“And get it right you did.” I give her the onceover. She’s wearing a floor-length, tie-dyed skirt with a sparkling peasant blouse and a thick macramé belt. It’s dressy and a little over the top, but it looks good on Adele, whose silvery hair is tamed by a matching tie-dye headband.
“It’s chockers in here. Let’s grab some seats before they’re all gone,” Kayla says. She’s not wrong—the place is filling up quickly. We snag an empty table in the gazebo at the back.
“Speaking of outfits,” Adele begins, eyeing me, “you look like sex on a platter.”
“Back at you,” I say, but she just snorts.
“My tits don’t quite fill out a halter top like yours anymore.”
Kayla wears casual jeans and a flowing top. She looks effortlessly beautiful with zero makeup and dark locks falling across her face. Suddenly I feel overdressed—not Adele overdressed, but overdressed nonetheless.
“What did we miss?” Kayla asks, as Adele flits to the bar for drinks.
“I met a cute guy named Lance.”
She scrunches up her nose. “Lance is okay for a yank, I guess. We surf together sometimes.”
“You’re not…” I start to say, worried that I’ve trespassed into forbidden territory, but she shuts me down in a heartbeat.
“Not a chance. He’s not my type at all. You go right ahead.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure I should think about that right now. I mean, five months remain until our divorce is finalized, so technically I’m still married, at least in the State of California.”
“You’re thinking of getting back together with him?” Kayla levels me with a look.
“Never.”
“Then don’t fucking worry about it. Consider your divorced finalized, by me and the fine State of Hawaii, but is Lance actually someone you’re interested in?”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug, my eyes traveling to the man behind the bar.
“Kane is taking me to Hana tomorrow,” I add, just as Adele returns to the table with a bottle of wine and three glasses.
“What?” She squawks, just as Kayla rolls her eyes.
“Apparently he’s going there anyway.”
“Kane Keo doesn’t do field trips with tourists, my dear—unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Well that would be interesting,” Adele mutters.
“What would be interesting?” I feel myself getting increasingly frustrated with the cryptic nature of her reaction.
“Nothing—forget I said anything,” she says, but her grin tells me otherwise.
“Remind me again,” Kayla interjects, “this is the same dag who lost his temper and insulted you multiple times?”
“No reminder needed.” I hold up one hand, but she forges forwards anyways.
“It’s a pretty remote stretch of highway to Hana. Aren’t you worried that he might pull over, chop you into pieces, and bury you under one of the scenic waterfalls?”
“Hush now, Kayla. Kane is a good man,” Adele says. “No matter what people think.”
“Can we talk about something other than Kane, please?” I half-whisper/half-shout, feeling a tingle down my spine. “He’s behind me, isn’t me?”
Kayla nods with wide-eyes, and Kane responds in a flat voice. “It’s good to know that I’m still the talk of the town. Uh, Ashley?”
“Mmmhmm…” I answer, afraid to turn around.
“Be ready for 8am tomorrow.”
“Got it,” I manage to squeak out.
I don’t look behind me, but I hear his retreating steps—that is until he stops. “And Ashley?”
“Yes?” This time I swivel around in my seat.
“Stay away from Lance.”
“Why?”
“I know him. He’s my friend.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I counter.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Why then?”
He studies me for a moment, and I can tell from the grinding of his jaw that he’s pissed. “Because I said so.” He huffs out, proceeding to disappear behind the bar.
Because he said so? Seriously, FML.
Chapter 7
I set my alarm for 7am, giving me plenty of time to mentally prepare for the day, but Kane still manages to beat me outside. The sun is hot for this time of day, and I can tell that it’s going to be a scorcher. Kane gives me a curt nod as I emerge from the suite, waiting for me in a cherry red Jeep. It’s an older model—simple but spotless—and I run my hand along the passenger side door. “Nice color.”
“Red is my favorite.” He seems to catch himself, noticing my cheeks flush. “For a car, I mean.”
I hoist myself into the seat. “Sure.”
