by Kat Bastion
And so off limits.
Not only because he was different—was haole. I warily eyed him from the good fifteen-foot distance I’d made with every step away from him. Most of all, because I sensed something more powerful rumbled under his pale tanned skin than he exposed on his player surface.
Something more same to me than anyone I’d ever met.
Mase…
She’s flustered.
Leilani narrowed her eyes at me.
I held her gaze and stifled a smile.
She seemed to be realizing the truth: I got to her.
She pulled in slow, deep breaths. Had physically moved out of reach. Wrinkled her brow in concentration, probably trying to ignore her body…and shove thoughts I’d intentionally planted out of her mind.
None of it would help.
I’d already gotten under her skin. Burrowed down nice and deep to the point goose bumps broke out right before my eyes. Not from the warm day. Not from the balmy wind. From me.
Yeah, my chest swelled with pride. Not gonna lie.
But was it enough? Would she be true to her nature…or continue with her own denial?
Only one way to find out—continue paddling forward. And I couldn’t wait to keep pushing her buttons, testing her limits.
Did doubt still rub at me? Sure. It had spiked with the instant icy treatment on her home turf. But no risk? No reward. And even though she’d built up an impressive wall to hide behind, I was gambling she’d be brave enough to let me drop in past her defenses.
Never breaking our gaze, I slipped my hands into my pockets and walked after her, taking my time in our slow-motion chase. She held her ground once more—while taking those deep inhalations that did incredible things to her enticing breasts.
When I got close enough to touch her again, her chin raised. Simply to keep hold of my gaze? Not with that defiant look sparking in her eyes.
All of a sudden, something lightning fast skittered in my peripheral vision.
“Whoa, shit!” I launched backward a good couple of feet.
Low laughter rasped from her lips as she quickly stepped between me and the monster. “It’s just a cane spider, surfer boy.”
“That fucker isn’t just anything.” I leaned to the side, trying to get a better look around her. “It’s as big as my hand.”
“Nooo…” She turned, then slowly reached her spread hand a good ten feet away from the spider but in a direct line over its body. The ginormous arachnid quivered on long, hairy spindle legs. “Only as big as my hand.”
Between one blink and the next, the damn thing scurried away from her, a shadowed blur. “Fuck!” My entire skin crawled from the image stuck in my head, and I shook my body from head to toe like a wet animal, trying to rid myself of the creeps. “Nope. It’s the size of my dog.”
She turned toward me, surprise registering on her face. Then her luscious lips curved into the most incredible smile: corners half-lifted with the center kept pressed together, like she hid a juicy secret behind them; even though cold logic told me she tamped down hysterical amusement.
Her head tilted a little. “You have a dog,” she murmured.
Then her lips quirked, her enjoyment at my freak-out flashing back. “My hand size,” she insisted. Then she lifted her arm and held it out from her body, facing an open palm toward me as she spread her fingers.
Stunned with her sudden one-eighty openness, I mirrored her action, raising my arm, spreading my hand open to connect our palms. My hand dwarfed hers, my fingers stretching a good inch-and-a-half longer.
We didn’t move.
Barely breathed.
We both simply stared at our joined hands.
I got pulled under, tumbling fully into the moment, feeling like a little kid.
And just like that, any remaining doubt I had ebbed from my mind.
Momentarily stunned by the power of the simple act—her seeking to be nearer to me, even to prove a point, while my entire being drew closer, craving the same connection—I sucked in a shaky breath. Then I replied to her comment while we stayed joined in our hand-size comparison. “Not my dog, exactly. Ava. She belongs officially to my ex-roommate and his wife, Cade and Hannah.”
Her smile softened, her sparkling gaze holding mine as her voice lowered, “They’re good luck…cane spiders. You should always try to save them.”
“From what?” Couldn’t imagine.
“Don’t hurt ’em. Catch ’em and—”
“Catch them?” I laughed at the ridiculous thought, breaking our fragile spell of seriousness. “With what? A drinking glass and piece of paper? Even a giant margarita glass wouldn’t cut it.”
