by Kat Bastion
“Okay.” Ideas tumbled in my head as I righted the rest of the stack, then returned the lava rock on top. “Hook me up with two sailboards to start. I like these last two designs here. Only I’m thinkin’ for the Reef Flyer” —I grabbed a pencil and a blank sheet of paper from a torn-open ream sitting on a shelf above me, then began sketching— “cut the angle a bit sharper here. Less rocker curve. Wider here.”
“Yeah, I could do that.” He stared at my sketch, tilted his head, then bit his lip in thought. “What do you think about this…” With quick strokes, he removed an interesting nip in the tail.
“Yeah, cool. And I want a Cobalt Dream, as is.”
“Got it.” He grabbed a lined notebook, wrote a few comments, then paper-clipped my drawing to the page before flipping to a clean one. “Anything else?”
“What kind of turnaround do you have?”
“I can do three or four a day, depending. Couple of guys help me shape most afternoons.”
“Yeah. To start, I want a short and a long. Surprise me with the design, and I’ll try them out. After I get a feel for them, we’ll collaborate on making more.”
“Sounds good.”
His laidback demeanor threw me. Doing business his way sounded so…nonbusiness. “So you got expectations of me?”
“You plan on competing the circuit?”
“Yeah. I’m still finding my legs with everything, though. You okay with that?”
“You ride like you do on my boards? We’re good.” He stared hard at me. “When I saw you surf? I saw me. Your love of the wave, of everything around you, came through. We’re the same in that.”
Makani’s gaze shifted toward the front window. “So is she. We all respect the same things.”
I gave him a nod. That connection happened bone-deep with Leilani and me the moment she’d let go days earlier.
If I could only figure out how to convince her to let go again.
Leilani…
Seconds after my breaths finally began to calm, a sound made my heart race: Mase approaching.
His slippahs shuffled along the concrete not far behind me, inside the shop. A high-pitched whir followed when Makani fired up one of his sanders, but the sound muffled with the closing of the wood-and-glass front door.
For the first time since he’d arrived, it felt like were truly alone.
I didn’t turn, kept facing toward the ocean. Closing my eyes, I willed my body to chill.
The air stilled to my right as he blocked the sandblasting afternoon wind. But while his action protected me from one element, he introduced one even more dangerous: him.
No big deal, Leilani. Just any other guy. Who happens to be your boss.
He let out a long sigh. “Why are you acting so different here?”
My emotions jumbled, making every breath heavier than the last. Do not cry. With determination, I focused on those three words, my own mantra pounded into my head over too many years. When I found my voice, I forced strength into it. “’Cuz things are different here.”
“What things?” His voice had softened. His bare arm angled closer until it touched my shoulder.
And still, I struggled to suck air into my lungs, bottled-up anger threatening to explode. I glared at the peaceful crystal-blue sky—didn’t dare look at the same color in his eyes or I’d lose it, for sure. The serenity of the outside world seemed like a lie, revealed nothing of the raging storm under my skin.
But eventually my gaze landed on curling surf just beyond the shoreline. Gentle foam licked at its crest before gravity tumbled it over into a vertical burst of spray. Another wave rose, gaining height as hydraulic force met seafloor. As I looked farther out, on and on the swells came, a line of liquid corduroy sailing toward us on the wind. And as the sight of them grounded me, the storm within me gradually began to calm.
“Everything.” My gruff word boomed in my head, like crashing surf.
He didn’t push. Just nodded slowly, like he knew. Or accepted that I wouldn’t explain. Then he stepped forward, leaned down, and braced his forearms on the rusted metal railing.
My attention shifted from the calming waves to him: how the wind ruffled his blond hair over his face, where the sun glinted off specks of windblown sand on his muscled biceps, when his breaths slowed, became more even.
His face angled down, stared at a small pile of sand he toed with the front of his rubber slippah, before raising back up to stare toward the horizon. “Anytime. You want to open up? Hell, vent, scream…even cry. Anytime you need it. Just like our first night, I’m here.”