“I could have helped you into the car, you know?” He sounds pissed, but I have to wonder why everything makes him so mad.
“All good—as it turns out, I have a functional set of legs. Besides, I competed in high jump as a teenager.”
He gives me a skeptical look. “You did high jump?”
“Yes,” I snap. “What’s so strange about that?”
“I don’t know. You’re just so lili’i.”
“Li what?”
“It means small.”
“Five foot six isn’t small. You’re just enormous.” I cross my arms over my chest like a defiant child.
“If you say so.”
The Jeep is even cleaner on the inside. Kane Keo is obviously a pretty meticulous guy. He switches the radio on but keeps it low, and we ride in amiable silence for a while. It’s always rare to meet someone and immediately feel that silence is comfortable, so I bask in the moment and try to relax.
“So what are you picking up?” I ask after a while.
“What?”
“You said you had to pick something up?”
“Right. A car part in Hana.”
It doesn’t seem like he wants to chat, so I focus on the lush landscape, which seems to grow denser by the minute. The road thins into a maze of switchbacks, cute little roadside waterfalls, and glorious peek-a-boo views of the Pacific Ocean.
“You don’t get car sick, do you?” He asks, finally breaking the silence. “It turns into a one-way winding road from here.”
“Nope, I’m more than fine with a few bends in the road. In fact, I’m a freak for roller coasters.”
“Huh. Never been on one of those.”
“A roller coaster? Really? You’ve never been on a roller coaster?”
“Never felt the need. Besides, I’ve lived on the island my whole life. Gotta say though, I never would’ve pegged you for a thrill seeker.”
“And why is that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem safe.”
I laugh out loud—safe, because that is every girl’s dream.
“If you must know,” I begin, “I just quit my job of five years, sold everything I owned on a whim, and left my dirt-bag cheating husband in San Francisco.” I pause to let it sink in. “So, do you still think I’m safe?”
“Point taken.” He nods and the car falls silent. I see an adorable roadside stand selling fresh fruit, and I begin bouncing up and down in my seat.
“Did you want to stop?” He tries to sound irritated, but humor stifles his voice.
“Pretty, pretty please?” I bat my eyelashes and give him the biggest smile possible.
Ever so slightly, I notice his lips part. He veers off the road and I unclip my belt, rushing to the stand like Road Runner. From the collection of fruits and veggies, I pick out an avocado, pineapple, and some freshly baked coconut cake. I’m totally in my element, loading my arms with goodies. The proprietor, a sweet Hawaiian lady with grey-streaked raven hair and a kind, prune-like face, comes over with a box for my items. When I go to pay though, she shakes her head and points at Kane. I protest in every way possible, but she just smiles. Eventually, I frown and stomp over to where Kane is leaning against the Jeep.
“Did you already pay?” I snap, hoisting up the box to avoid bruising my precious avocad
os. He ignores my question though, extricating the heavy box from my hands with one arm, as if it weighs nothing.
“We’d better get a move on.”
“I can pay for my own food, Kane!” I shout, but he’s already inside the jeep. Totally miffed, I follow him into the car. It was a nice gesture, but somehow it pisses me off. Every move he makes seems highhanded and bossy.
“You gonna’ pout the rest of the way there?” He stares straight out the windshield.
“I’m not pouting.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m asserting myself as an independent woman.”
“Like I said, you’re pouting.”
“Kane!”
He chuckles. “Jeez woman, it’s just a box of vegetables. Consider it a Hawaiian welcome.”
“Fine,” I snap, angling my body toward the window. Only a few minutes pass before I’m grinning though. “Okay, fine. Thank you.”
“I’m glad that you came to your senses, because next we’re stopping for coconut shrimp, and I don’t want any shit when I go to pay.”
“Ohmyfreakinggod.” I exhale in one big gust. “I watched a Food Network episode on those, last year. I swear, I could smell them through the TV.”
“Yeah?”
“Hells yeah, I’ve been dying to try them. I’m the kind of woman who capital-L loves food, as you can probably tell.” I gesture to my body, and his eyes linger on my bare legs.