Her brow firmed as she pulled her hand from mine. “A bowl, then.”
I crossed my arms, shaking my head. “Did you see how fast that thing moved? Fucker could race a cheetah and win.”
Her brow wrinkled further into a scolding look, then her features softened into amusement. “They do move pretty fast, for sure.”
“You ever caught one?”
Her expression turned thoughtful as she stared into the garden where the creature disappeared. “No.”
“Ever have one in your house?”
“Yeah.” She dropped me an exasperated look. “I did grow up here.”
I shot her a deadpan right back. “And you just left it there?”
“Where?”
“In your house.” The whole idea fired another shudder down my spine.
Her lips pressed into a firm line. But the corners of her mouth twitched, as if she fought a smile. “Yeah. They’re beneficial hunters. They don’t spin webs. They’re typically nocturnal, stalk prey at night, kill mostly other pests.”
“What kind of other pests?” I wasn’t convinced anything could be as bad as that.
“Cockroaches. Scorpions.”
“Okay.” I exhaled, somewhat relieved. I didn’t want any of those bugs around either.
“Bats, I’ve heard.”
“Bats?”
“Hoary bats.”
“Hairy bats?” Hairy spider. Hairy bat. Sure. Why not?
“Hoary.” Her gaze became thoughtful and unfocused as it lifted to a blue bat-less sky. “They’re endangered. And the only indigenous mammal to Hawai‘i.”
“Uhhh…the spiders don’t spin webs—but hunt bats.” I held up my hands in surrender and shook my head, shoulders quaking with laughter. “Yeah, I give up. Damn things can take whatever they want. I ain’t catchin’ jack shit.”
She smiled, wide and genuine. Her hip bumped out a little as she crossed her arms and stared. Like she didn’t know what to do with me.
I’d have come up with a dozen suggestions under normal circumstances…but my mind got stuck on one very important thing. The girl so intent on hiding her true self from me had let her mask slip. She had a soft spot. For dogs. And ickier creatures.
Maybe…maybe…she’d grow to have a soft spot for a long lost white boy who she herself had lured into her world.
There’s hope for you yet, Mase.
Evelyn stepped out the front door. “You two coming inside? I’ve turned on all the lights and opened all the windows to let the trade winds flow through.”
Leilani and I held each other’s gaze, neither flinching. The smiles faded, but something positive remained in the aftermath. Quiet seconds ticked by, heavy with unspoken meaning.
“No,” I finally replied, staring into bottomless dark-brown eyes filled with emotion. “Neighbors are too close.”
Leilani’s eyes widened. Her breath caught.
Yep. I’d pushed one more of her fantastic buttons again. Worth the risk.
Evelyn stepped between us, breaking the tender emotional spell. “Then, I think the last one might be perfect. Touch rough on the surface, but worth the effort…if you have an open mind.”
Evelyn went back inside to resecure the house. As we waited, Leilani tried to hunt down more cane spiders with a mischievous grin—while I resolutely kept a good ten-foot
distance from her at all times.
When we got back on the road, Leilani kept to her side of the car, staring out her window, away from me. She needed space. To process everything. Process me. And I respected what she needed.
Along both sides of the road, countless acres of pastureland rolled by. Around the next lazy bend, we encountered a herd of cattle and a couple of ranch hands on horseback right as they finished crossing the paved roadway.
“Those are Paniolos,” Evelyn tipped her head toward them. “Hawaiian cowboys.”
Leilani nodded her head, but said nothing.
Done with her silent treatment, figuring Leilani had gotten plenty of space for now, I nudged her knee. “Not the tour-guide type?”
“Was tour guide in my job description?”
“Huh. I’m thinkin’ we should talk job description.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Ha. Not even. “Tour guide? A definite.”