When we’d bared our souls. Where it had been safe. Because it had existed a million miles away from reality. “Okay.” I blew out a breath, relieved on some level, even though it made no sense.
“No judgment,” he added. “I’ll even supply the tequila, if it helps.”
Against my will, my lips quirked a little. “Okay.”
“But I can’t promise I won’t cop a feel the moment you let your guard down.”
Laughter choked out of my throat. And in that instant, my anger dissipated into the wind. Furrowing my brows, I pulled in a hard breath, then sighed. All day I’d been irritated that some guy I didn’t want to like—couldn’t like—had such a potent effect on me.
Standing in front of Makani’s shop, stuck in a crisis of identity, amazingly, all I felt by Mase pulling me out of my head was grateful. “Yeah, okay.”
“Wait, what?” He glanced at me, genuine confusion in his adorable frown. “‘Yeah, okay’ to the talking? Or okay to the feel-up?”
I shot him a look of warning. “Talking. Don’t push it.” When amusement tugged at the corners of his lips, I let out a steadying breath. “But not now.” Couldn’t even imagine opening up. Not without that tequila.
“Whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Why are you doing this?” The elusive why of it all surfaced once more.
He fully turned toward me, protecting me further from the wind. “Doing what?”
Overwhelmed by a blast of his intoxicating scent and heat, I took a step back, drew in a breath of fresh air, then met his gaze. “All this. The house. Makani’s offer. Me.”
“That’s a lot to cover.”
“Not going anywhere.” The truth of things. Even though I longed to go…everywhere; however, loyalty ran deep in my family.
“What if we did go somewhere?”
Pulled from thoughts of traveling, I frowned, totally confused. “Like…?”
“Food. Girl, what did they put in that shave ice you ate earlier? Aren’t you hungry?”
“A billion calories. And yeah, I could eat.”
I opened the front door, and the sound of Makani’s sander blared out once more. Under Mase’s watchful stare, I leaned in and pressed the buzzer on the narrow counter by the front window. A few seconds later, when the sander wound down, I shouted, “Kani, I’m takin’ the Tacoma!”
“Keys are in it!” Makani’s shouted reply came without any visual sign of him.
Knew that. Just wanted to give him a heads-up that he’d be without wheels for a while.
“Seriously? You leave keys in your cars?” Mase stared at me with an incredulous expression as we walked alongside the building.
“Truck. And it’s a Tacoma. Might as well make it the official vehicle of the island. Someone takes a Tacoma? They’re messin’ with a Hawaiian or a local. No one would be so stupid.”
“Why the truck? No place to eat nearby?”
“You buyin’?”
“Yep.”
“N’kay den. We go ‘ono grindz.” When my Pidgin got a blank stare from him, I smirked. “Only the most delicious food. You’re feedin’ me the best pizza on the island.”
“Where’s that?”
“Flatbread Company. Gotta drive there.”
Not five minutes later, I spun a u-ey and we glided into a spot right across the street. “Pono.”
As I cut the engine, he gave me a puzzled look.
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“Pono. Means a ton of things. Righteous. Good. Perfect.”
As we stood waiting for a long line of cars to clear up on Hana Highway, Mase’s head swiveled back and forth to take in all the shops and restaurants on the makai stretch of Pa‘ia. “How long will it take me to learn the language?”
“Which one? Hawaiian or Pidgin?” I threw up a shaka, the Hawaiian raised-thumb-and-pinky hand signal, thanking a beer-truck driver who stopped and waved us across.
“Both.” Mase held up a blocking arm to stop me when two cars sped by going the opposite direction.
Then we strolled across the road in front of a slowing VeeDub that had a surfboard strapped to its roof. “Years.”
“Cool.” His confident, satisfied tone surprised me.
I huffed out a long, tired breath, shaking my head as we stepped inside the restaurant. “I have another Hawaiian word for you. Lolo.”
He acted like he had all the time in the world.
I heard a clock ticking down.
“What’s lolo?”
I pointed at him.
His brows lifted and he smirked. “Sexy?”