“Actually, it looks pretty damn perfect from where I’m sitting.” I’m so shocked by his words that it takes me a minute to respond.
Then I remember what he said at the beach. “Yeah, right. Why did you insist that I wear a shirt at the beach then?”
This time his eyebrows skyrocket. “You think that’s why I told you to cover up?” He shakes his head. “You’re nuts, woman.”
I’m not sure how to respond, so I leave it be. The air crackles with a strange tension as we hunt down the shrimp shack. It’s a cute open-air spot with a few plastic chairs and exclusively paper plates. The smell is pure heaven. I’m almost giddy when he hands me my first coconut-crusted fried shrimp, all golden brown and wrapped in newspaper. I take a bite and an actual moan escapes from my chest. Meanwhile, I notice Kane shifting in the seat beside me, his shrimp still untouched.
“You don’t like it?” I ask, stuffing another bite in my mouth. “You’d better hurry up before I eat all of yours.”
He picks one up and swallows it whole. “My problem isn’t the shrimp.”
I’m far too distracted by the sweet and salty deliciousness to bother with his comment. “OMG I swear these shrimp are even better than sex!”
He choke-coughs on the shrimp in that moment. After clearing his throat, he locks eyes with mine. “If you think that’s true, you’ve never had great sex.”
His eyes darken and I squeeze my thighs together in the heat of his gaze, very aware of the jolt of wetness between my legs. Thinking all at once about Kane, coconut shrimp, and sex is not something my body can handle, especially after such a long dry spell in the bedroom. Instead, I change the subject.
“Why don’t you serve food at the bar?”
He smirks—I guess my subject change wasn’t so subtle after all. “Don’t see the point.”
“You don’t see the point of food?”
He shrugs. “People come to Salty’s to drown their sorrows.”
“But people need to eat, too, and food is love.”
“I thought love was love,” he corrects, but I don’t miss the bitterness in his voice.
“Semantics,” I say with a wave. “When you feed someone something made from scratch, it’s like an extension of yourself. People taste the passion you put into cooking.”
“But I don’t cook.”
“Well, you could hire someone.”
“What, like you?” He teases, but I like his crooked smile.
“That’s not what I meant—but it’s not the craziest idea in the world. I need a job; you need a menu. It could be perfect.”
“It sounds like a lot of work and a big headache.”
“Just think about how it could bolster your sales, keeping both the locals and tourists happy in the process.”
“I’ll think about it,” he says, but his words don’t match his tone. He seems completely closed off to the idea.
We finish our shrimp and pile back into the Jeep, and Kane promises we’ll stop at a black sand beach along the way. The road is narrow and the drive insanely curvy. On my right, the landscape is a forest of thick jungle, with spectacular ocean views on my left. I spy a new waterfall around almost every turn. When we arrive, we park in a hillside lot and I start to hop out, but not before Kane grabs the sunscreen and slathers it all over my shoulders. He rubs what’s left into my forehead and nose, bringing us so close that I can see the pulse in his neck. We head down to the beach below, where the coarse sand is the color of wet coffee grinds. I’ve never seen anything like it before, but the spot still teems with tourists. Even so, Kane doesn’t rush me as I shuck off my shoes, digging my feet into the sand and staring out at the violently crashing waves.
“Stunning, isn’t it?” Kane’s eyes are like lasers. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, but some of the loose strands whip around his angular face. He stands with his arms adrift by his side, his well-worn t-shirt waving in the wind, and I’m quietly envious of how comfortable he looks in his own skin. I start to wade into the shallow water, so distracted by Kane that I don’t notice my foot scraping against a barnacled rock.
I let out a yelp and fall into the ocean, soaking my white shorts to the skin. Kane rushes forward and scoops me into his arms, carrying me back to the beach and conducting a thorough examination of my foot. There’s a small round hole above my toes that’s spouting red blood. “It’s pretty deep, Ashley.”
“It hurts.” My voices shakes. I bend forward to ease the flow with my fingers. The blood pools beneath them and leaves me feeling dizzy.
