Aloha, page 67
And frankly, she did not care.
The minute Ty came through the doors, she knew her choices had been the right ones.
Jenny, their hostess, immediately put on her best smile as Ty approached, but Hope dropped her hand on the young woman’s shoulder to indicate that she’d be taking care of this customer on her own.
“Wow,” he said. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said, overwhelmed by an uncharacteristic bashfulness. She’d never felt that before, not even with Ty. How could she have when they’d seen each other in their pajamas for years before they’d discovered that they no longer felt like childhood friends. “Do you want to try one of Mel’s famous new signature drinks?”
He glanced into the mildly busy space. Mel hesitated a moment, then gifted him with a half-grin and a shrug. That was about as much of a welcome as her sister would give him, and it was more than Hope had expected.
“Doesn’t look like I have a choice. She’s not going to poison me, is she?” he asked, sotto voiced.
“And ruin the restaurant’s perfect A grade? Never.”
Hope joined him at the bar and Mel did an admirable job of acting as if she was happy to see him. She served him her signature Mai-Tai, not the overly fruity concoction her parents used to offer on their original menu, but the classic aged rum cocktail with orgeat almond and rich demerara syrups she blended herself and which had won her an award from a local food guide.
“This is fantastic,” he declared, and then spent the next ten minutes talking shop about mixology.
Hope sipped a flavored sparkling water, marveling at how the vibe between the three of them had shifted like tectonic plates after a quake. The comfortable, familial tone set her off-kilter as much as sitting close enough to Tyler to breathe in the scent of his woodsy cologne. He wore soft jeans, a snug gray T-shirt and a breezy linen jacket rolled up at the cuffs, making him look casual and cosmopolitan at the same time. She remembered the days when she was lucky that the T-shirt he wore on a date wasn’t torn or dotted with splashes of grease.
Only this wasn’t a date.
It was …
What was it?
When the business in the bar picked up, she suggested they go visit Lu in the kitchen. Her foster mother took great pride introducing Tyler to the staff and inviting him to taste myriad dishes until she finally shooed them out to the table they kept open by the stage. They shared a plate of huli huli chicken and a wide assortment of sides including Lu’s infamous macaroni salad. The unexpectedly comfortable conversation scratched the surface of “catching up,” but impressed Hope with its depth. They’d both changed so much. Had learned so much. Had experienced so much.
And yet, nothing about him seemed foreign. He was the Tyler she’d known. The Tyler she’d loved. Just better.
The show provided a much-needed intermission to their conversation. She was overwhelmed with his nearness, his honesty, his love of cooking and travel and life. When Ben came on stage to sing the final set, ending with his heartfelt rendition of Aloha-oe, Ty reached across the two-top and enveloped her hand in his.
They both knew the history of the lyrics. Written by the last queen of the islands, Lili’uokalani, it was a love song to her land, her people and her culture. To most haole, it was a song they’d heard on television shows and movies. To Ben and Lu, it was a piece of their past, rife with longing. Ben always sang the verses first in his native Hawaiian and then in an English translation. When he reached the words, “Dearest one, yes, you are mine own, from you, true love shall never depart,” Ty squeezed her hand tight.
Hope wasn’t sure what happened next. The set ended. The customers applauded, milled about, ordered more drinks. Ben came by their table and chatted a few minutes with Ty. When their foster dad noticed their clasped hands, he raised his eyebrows and made an excuse to leave. After declining another round of cocktails from their server, Ty stood and gently tugged her up, guiding her to the lobby.
“I’d like to see the new patio,” he said.
The suggestion shook her back to full consciousness. “We don’t open it up during the week.”
He pulled her a half-step closer. “I know.”
This was insane. And it was also perfect. Hope took her turn leading him, unlocking the entrance to the patio and sliding the “no access,” sign back into place before shutting the doors behind them.
She let go of him long enough to reach behind a cascade of hanging plants, flicking on the colorful fairy lights and activating the water feature. A rocky waterfall dotted with gas flames and flowers native to the area of Maui where Ben and Lu had first fallen in love splashed gently. Her foster parents had been around the same age as Hope and Ty when they’d decided to get married, sell everything they owned and emigrate to California to open the food shack that grew into Sunsets. Their leap of faith had brought their family so much prosperity, they’d immediately wanted to share it with children like Hope and Ty who’d never had anyone to show them the strength of ‘ohana.
Hope moved closer to the fountain, sat on the smooth ledge and after a deep breath, gestured for Ty to join her.
“Beautiful,” Ty said.
She knew he wasn’t talking about the patio. He proved her right by reaching down and smoothing a single finger down her cheek. The sensation sent a vibration through her that reached every part of her. As he cupped her chin and tilted her face up, he lowered himself beside her and brushed a whisper of a kiss across her lips.
An explosion of need wracked her body. She shook. He pressed his hands on her bare shoulders and rhythmically rubbed.