I rolled my eyes, staring up toward the ceiling a beat before dropping my gaze back at him. “Crazy. Or stupid. Take your pick.”
“Crazy.” His tone turned bold, matter-of-fact again.
Fearless.
“Stupid,” I muttered, correcting him.
If he heard the last comment, he ignored me and grabbed a couple of menus on the red-painted Please Wait to be Seated podium. I scanned the room, nervous about being seen in public with him. Then I got mad at myself for being so shallow and acting like the rest of them. With a strong huff out, I ignored my fears right as a server in a faded gray Led Zeppelin T-shirt walked up. Mase pointed toward the farthest high-top table in the front corner, against the window.
We passed the curving cement bar top crowded with patrons on wood-backed barstools, but Mase stared out the front window the whole time. He read aloud the wooden sign that dangled from two hooks under the sidewalk overhang. “Flatbread Company. All natural pizza.” Then he took a far seat against the wall. “Never had all natural pizza. That good, huh?”
I nodded. “Pono.”
“So, a parking space can be pono. And pizza? What else?”
“Anything. Anyone.”
He pointed at me with a shit-eating grin. “Pono.”
I lifted my menu to hide my unstoppable smile. Damn haole.
Our server returned before a smartass reply hit my brain. After we ordered drinks, Mase lifted his brows with a tipped head at me and gestured an open hand toward my menu. I nodded and ordered an organic salad with their blend of Hawaiian goat cheeses and a Pa‘ia Bay Ohana pizza.
Mase scanned the menu, then summarized the pizza I’d ordered, “Wood-fired cauldron tomato sauce, caramelized organic onions, white mushrooms, mozzarella and parmesan, homemade organic olive oil and their custom blend of herbs? Fucking sold.” Scooping up the menus and handing them over, he glanced at me. “Mind if we share?”
I gave a halfhearted shrug, then nodded to the server before he left. “As long as you stay on your side of the table.”
The look in Mase’s eyes flashed molten for an instant, then his gaze dropped to the roughhewn surface. He gripped the edge and pulled down, as if testing it for strength—as if I’d inadvertently implied something sexual with my rule.
Sensing I needed to close that wide-open loophole, I added, “And I stay on my side.”
Smug expression washing over his face, he almost smiled. As if he knew how to play with me and got points for luring me in.
I glared at him, narrowing my eyes.
His smile finally broke free as he relaxed his shoulders back against the wall, getting as comfortable as a wooden barstool under his cocky ass would allow. The familiar posture—his laidback demeanor matched with an assessing gaze—reminded me of our first meal of fish tacos in a primitive bar on the beach. The few days between then and now seemed like a lifetime ago.
Because so much had happened that night, on levels I hadn’t begun to sort out yet.
“Pono.” In a low satisfied tone, he repeated the word while staring at me, like he wanted me to know how he saw me.
Uncomfortable under the powerful microscope, I detoured back to our vocabulary lesson. “Kinda like da kine. We use it for everything.”
“Like whatchamacallit.”
“Sure. And anything else. When you can’t think of a word.”
Silent seconds followed. Then his gaze hardened. “So. Spill it.”
“What?”
“Why the change?”
Too many reasons. None I was proud of.
As I struggled to find words to explain the worst of it, he folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll take a wild guess. Has something to do with me being lolo.”
“Yeah.” Total cop-out, but easier than fessing up.
“Why?”
My eyes widened and I almost laughed. “Really? You get to ask that question after not answering me every time I ask?”
“Okay.” He pegged me with a serious look. “Ask me again.”
“You’re lolo.”
“Maybe. But not the point. Ask.”
The questions had rattled in my brain for days. Why so adamant about the condition of me working with him? Why was he so single-minded about chasing after me? Why me? After all the time that had flown by between drunken us being real on a beach in the middle of nowhere and sober us front-and-center and blindingly real in the middle of my everyday somewhere, with everyone having eyes on me and talking story about everything…I hesitated.
Did I even want to know the answer?
Yeah, I did.