“Damn, it’s bleeding a lot.” He looks around, but there’s no lifeguard on duty. He tugs his shirt off instead, ripping it in half and wrapping the strands around my foot like a tourniquet.
“Ouch!” I hiss, as Kane tightens the tourniquet past the point of comfort.
“Just gotta’ stop the bleeding.”
My blood seeps through his shirt and stains the fabric, but his eyes are fixed on my legs. He runs a rough hand up my calf, stopping at the back of my knee as his calloused fingers trace circles on my skin. I watch him swallow and know that he wants to explore further. I want it too; in that moment, I want nothing more than to feel those big hands sliding beneath my shorts. I wouldn’t object if he ripped them off and sunk into me right here on the black sand with everyone watching. That’s how intoxicating his touch feels—but he doesn’t do any of that—instead he pulls his hand away, as if my skin is on fire, and simply stands up.
I try to scramble to my feet, but before I get there, Kane has me back in his arms. I wrap mine around his thick bare neck like a koala bear. “What about my shoes?” I say, and he bends down to capture both flip-flops before carrying me up the hill.
Back at the Jeep, he swings open the door with one arm and places me gently in the passenger seat with the other. The movement puts him right between my legs, and I don’t think I’m imagining his shallow breath, nor the heat rolling off his body. Seated high up like this, I’m closer to his lips than ever before, and the pain in my foot is next to forgotten. When I lean forward, his lips part slightly, and I want nothing more than for him to kiss me. I close my eyes and let my lips brush against his mouth, but he rears back as if I’ve burnt him.
“I can’t with you. I’m sorry.” Just six little words, but they’re enough to make my face burn with rejection. He wipes a hand down his face. “I can’t be with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” I say, bristling.
“I can’t be with anyone.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, but I can’t
bring myself to look at him. I shouldn’t be imagining his body’s response, but I am. I know he must feel something, too, even if only physical. I’m okay with just the physical anyways; it’s probably all that I have capacity for right now.
“This was a bad idea.” He walks around the car and climbs back into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you back.”
“But what about Hana?” I say, disappointed by our change of plans.
“Maybe another time.” I can tell by his tone of voice that another time means never.
“Maybe I’ll ask Lance.” I don’t know why I goad him, but I can’t seem to help myself. Believe me, I don’t miss how his knuckles go white around the steering wheel, but he doesn’t object this time. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all, and my heart dips in my chest. “Just so I’m clear then, you don’t want me, and you don’t think I’m good enough for your friend, either, is that about right?
He answers without taking his eyes off the road. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is, is it?”
“This was a bad idea.”
I let go of a little laugh. “You think?”
He makes a U-turn and speeds back in the direction we came. I ignore him for the rest of the ride, resolving to start focusing on my life here. My new start begins right now, and I’d rather have three orders of fried coconut shrimp then this frustrating man’s hands anywhere near my body. So much for the Hawaiian welcome.
• • •
The jeep barely comes to a stop before I’ve unbuckled my seatbelt and leaped onto the dirt road. I huff it double time back to my cottage, half-expecting Kane to chase after me, but he doesn’t—and why would he when he’s made his interest, or lack thereof, perfectly clear. I chalk it up to a rare moment when he was helping me through a tough situation in close physical proximity. It may have jumpstarted both our libidos, but it was just a knee-jerk reaction—emphasis on the jerk.
I slam the suite door behind me, pacing the length of the small kitchen while cursing myself. I’ve only been in Hawaii for a few days, and already I’m acting like a lovesick teenager, pining over someone who’s obviously emotionally unavailable. I’m a mature, responsible twenty-seven-year-old woman and I need to start acting like one. It’s not like me to be so thrown off by a man, even Dale never made me feel this unbalanced. Dale and I were never butterflies though. As my nana used to tell me, butterflies are for fairy tales and romance novels, a beautiful idea but unrealistic and unsustainable. She always told me to find someone who loved me more than I loved them, because life was easier with the upper hand.
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