She snorted. Seconds later, she glanced my way for the first time since we’d gotten back in the car. Amusement sparked in her eyes. “I could do tour guide.” She stared out the window beyond me. “Coming up on your right? Goats.” She pointed at hundreds of the floppy-eared critters; a few munched on tall grasses near the fence line.
“Very funny, master of the obvious.”
“Those goats belong to Surfing Goat Dairy,” Evelyn supplied. “Lower part of Kula is where they have their main operation. They’ve won a bunch awards for their goat cheese. They even have a children’s petting zoo.”
Chaotic images of a bunch of kids running around flooded in—both knee-high screaming humans and bleating goats. But the kids pun wasn’t funny enough to comment on. “Uh, yeah. I’ll skip that.”
“Not into kids?” Leilani glanced at me.
Little humans, she meant, not baby goats. “They’re not bad, once they’re old enough to take care of themselves. It’s all the squealing and sticky hands on everything.”
She said nothing. Only stared at me with an inscrutable expression. She didn’t look pissed. Only curious. Which fired up questions in my head. Did she not care for kids either? Or did something more devious unfold behind those expressive dark eyes? Like arranging for delightful tour-guide activities, such as a goat-farm adventure…or a kiddie-surfing camp.
“We’re heading mauka, farther up into Kula,” Evelyn announced as we turned left.
Toward the mountain, I thought to myself, doing my best to remember Hawaiian words.
We began to drive up a steep switchback road through a tighter residential neighborhood. But the higher we climbed, the more rural and spread apart the properties became. After a last long uphill, Evelyn turned onto a graveled driveway.
“Here we are.” She got out and we hiked uphill with her to a dilapidated square structure. “Not much, I know.” She crossed her arms and squinted at the small house. “But imagination is key here.”
When she opened the front door, I scanned above us, taking note of the massive amount of wood rot, the sagging roofline. Inside, stains marked several spots on a low popcorn ceiling. Spray-painted graffiti covered every available wall space. Windows were gridded shells without glass. Carpet had been worn threadbare. What remained of the ceramic tile flooring in the kitchen and breakfast nook was cracked or broken apart, but most had gone missing entirely: large gray areas of cement surrounded smaller patches of faded yellow tile.
“Whoooa,” I whispered under my breath, drawn through the house toward the back deck and out the sliding glass door the moment Evelyn opened it.
The whole island gently unrolled below us before resting at an impressive double coastline; two graceful blue arcs curved between us and the distant majestic West Maui Mountains.
“Right there.” The reason the sad shack behind me had any chance to be lived in again—a view unlike any other.
A stronger wind suddenly whipped through, rattling some chimes off to my right. When I went to investigate, I found what used to be a garden. Jungle vines ran through it, wild thorny bushes and gangly trees had sprouted here and there, and even a night-blooming jasmine had claimed a back corner. A weathered wooden bench peeked out from under a mass of green in the center.
One bush toward the front caught my attention. “What are these?” It had odd sizable buds that resembled pinecones. Only they were fuzzy. And pink. One bloom had opened and was huge, almost the size of my face.
“King protea,” Leilani, my new tour guide, graciously supplied.
“Yes.” The Realtor walked past us, pointing downslope. “This property has rows of different species. The owner leases the land to a neighboring farmer. So you get the beauty of the flowers and he gets an agricultural exemption.”
“Who, the farmer?”
“No,” Evelyn clarified, “the owner. Makes his property taxes cheaper.”
“Oh. What about all this?” I gestured a sweeping arm alongside where we stood, toward the overgrown mass of vegetation.
“A badly neglected garden. That’s avocado. Lemon. There’s even a protected banana patch toward the back, but they struggle at this higher elevation; it gets colder than bananas like at night. Doesn’t look like anyone’s caring for the garden, but if you cleaned it up, it’d be a nice producing space.”
“Hmmmph.” Not really into fruit, I eyed the ground. I hadn’t been into gardening…ever. But I had been interested. Never really had the space to explore my ideas. Or the location.
