introduced me to Stephen, his perfect protégé at the white-shoe law firm he’s a partner at.
Sigh. Two years of trying to please my parents while
pretending I’m a serious socialite without a funny bone or a trick up my sleeve had me as stiff as a corpse in a Victorian post-mortem photo.
I can’t wait to see a picture of me with my mouth gaped wide open in front of the suggestively shaped toy being posted to his profile.
Guaranteed unfriending.
The ship’s horn blasts, and I can feel the boat moving. If Jade’s on board, she’s at the Sail Away Party, wandering around making friends. She’s the extrovert, always chatting up people in hopes of finding a story to write.
Me? I’m just the parrot who narrates what someone else has already written. I can hide in my recording studio all day, but then, the entire point of the holiday cruise is to do something different. Stretch my wings. Try something new. Be someone else, not boring Dani Davison, ex-aspiring wife of an aspiring politician.
I open the cabin door a crack and breathe a sigh of relief on finding the corridor empty. I might as well go to the top deck and start enjoying myself.
With my head held high, I emerge on deck. A live band entertains the crowd, but I skip the bar and head for the railing to watch the ship leave the harbor.
This is freedom!
This is letting down my hair, shaking it out, and blowing out every breath I held and every bad word I swallowed. Heck, I no longer have to suppress my farts.
I wave at no one in particular, and strangers on the dock wave back—probably at their grandparents who are celebrating their golden or diamond anniversaries.
I laugh hilariously and photobomb other people’s pictures with no care in the world. No one knows me here, and apparently, the ship is large enough that no one remembers I’m the fool with the sex toy.
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