Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After: A sweet romantic comedy collection

by Ellie Hall

  She tilted her head to the side and stared up at Brady through squinted eyes, scrutinizing him as if she stood face to face with a giant. “Thanks,” she said in a soft voice.

  Charlotte wrapped a blanket around the girl’s shoulders and gave her a soft hug. “Seraphine,” she whispered. This girl belonged in the water.

  “Kora with a K,” the girl corrected her.

  Johnny took Kora’s hand and helped her step down into the cockpit.

  “What happened, Kora?” Brady asked while giving Johnny a congratulatory slap on his back.

  Johnny sat next to Kora on the patted vinyl, cream bench. Kora jutted out her chin and gnawed at her lower lip instead of answering Brady’s question. Johnny scooted closer to her until their sides touched. Tommy quietly slipped onto the bench opposite them, staring at Kora with a look of disbelief and intrigue.

  Kora’s face slowly lifted into a proud smile. “I did it. They said I couldn’t do it, but I did.”

  Charlotte looked to her husband for an explanation, but he appeared as befuddled as she was by Kora’s speech.

  “You did what?” her husband drew out, looking over his shoulder at Kora as he grabbed hold of the wheel with one hand and ran the back of his other hand across his forehead.

  Kora’s bright green eyes danced as if they’d been lit with an unquenchable flame. “I flew with whales.” She dropped her gaze to her folded hands. “Like I used to do with my dad.” She glanced at the ocean.

  Flew with whales, repeated in Charlotte’s mind. Her head spun. That had been one of the things her mother had told her about her Spanish nautilus ancestors. They were known to have followed whale migrations. They’d used the same exact phrase of “flying with whales” to describe sailing alongside the sea animals. Her arms shook with excitement. Could this coast have been the final fatal resting spot of one of the three lost ships? Had the armada headed up the Pacific Coast, not toward the Hawaiian Islands? Perhaps having abandoned her Hawaiian efforts so long ago had been serendipitous. So many unanswered questions. But shipwrecking here along the northern California coast made sense; sailing northbound from San Francisco was often treacherous. “You flew with whales?”

  Kora twisted her hands in her lap. “That was our thing…diving for treasure. The treasure. The Aztec gold the Spanish stole from my ancestors.” She lifted her eyes sheepishly. “I know that sounds crazy. It was just something we did together.”

  Charlotte’s toes tapped the deck with a level of anticipation she hadn’t felt in ages. “Sunken ships and buried treasure?” she said with piqued interest. “Now you’re talking my language.” She told her heart to calm and her head to not get ahead of itself. She felt her husband’s disapproving eyes on her but didn’t glance his way. They’d already spent a fortune searching for Spanish treasure, but he had no reason to complain too loudly; they’d acquired some prime real estate in the process. You’re imagining things, Charlotte. Focus on the girl, she reprimanded herself. She caught Kora’s eye. “You swam all the way out here from shore?”

  “Yeah,” Kora said with a shrug, as if swimming a kilometer out from shore was normal.

  Johnny held an expression of awe while he pinched a few of Kora’s flyaway hairs. “That’s the first time I saved someone.”

  Kora cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t save me.”

  Johnny’s face registered hurt and anger. He scooted back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. The two turned away from each other, staring out at sea until Johnny pointed at a transparent-yellow, inflatable inner tube that tumbled across the surface of the water and shouted, “Ha!”

  Charlotte met Johnny’s eyes, fearing he’d call Kora out for lying about using the yellow floaty instead of swimming from the shore, but his eyes told her he felt sympathy for Kora even with the mounting tension in the boat between the two pre-teens.

  “Kora,” said Charlotte, pulling her phone from her jacket pocket. “What’s your mom’s phone number? I’ll call her and let her know you’re safe.”

  A wave struck the side of the boat, misting them with cool, salty droplets. Kora pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders. “Can’t.” Her hands shook.

  Charlotte attempted to dry the side of her face with her slick raincoat sleeve, but it only smeared the water along her cheek. “Can’t what?” she asked, sitting at Kora’s side.

