by Kayla Perrin
“Okay, Miss Chamber of Commerce.”
She glanced at him again and gave him a wink. “I sell real estate for a living,” she said. “It’s my job to know the demographics. I can break it down by ZIP Code if you’d like.”
Jesse held up his hand as if in surrender. “I believe you. I believe you.”
Baden grinned. “Today, I’m going to show you a little bit of Maui. If you have time, I mean.”
“My time is your time,” he said.
He looked it too, relaxed, confident, as if he had nothing better to do than tool around the island with her.
Once upon a time, she had entertained thoughts of fooling around with Jesse. Not as in cheating on Sean, but wondering what things may have been like had she hooked up with Jesse Fremont instead of his partner.
Jesse had a way of walking, talking and just...well, being...that made her aware of him in ways that were elemental between a man and a woman.
As she navigated the city traffic, Baden wondered if there had been more in what he had said about spending time with her...or if she just wanted there to be.
* * *
Not too long after, Jesse’s Hawaiian education was about to begin.
“It’s sacrilege to come to Hawaii and eat in all the chain restaurants that you can easily find on the mainland,” Baden said. “So we are going to eat local today, all day.”
“Hmm, that sounded fine until you added the ‘all day’ part. This isn’t going to be one of those extreme-eating excursions where weird bugs and alligator toes are on the entrée menus, is it? If so, I need to get a couple bottles of antacid.”
“Alligator toes? Really?”
But the joke was on Jesse. They started the day at one of the farmers’ markets where fresh fruits and organic produce were displayed and sold like a festival in the Garden of Eden.
“There are lots of farmers’ markets on Maui,” she told him as she retrieved a handwoven basket from the backseat of the Jaguar. “The locavore movement is growing here.”
“Locavore?”
“Buy local, shop local. Fresh is better for you and usually tastes better, too. The markup on imported goods is astronomical here and across all the islands. We let the tourists pay those prices.”
“So I get to be a local for a day?”
“If you’re nice. Otherwise, I’ll dump you back at your hotel where you can probably find a banana flown in from California and pay enough to buy eight or nine of them at a fresh market.”
They began with fruits and vegetables. Baden got a kick out the North Carolina boy sampling a bit of jackfruit and papaya.
“Oh, my God,” Jesse groaned when he bit into a rambutan. “This is wonderful!”
“May we get half a pound to go, please?” Baden requested of the stall minder.
“It’s sort of like a grape,” Jesse said, reaching for another, “but it’s more like...I don’t know. It’s sweet. It’s mild. I wonder if they sell these back home.”
Baden smiled as he picked up another one.
“Better make that a pound, please,” she told the vendor.
“Kane like.”
She nodded.
He placed the fruit in a clear plastic bag and used a twist tie to secure it. Baden paid the farmer, placed the bag in the straw basket that served as her shopping bag and with an “Aloha!” to the vendor, guided Jesse to the next stall.
Over the course of an hour they strolled the market and the contents of Baden’s basket grew with preserves and baked goods and even a tiki doll certified “Made in Maui,” because Jesse watched the artist create it while they waited.
“My niece is going to love this,” he said, snapping a photo of the artist finishing up the doll. “She’ll be six next month, and it’ll be a great surprise for her.”
The mention of a six-year-old niece had Baden wondering if Jesse had children of his own. She didn’t recall Sean mentioning his partner having kids, but clearly Sean had failed to mention a lot of important things about his life.
She tried to sound casual when she asked, “Do you have kids?”
“Not a single one,” he said. “I managed to avoid the baby mama drama that a lot of brothers get into. I think it was the good Lord looking out for me, ’cause I used to be a wild thing.”
That was news to Baden. She’d always viewed Jesse Fremont as a stand-up sort of guy, the all-American wife, kids and a couple dogs type. If there was a wild one, it had been Sean. He probably had kids all over the state of North Carolina.
She stopped suddenly.
Jesse turned back to look at her. “Something wrong?”
Baden shook her head. “I was just thinking about Sean, wondering if he had kids.”
“Uh,” Jesse said, taking a sudden and intense interest in the ground.
Baden forced a smile and told herself to get her mind off Sean and what used to be. What could be was right here in front of her. And the only thing she was concerned about was right now and the immediate future. The past was where it belonged, and she’d spent enough time dwelling there to know nothing good would or could come of it.
“Oh, look,” she said, grabbing Jesse’s hand and tugging him along. “I would be willing to bet you have never had fresh coconut.”
“That would be a bet you’d win,” he said.