I sighed and braced myself for the worst. “Why?”
He leaned forward, sliding his forearms across the table. “Because you’re worth it.” The simple words were quiet. The power of his dead-serious stare pierced through the protective front I’d been hiding behind.
My breath stopped. As if buried under a turbulent three-wave hold down, my lungs stopped operating and all the sounds became muffled. Only my heartbeat remained, thumping louder…harder…
Finally, I drew in a deep breath. Then I swallowed hard.
No one had ever said that to me before. Not in those words. Not with that meaning.
And those ice-blue eyes stared at me, through me, as if they saw the true heart beating in the core of what made me who I was.
My gaze wandered from those eyes to his pale skin, his shaggy blond hair—what he represented…who he was.
Are you worth it?
“Why my attitude change?” Anxious about having the heavy focus stay on me, I shifted it back toward him. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here.”
“Never stopped me before.”
“Chasing girls?”
“Going after what I want.”
Me. He meant me. “Nice sidestep.”
“I’ve never had to chase a girl.”
I snorted. “Ego much? And you aren’t chasing me.”
“Oh? You decide to give chase?” He leaned back on the barstool, shoulders hitting the wall again as an easygoing smile curved his lips. “I’ll play along.”
Damn. Lolo East Coast surfer boy was making me start to like him. More.
My brows furrowed as I fought a smile, but the corners of my lips twitched anyway. Shaking my head—to him and me—I rolled my eyes. “Dream on, surfer boy.”
The server brought the pizza as I finished my sentence, then left. And to my embarrassment, my stomach growled loudly as I stared at the ono meal I was about to eat.
But when my gaze lifted to connect with bright blue eyes, no humor lay there—only unrelenting confidence. He radiated the feeling so strongly, it blasted right into me and settled deep within my chest.
My spirits lifted, buoyant for the first time in so long…with the tiniest bit of hope.
Mase…
Leilani likes you
.
Her brother’s words echoed in my head. They rang true when she finally relaxed enough to let a genuine smile break free.
When I exhaled, tension left my shoulders; I’d been on edge all day.
Because I more than liked her.
Which was beside the point. And exactly the point.
But for the immediate future, I’d landed in her corner of the world. And the only way I could make that corner a little better, include me somewhere in it, was to understand it—understand her.
“Your turn.” I pegged her with an unyielding stare. “Why so different?”
She’d taken a big bite of pizza. And didn’t bother hurrying through her slow chewing to answer. After she swallowed, she took a couple of pulls of soda through her straw, watching me the entire time. Then she wiped her mouth with her napkin.
Hard eyes stared me down, then narrowed. “It’s hard to explain…” Eventually, the beginnings of a mischievous smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “You’ll see.”
My words—from days ago, when I’d expertly dodged her question—tossed back at me.
I ran my tongue over my teeth, then shook my head. She was good: quick-witted and full of play. Which I fucking loved. “Fair enough.”
We finished eating our food in relative quiet. I observed the dwindling late-afternoon crowd in the joint, an even mix of tourists and locals, three of which sat at the bar within earshot debating the cost of various cell phone companies.
On occasion, Leilani would dart a glance at them or at a newcomer walking in the door. When anyone strolled down the sidewalk, she’d stealthily scan the entire street outside, briefly landing a gaze on the pedestrian as she pretended not to check them out.
With every passing minute, she grew more and more agitated.
And I got it. I’d crashed her party. Hadn’t really given her a choice in the matter.
Not wanting to see her suffer further on my account, I stood the moment I signed the credit card slip. “Ready to head out?”
“Yeah.” She blew out a relieved breath, wasting no time to bolt toward the door.
We headed back out onto a street that could’ve been dropped from a California beach town with its clear surfing vibe. However, a deeper energy hummed under the surface of the pastel storefronts with contrasting trim. And an eclectic mix of people filled the laidback sidewalks, from clean-cut golfers to hippies in bell-bottoms, surfers with boards strapped to all kinds of vehicles to artists walking by with canvas and easel.