  “I can’t call them.” Kora brought her hand to her mouth and bit her nails. “They died when I was eight, right after we moved here.”

  Charlotte released a long, empathetic sigh. “And swimming with the whales makes you feel like you’re swimming with your dad again?”

  Kora’s eyes watered. “Yeah. My foster mom is going to kill me for swimming out here.” She stared down at her hands. “She doesn’t understand.”

  “It’s normal to feel that way,” Charlotte said in a quiet voice. She placed her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Especially at your age. Ten, eleven?”

  “I’m twelve,” Kora said with an exasperated sigh, glancing up at Charlotte with an expression of despair. “She says I’m different than everyone else at school, and every other kid they’ve fostered.” She hesitated. “Because of my Indian ways.”

  “Indian?” Charlotte said with more disbelief in her voice than she’d meant to offer. “Native American?”

  Kora rubbed her arms. Perhaps out of nervousness or to simply warm them. One minute Kora seemed completely at ease, and the next, completely unsure of herself. “I was named after my tribe, the Mexican Cora Indians.”

  Charlotte sat back and studied the girl’s face. Her natural beauty couldn’t be refuted. She had huge eyes, high cheekbones, black straight hair, small bones. Yet, those stunning green eyes contradicted Kora’s claim of being indigenous. The girl could be fibbing. It wasn’t unheard of for kids who’d lost their parents, or were stuck in the foster system, to create fictitious, alternate realities. “Are there many people in your tribe with green eyes? They’re so beautiful and unique.”

  Kora stared at Charlotte for a few seconds before speaking. “Are your eyes real?” she said with a voice of admiration mixed with distrust.

  “Yes.” For someone with light violet eyes, Charlotte had often been adored while, at the same time, scrutinized. No one ever paid credence to her when she told them she was of Spanish descent. She found herself treating Kora how many people treated her, with hesitant wonder. Of course, with explorers pillaging native lands, genes often had scandalous and undocumented ways of propagating. Charlotte’s heart sank. She had to do something for Kora. A thought came to her mind, a selfish thought. “What did your father tell you about sunken treasure?” She caught herself. “I mean, Aztec gold?”

  Kora’s face brightened. “You believe me?”

  “I have no reason not to believe you. Do I?”

  Kora scooted to the edge of the bench and sat erect, her hands curling into fists of excitement. “A crown,” she whispered so only Charlotte could hear.

  Charlotte leaned in but tried not to appear overly eager. “Did you say a crown of gold?” she stuttered out. “A Spanish crown with a cross on top?” Her heart pounded against her rib cage with anticipation.

  “An Aztec crown,” Kora said with a little headshake. “I dreamed about the princess’ crown last night. My dad told me that the oldest Cora princess wore it during the harvest festival.” Her hands went above her head and mimed a crown as she spoke. “There were these spikes in the front like—”

  “Feathers?” Charlotte asked, cutting her off.

  “More like corn stalks.” Kora glanced off to the right and up at the clear blue sky in thought. During their short conversation, the boat had travelled a good distance back to shore and the fog had completely lifted. Kora continued, “The crown had these red flowers in bunches and a snake that wrapped around the whole thing.” She looked down to her side. “I think. At least that’s what the crown looks like in my dreams. I’ve been dreaming about it ever since me and my dad started diving.” />
  Charlotte ran a finger along her chin in thought. “Could you draw a picture of the crown for me?”

  Kora shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “You really believe me?”

  “Of course.” Charlotte glanced at Brady to gauge his reaction. “And everyone should swim with whales.”

  Positioned at the helm, Brady stood with his back to them, but he must have felt her eyes on him because the second she thought his name, he turned and smiled at her. After all their years of marriage, flutters still erupted in her chest when he smiled at her with his “you don’t have to ask” expression. That meant he would fund whatever project she concocted in her head.

  “No asking required.” Charlotte clapped her hands. “You’re amazing,” she said to Brady with a bat of her lashes.