“Cold?” he asked, leaning in to swipe another kiss across her cheek.
“No,” she said. “This shouldn’t feel this way. Not after all this time.”
“What way? Familiar? Welcome?”
She nodded. “Safe,” she had to admit. “But it’s not safe, Ty. I could fall again so easily, risk my heart again, putting it right in your hands.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” he murmured.
“It could be. There’s nothing to stop you from leaving again. I don’t know if I can survive it a second time.”
He sat back, disengaging from where he’d tangled his hand into her hair, but keeping his knees pressed against hers as if he could not bear to completely break contact.
“I don’t want to leave again,” he answered and the certainty in his voice snapped her gaze to his. “You were right that I needed to go and experience the world. I needed to see things I never would have if I’d stayed. But if I ever go exploring again, I want to do it with you, Hope.”
Her heart thudded and her pulse raced as a long-forgotten hope tried to claw into her mind. “How can you possibly know that? We have to get to know each other all over again. I’ve changed. You’ve changed.”
“We have grown, but no matter how much time has passed or how much distance has been between us, you’ve always been in my heart.”
She couldn’t reply, still unsure, torn between caution and hope.
“Hasn’t it been the same for you?” he pressed.
She could not deny it. Of course it was the same for her. She and Ty were as linked as the water and the wind. They had been from the start.
Taking a deep breath, she thought for a moment…before letting her heart decide. She had no idea where this new path would lead them, but just as he’d had to fly from the nest to find his way home, she couldn’t resist taking a chance at love with Ty.
“Yes, Ty,” she finally whispered. “You have been in my heart since the day we met.”
This time, the kiss was anything but tentative or sweet. Lips locked. Tongues danced. Hands touched and caressed. When they broke apart, they were so breathless, they couldn’t help but laugh.
Ty dropped to the ground, his back against the ridge of the fountain where she still sat and leaned his head against her knee. She tangled a hand into his hair, brushing through the soft strands. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up as if lost in the intimacy before he gently coaxed her down beside him. She tugged her skirt down and crossed her feet at the ankles. He slid his hand down her thigh, captured her hand and slid it between them. The moment was sweet and ripe with endless possibilities.
“I never could have dreamed this, Hope. I guess I didn’t think I deserved all this. A family. A home. A chance at true love.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I did, either.”
“But we do. I know we do.”
Hope shimmied closer to him, loving how his body heat melded with hers even as the artificial grass beneath her legs itched against her bare skin. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t confess that she’d fantasized about a moment like this when she’d dreamed up the design for the patio. Tyler had embedded himself in the foundation of her soul from the start. And now she knew she’d built a similar place in him.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” she admitted.
He tilted his head so she could see the naughty glimmer in his eye. “Don’t you?”
She gave him a soft punch in the bicep. “You know what I mean.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and homey, yet also exciting and sexy. “The only thing that matters is whatever next thing that happens, it will include both of us. Together.”
Forever.
Thanks for reading. Check out the rest of my books at www.julieleto.com.
Dark Paradise
Karina Halle
This short story was previously published as “Esteban.” It features characters from the Dirty Angels Trilogy. Please note that it contains the following potential triggers: suicidal ideation, depression, and infidelity.
Chapter 1
I knew that the wave was too dangerous. I knew it and that was why I went for it. It came rolling into Hanalei Bay like a brilliant blue shock wave, diamond-studded from the sun, catching the attention of the bored surfers on this otherwise average day. It called to me like a slippery siren, just as it called to them. But instead of watching it pass underneath my dangling legs, like I had done with every surfable wave in the last hour, I decided to answer the call.
I decided it would be a good way to die.
Determined, I lay down on my stomach and began paddling like a madwoman, knowing the liquid beast was barreling up behind me. I could hear some of the territorial surfers out there were yelling, perhaps to get out of their way, perhaps to warn me, but I didn’t care. The golden beach spread out in front of me as kids grabbed their bodyboards and fled from the surf, their parents yelling at them to be careful. They knew the dangers, just as I did.
I wasn’t a great surfer. But then again, that was the point.
I sucked in my breath, salt dancing on my tongue, and got to my knees as I felt the massive pull of the wave take me and the board back.
My feet found the rough, beaten surface, my legs bracing for balance. The ocean roared beneath me. This wave was what every surfer could ever dream of, their holy grail, their Moby Dick, and I captured it like fireflies in a jar. I could feel the power, the surge, the sea spray, the sun on my skin. I could feel everything, as if I were finally alive and breathing and part of the world.
And yet living was the last thing on my mind.
I rode that wave for a few seconds that stretched out into eternity. Maybe my life flashed before my eyes, or maybe it flashed behind them. One moment I was up, feeling the immense girth of the wave curling up behind me, and the next I was down, a flower crushed in a closing hand. The board was yanked away from me so hard and fast that the cord was ripped off my ankle, and I was pulled in a million directions before the way down was the only way to go. The wave pummeled me until I took in water and gave up nothing in return.