Tabling my thoughts, we continued on to examine the rest of the house. “Not bad.”
I inspected the eves around the perimeter more closely. Most were crumbling from dry rot with no protective coat of paint. I grabbed hold of a few sections, knocked a handful of others. Further in, the framework appeared solid. Shingles on the roof had begun to crisp, curling under the baking sun. The covered back deck suffered from neglect, but nothing a few replacement boards, a good sanding, and sealant couldn’t repair. “Got good bones.”
“It’s only a rental.” Leilani’s sour tone hinted that she didn’t approve of me fixing it up. While I’d done my tire-kicking inspection of the property, she’d followed me the entire time, silently and a good half dozen paces back.
A rental in need of a miracle occupant. “Looks like it’s sat abandoned for a long time.”
She cast a doubtful expression at the place. “Needs a lot of work.”
“Needs an overhaul.” My voice raised loud enough for the agent to hear. “I’m thinking seven hundred a month.”
Evelyn perked up and headed toward us from the shade of a tree the moment dollars were mentioned. “Places this size easily command two thousand.”
“Those places about to collapse?” I grabbed a solid-looking beam beside a dry-rotted section. The entire portion beneath my hand broke away, then crumbled to dust under the crush of my fist.
Evelyn blinked, staring at the gap I’d created.
When I clapped my hands together, a brown cloud puffed up before vanishing into a strong wind gust. “I’ll fix it up in exchange for the rent allowance.”
Evelyn raised her black manicured brows. “And once it’s fixed?”
“Does he want me to keep it in good repair? This level of deferred maintenance tells me the landlord doesn’t want to spend money. It’s only going to fall apart again once I fix it up if they don’t seal the wood, paint the metal, clean off the mold. I’m guessing they’d rather sell this someday with a standing house versus a pile of rubble?”
The Realtor sighed. “Let me make the call.” Cell phone pressed to an ear, she turned and walked down the side of the house.
“Make sure to run by a lease of two years with that price. I’ll want to keep my fixed-up pad for a while.” I’d already completed a generic rental application before I flew out here, so she knew I’d be good for the deposits, the rents, and the improvements.
Evelyn nodded, then disappeared around the front corner.
The second we were alone, I crossed my arms and glanced at my tour guide.
“Well, what d’ya think?”
“I think it’s a dump.”
“But a livable dump.”
“Barely.” She eyed the back of the house with suspicion.
“What’s that?” I nodded toward a smaller structure in the back of the garden that listed toward the right.
She huffed out a laugh. “A chicken coop praying to die?”
“Chickens.” The gears in my mind started turning. “As in, daily eggs?”
She gave me a precious look with an arched brow. “Uh, yeah. That’s the idea.”
“Where do I get chickens around here?” I lived off eggs. But had never had them fresh.
“Kula Hardware. Has ’em in the spring.”
“Think they have them still?”
“Maybe. Look, I dunno about this place. Maybe Evelyn can find more to look at.”
“It’s perfect. I don’t need to see anything else.”
Her expression hardened into seriousness. She took a deep breath, crossed her arms over her chest, then bumped her hip out a little as she tapped her right toes. As if she struggled with a problem. Her gaze grew unfocused in thought like she weighed out something heavy—about me? On a quick nod, as if decision made, she snapped her gaze onto me. “You hired me, right?”
Her sudden decisiveness threw me. Curiosity about all her problem-solving made me bite. “Yep. In fact, you can review the lease for me. I need to go to the hardware store anyway to get estimates on supplies. I’ll give you the list of materials and costs and you can make sure with other rents that I’m getting a fair deal.”
“But…don’t you want my opinion right away?”
“Sure.”
“You’re twenty minutes from the nearest surf. Twenty-five from Ho‘okipa. Thirty or more from others. Why not get a surf shack or apartment steps from the beach?”
How to explain a lifetime of searching? Then feeling for the first time that I’d found it. Not at all what I’d expected. But the best things in life never were.