  His brow lifted, causing his ocean blue eyes to hold her captive. He patted his chest over his heart. “Tell me that like that again and you’ll never get rid of me.”

  “Promise?” Charlotte asked flirtatiously.

  Kora jumped to her feet. “They’re back,” she said, pointing beyond the stern.

  “They’re following us,” Johnny said, pushing past his brother. “Please,” he begged Charlotte with a yank of her sleeve.

  Kora tossed off the thin purple blanket like a superhero releasing her cape. It floated behind her, billowing down until it rested on the bench. She motioned to Johnny. “They said you didn’t have to ask.” She walked toward the back of the boat. “Thanks for the ride,” she said with a toothy smile.

  Charlotte held in an amused laugh. She admired Kora’s openness and tenacity. “Mid-day ocean swim, anyone?” she said, removing her light jacket and slipping off her skirt to strip down to her bathing suit. With their sailboat now an easy distance from the beach, fear crept into Charlotte’s chest that she might lose Kora forever. There was no way she would let the girl out of her sight, not until she’d made arrangements with social services and Kora’s foster family.

  Tommy and Johnny sprinted past Charlotte, screaming with excitement as they followed Kora off the boat. They threw their bodies at the water in uncontrolled dives.

  “If you can’t beat ‘em,” Charlotte laughed out, jumping overboard. Cold water enveloped her, stealing her wind. Someday, this will all have been worth it. I can feel it in my Spanish explorer bones.

  Secluded and uninhabited, if someone got hurt near the hidden west shore cliffs, they were on their own.

  Churning waves channeled Kainoa Lin toward the base of the jagged cliffs. He staggered his breath between crashing surges of tepid ocean water. In a moment of calm, he took in a deep breath before a wave beat him underwater again.

  Seconds later, a forceful undercurrent threw him toward the razor-sharp rocks. His left shoulder seared in pain. He was no stranger to injuries sustained at the base of his favorite jumping cliffs, but he’d never dived from these rocks, never even dived on this side of the island before. He’d misjudged today’s tide. He’d also never thought about death…until now. At fifteen, why would he?

  “Kainoa?” Ano called down impatiently from his perch at the top of the cliff.

  “Noah!” he corrected his friend. Only his family and closest friends still called him Kainoa, and never in front of mainland girls. “Did she see my gainer?” he asked, cautiously using his palms to push himself away from the rocks.

  The pretty mainland girl had given him the only encouragement he’d needed to throw himself off the cliff: a wickedly sweet smile. A wave tossed him toward the rocks again. He dug his heels into the sand and leaned back, utilizing his kinesthetic memory of leg presses to push himself away from the sinister rocks.

  “What’re you doing?” Ano said with a laugh. “You look like a haole trying to dance the Haka. Let’s go!” Leave it to your best friend to minimalize your near-death experience.

  Noah felt something lodge between his toes. He dove underwater, pulled a metal object from his foot, then swam toward a crack in the cliff’s wall, the only visible way to climb out. After stepping from the water onto the shoreline boulders, he rubbed the round piece of metal in his fingers. The rough coin was between the size of a penny and a nickel. It possessed a dull gold coloring and was dimpled with erosion pocks. Is this what real gold looked like after it had lost its luster? With all the foreign visitors to the Hawaiian Islands, especially Oahu, the coin could have been brought to the island from anywhere in the world.

  The cute girl and her friends were nowhere to be seen. Disappointment settled in Noah’s gut. “Where is she?” he asked Ano, scaling the last boulder before reaching the top.

  “Forget about her,” Ano said with a wave of his arm to hurry Noah along. By the look on Ano’s face, he was hiding something.

  “What did she say?” Noah prodded.

  “It’s not what she said. It’s obvious she’s into you. Every girl wants to date you.”

  “And why wouldn’t they?” Noah joked.

  “Exactly. Isn’t that why Mika started calling you Noah? Because ‘No…ahhh is hot with a capital h.’” Ano always knew how to lift Noah’s spirits, but he was trying too hard. Something had happened that Ano didn’t want to tell him.

  “Thanks. But you gotta tell me what they said.”