No fight.
My eyes closed, burned by the salt, and my hair whipped around my head like seaweed. With heavy limbs and a heavy heart, I sank.
The ocean took me under, intent on holding me hostage with no ransom.
No one would have bartered for me anyway.
And then a hand reached out for me in the depths, wrapping around my wrist. I didn’t know if it was the hand of life or death. But it had me.
Then another hand grabbed my arm and I felt the water around me surge, my body being pulled upward. I opened my eyes into the stinging blue glow, and past the rising bubbles and foam, I caught a glimpse of a man’s face. His expression was twisted in turmoil; I suppose from the act of trying to save me. He obviously didn’t know how little I’d appreciate it, how little I was worth it.
Suddenly, I was brought up to the surface, the sun and air hitting me just as the water began to rush out of my lungs. I could only cough until my chest ached, the rest of me completely useless as the man towed me toward the shore. My brain switched on and off, processing everything in splices of film:
The man’s longish hair sticking to the back of his bare neck.
The gray clouds that hunkered down above the cliffs of the Na Pali coast.
The people on the beach watching my rescue, hands to their mouths, murmurs in the crowd.
The painfully vivid sky as the man laid me down on the beach, cradling the back of my head in his hands.
The man as he stared down at me—his disturbingly scarred face contrasting with his beautiful hazel eyes framed by wet lashes.
The face of a man I knew would be more dangerous than any wave.
And so, with consciousness slipping out of my hands again, I smiled at him, at the danger I recognized within.
And then the new world went black.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to take you to the hospital?” the EMT asked me for the millionth time.
“I’m fine,” I said deliberately. “Though I’m getting a headache from all your questions.”
“It’s really better if—”
I narrowed my eyes at the clean-cut man, even though it hurt my brain to do so. “I didn’t call the ambulance, and I have no intention of riding in one to the hospital all the way in Lihue.” I paused, inwardly wincing at what I was about to say. “I’m an artist and I’m uninsured.”
He gave me a dry look. “Well, if you’re going to continue surfing, perhaps looking into insurance is a good idea.” But before I could say anything to that, he snapped up his kit and headed back to the ambulance that was purring behind the public restrooms.
I sighed from my perch on top of the picnic table and ignored the curious looks of the drifters who were hanging around underneath the shelter, drinking cheap beer. Water from the rains that had passed by a few hours ago was still dripping off the roof, smacking the concrete and sand below with a desolate sound. The looky-loos who had been twittering about me earlier had gone on their sunburned ways back to the sand and surf, and Hanalei Bay looked as it did before I nearly died.
I was back to being alone. Back to being caught in my thoughts. Back to everything I had tried to escape from.
Except now that I’d actually willed myself to give it all up, there was something that pushed at my mind.
Someone.
The man who had saved me.
Just where had he come from and where did he go? When I came to on the beach a few minutes later after I had blacked out yet again, he was gone, and I was stuck looking at the faces of the panicked tourists, one who must have called the ambulance for me. The man, with his scars that crisscrossed the side of his face, and his vibrant eyes that hinted at the depths within, had completely disappeared.
The least he could have done was stick around so I could thank him.
But would I have thanked him? Perhaps if I saw the darkness in him, he saw the same darkness in me.
I got off the table and stood on the stiff grass, careful not hurt my ankle. It was especially tender after my board was ripped away from me, but not bad enough to warrant spending the money to get it checked out. I wondered if my board had washed up on the beach somewhere or if it was lost to the waves, then decided to forget about it. I didn’t want to spend an extra minute here, knowing that I’d made a fool of myself by almost dying and all that.
I fished my keys out of my board shorts and headed to the Jeep I’d rented during the last two weeks. I had one week left on it before I was supposed to return to the mainland, back to Doug and the life that was drowning me. I swallowed my bitterness at still having to find a way out of all of this.
On the way back to Kilauea, I drove fast—too fast—nearly smashing into a waiting car as I sped over the one-lane Hanalei bridge, stars in my eyes and the war raging on in my mind. It was a miracle I even pulled into the driveway of my rental house in one piece.
The fact is, I wanted to keep driving. I didn’t want to come back even to here, the place that should have been the escape from my marriage, from my job that didn’t even insure me, and everything. But that was the irony of trying to escape to an island. There was nowhere to go; you just kept going in circles, coming back to where you started.
I went inside to the kitchen and poured myself an extra-large glass of red wine, wishing I hadn’t finished the bottle of Scotch the night before. Leaning against the counter, I stared at the backyard, which disappeared into a thicket of hibiscus and gardenia, the azure sea stretching beyond it. I’d stared at the same scene ever since I arrived, willing myself to paint it. There was a papaya tree in the corner, a small fish pond, a hole in the distressed wood fence where brightly colored feral chickens would come through. This should have been paradise—this should have brought me and my art back to life. But it hadn’t.