They joined a crowd of onlookers as a machete-wielding Tongan sliced through mounds of coconuts and an assistant served up samples.
As the shoppers applauded and asked questions of the bare-chested man with the machete, Jesse leaned over and said, “I’m starting to get why you didn’t return to Carolina. If that guy was on a street corner in Raleigh or Cedar Springs with a blade looking that wicked, the 911 switchboards would be lit up. Here, it’s entertainment and product merchandizing.”
While she knew he referred to the feast for the senses that made up Hawaii, she couldn’t help but feel as if there was more, so much more here that could or would shape her future.
Baden studied him as he asked the Tongan a few questions.
Jesse was the strong, silent type. Sometimes she got the impression that he was attracted to her, but the time was never right or the situation was not the place to make an inquiry, discreet or otherwise. And it wasn’t anything he said or did; he was courteous and respectful to the extreme—too extreme, in her opinion. But every now and then at get-togethers with Sean, she’d catch him watching her with the same intensity that she now regarded him.
For a brief moment, she let herself wonder, what if? What if it had been Jesse Fremont instead of Sean Mathews who had taken the initiative and asked her out that first night?
Seeing him here, in Hawaii, out of the usual context and on her turf rather than his, made her view him in a new light. He was cover-model gorgeous, but didn’t seem to know or care.
At just that moment he turned toward her and smiled.
Baden’s heart did a little flip, and her breath caught.
Oh, my.
After enjoying their coconut treat, she suggested one more stop at the farmers’ market. “You have to have a lei.”
At a flower vendor’s stand, bouquets of native plants and decorative flowers spilled forth in a riot of colors and sweet fragrance. But leis were the order of the day. A group of customers, a family of five—two adults and their bored-looking kids, two of whom were furiously texting on cell phones—were choosing flower leis.
“Most people think of leis as just a string of flowers you get at the airport,” Baden told Jesse. “Those are called Kui. But there are a lot of different types, and they’re all made from various materials, not just flowers, but everything from shells to feathers. And some are made from just leaves and vines. Those are called Kipu’u. I have a traditional shell one at home in Honolulu. I only wear it on special occa
sions.”
“Honolulu? I thought you lived here, on Maui.”
Baden shook her head. “Nope. I’m an Oahu girl. But I’m living here temporarily, staying at the Kapule Garden Estate while it’s being marketed. It’s an unusual arrangement, but it makes sense for that particular property. As you probably saw, the Kapule family’s former compound isn’t a house for the casual buyer. I have six showings set up, and four of them are international buyers flying in to the United States just to tour the estate.”
“I’m afraid to ask how much the place costs.”
She laughed. “Whatever price you’re thinking, add a couple million.”
Jesse shook his head as if clearing it after a left hook from Mike Tyson.
At his expression she grinned. “Yeah, it’s about that much,” she said. Then she told him the listed price.
All he could do was shake his head again.
Jesse fingered a delicate hibiscus then paused to watch the vendor deftly create a lei.
“What kind of flower is that?” he asked.
“Plumeria,” the vendor said. “I use a lot of them every day. We supply several of the hotels with leis for their guests.”
The woman paused to hand a business card to Jesse.
“There are more than two thousand plant species on the islands of Hawaii,” Baden said. “But only about half of them are native to the islands and several hundred are considered rare and in danger of extinction.”
“How do you keep track of all this information?” he asked.
Baden and the flower vendor laughed together.
With a glance between the two women, Jesse asked, “What’s so funny?”
The merchant handed Jesse a copy of the brochure that Baden had been reading.
He smirked, tipped the edge of the brochure in salute to the vendor and then had to chuckle himself.
Adorned with fragrant garlands made of plumeria and tuberose, they prepared to leave the market. Baden paused to chat with another customer. Jesse plucked a large hibiscus from the bin and pressed a finger to his mouth to warn the vendor. The woman glanced at Baden, nodded and smiled. Jesse paid for the flower and when Baden turned, he stood before her with his gift.
“I understand all the beautiful women of the islands wear these in their hair. May I?”
When she nodded, he moved closer and tucked the flower behind her right ear.
“The blossom is pretty, but you are spectacularly enchanting.”
His hand lingered near her face, and then she felt the barest of caresses as his finger traced the contours of first the hibiscus and then her jawline.
Baden’s breath caught.
“Just beautiful,” he said.
Their gazes met. He was so close. It would take barely a movement for them to come together.
“Jesse?”
A wisp of a smile came and went. She saw longing...and something more in his eyes.
And then the moment passed. He stepped away, seemed to gather himself emotionally and physically.