  Ano walked ahead of Noah down the gravel road toward his truck. “Her friend told her not to waste her time on the poor islander boy. And someone told the girl checking me out to stay away from the fat one. Then they all left.”

  Noah curled his fingers into fists, clasping the coin tight. He sprinted to Ano’s side. “I won’t always be poor. And you won’t always be fat,” he said with a chuckle, patting Ano’s fluffy belly. “Look what I found.” He held the coin up in front of Ano’s face.

  Ano scratched his head, something he did when he got impatient. “Great. You found King Kamehamea’s lost treasure,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “Why do you continue to go after haole girls? Any girl in Laie would go out with you if you asked. You don’t ask.”

  “You’re right,” Noah said with resolve. “From now on, if she’s not an islander, I won’t eye-lander her.” His face lifted into a self-congratulatory grin at his play on words.

  “Good,” said Ano with an exaggerated sigh of relief, as if he’d been waiting for the declaration from Noah his entire life. “If we’re not home to get ready for the luau by six, my dad’s gonna kill us.”

  “Are we throwing flames tonight?” Noah asked casually, hoping Ano’s dad had finally agreed to let them perform the fire dance. He and Ano were two of his best dancers, but Ano’s dad never let them handle fire anywhere except on his own property.

  “Nice try,” said Ano, tossing Noah a towel from inside his beat-up Toyota Tacoma. “Dad said he’s not paying insurance on us. Too expensive.”

  “Someday, I won’t have to worry about money,” Noah said, sticking his hand in his pocket and rubbing the coin between his fingers. He would make something out of himself—one way or another. After settling into the passenger seat, he stared out at the shoreline, commanding the location to memory. “If my gut is right, we’re going to be very rich someday.”

  Ano threw his head back and laughed. “Then you’d better not swear off rich haoles yet.”

  Considering Noah’s mom was a white girl, a foreigner, a haole, he tried not to poke fun at outsiders the same way his friends did. But he was also tired of being made the fool. “I can promise you that I will never even look in the direction of a mainland girl again…at least one who’s too stuck on herself to see all of this,” he said, pounding his ripped chest. If only he believed the cocky stuff he said.

  “That’s my boy!” said Ano, cranking his truck’s ignition.

  The engine rumbled with a manly growl. Noah loved Ano’s old truck. Someday, a girl would love him the same way he loved that truck, would appreciate him for being tough without all the stupid pretentious fluff—like money.

  Someday.

  2

  I put my heart and soul into my work and have lost my min
d in the process.

  ~Vincent Van Gogh

  The evening clouds darkened to pale gray. Kora Nahua stared out at the road ahead, paying close attention to the speed limit changes. Sixty-five. Hold on. No, forty-five. Wait, fifty-five.

  Johnny had warned her of several speed traps on the road into Sun Valley, Idaho, but he hadn’t told her that the snowcapped mountain skyline where he’d grown up would take her breath away. The serenity of the quiet valley stood in sharp contrast to the crowded, rolling streets of downtown San Francisco, where she normally shuttled frenzied people around.

  Goosebumps rose on her arms, more from anticipation than from the cold. She hadn’t seen him in years. Johnny. His name played in her mind like a perfectly tuned violin. They’d stayed in touch through social media, flirted even. Knowing she would see him in less than an hour caused her throat to parch.

  Lily’s violin piece played on her phone, interrupting her internal dialogue. She tapped her watch to answer the incoming call through her car’s audio system. “How’s my favorite barista?”

  “Once I pass the bar,” Lilly’s voice echoed through the car, “you’d better say, ‘my favorite attorney.’”

  The speed reduced to thirty-five. “Once you stop giving me free hot milk with honey, then I’ll stop saying my favorite barista.”

  Lilly laughed. “It’s called a steamer. You sound like you’re eight when you say milk with honey.”

  “Second grade.” Kora’s mind flashed back to their first class of orchestra. “Neither of us had touched a violin before that day. How is it that you play like you belong in the San Francisco Philharmonic and I can barely tune my violin?”