“Where to next, Miss Tour Guide?”
Baden felt bereft, as if she’d missed out on something that had spectacular and life-changing potential. But she, too, knew that they played with fire; and fire, like the lava that bubbled below the surface of the islands, could burn. She’d been burned badly once and had no inclination to again experience that emotional upheaval.
So, she too put on a game face and aimed to keep it light. “As you see—” indicating the growing crowd of people, many with cameras “—tourists have found out about our farmers’ markets. I think now it’s time for you to see some real Hawaii, like the natives.”
He bowed and swept a hand forward like a courtier before his mistress. “Lead the way.”
Jesse stashed their purchases in the trunk of her Jaguar.
“Nice ride, by the way,” he said.
“It’s a lease while I’m here on Maui. My Jag at home is the same year but a different model.”
From someone else, it may have been a humble brag, but from Baden, it came out like just another Hawaii fact, similar to the ones she’d read him about the different types of leis.
When she got behind the wheel, she slipped on a pair of designer sunglasses, which reminded Jesse that he’d need to get a pair of shades himself since he hadn’t thought to bring his own.
“You’ve done well for yourself here.”
“I was lucky in that I had an easily marketable skill and my licensing didn’t take long,” she said. “The real estate market here is very different than what’s going on in North Carolina.
“Most of the places I sold there were your typical middle-class houses or condo units with an occasional big listing that carried a hefty commission. Kona Realty specializes in luxury estates, so most, about 85 percent, of my listings are for multimillion dollar properties. But remember, this is Hawaii and just like some places in California and New York, it doesn’t take much to be a million-dollar house. Those are pretty much just your average three-bedroom, two bath homes,” she said. “And they look just like the ones you see in North Carolina. The difference between them is simply the types of trees you’ll find and the location.”
Baden glanced at him and grinned. “And Hawaii is the ultimate in the realty world’s mantra of ‘location, location, location.’”
Jesse chewed on that for a bit. After living in a place that was God’s little glimpse of Paradise on earth, she would probably never want to return to eastern North Carolina. Who would? He’d been in Hawaii for little time at all and was falling in love with the place.
Or was he falling in love with the place the woman he loved loved? The question made his head hurt.
“How long are you here?” Baden asked. “In Hawaii, I mean?”
“I have a while,” Jesse said. “My vacation is six weeks.”
Baden gave him a sharp look.
“Six weeks? Sean would have killed for...”
She let the rest of that go unsaid, then, recovering from the apparent emotional land mine, she gave him a perky smile, like a TV news anchorwoman hyped up on coffee and Red Bull while reading about devastation and destruction across the globe.
“If you’re in Hawaii for that long, you should consider leasing a condo,” she said. “It’ll be cheaper than a hotel, and you’ll get all the comforts of a place that feels like home.”
“You have any place in mind?”
She gave him a look that without a word said Duh!
“We can look at some if you’d like.”
If it meant spending more time with Baden, Jesse was ready, willing and able to look at every vacant condo on Maui. Now all he had to do was figure out how to suggest they go swimming so he could see her in a barely there bikini. She had legs that went on forever, and judging by the strong muscles in the smooth brown thigh revealed with her short skirt, she worked out, too.
He could imagine those legs wrapped tight around him.
Jesse groaned.
The lascivious thoughts were wreaking havoc on his body. He shifted a bit in the seat of the Jaguar, hoping not to draw attention to the evidence of his arousal.
“What’s wrong?” Baden asked.
“Nothing,” he said, probably too gruff.
Not for the first time he wondered if the thing—was it a craving?—he had had for Baden Calloway for as long as he could recall would ever go away. But to her, he took the edge off the growl by adding, “So, where are we going?”
“To a place that cannot be found in any tour books or guides to the islands. And all the customers have sworn to never let the Food Network or the Cooking Channel or those Travel Channel roaming chefs know that Uncle Jimmy’s even exists.”
“Ah, here it comes,” Jesse said. “You’re gonna make me eat s
omething like a lizard burger, aren’t you?”
She flashed a saucy smile his way. “It would serve you right if I did. But no, we’re going to a place that most tourists never heard of, and we aim to keep it that way. So you’re sworn to secrecy.”
“Hmm,” he replied.
She said it took twenty minutes to get to their destination and instead of dwelling on their shared and troubled past, Baden assumed the role of tour guide, pointing out things along the way and giving him a running commentary on the islands’ history and culture.
“Are you sure you aren’t with the Chamber of Commerce or the Hawaii Tourism Association?”
She glanced over at him and smiled. “I told you, when I fell in love with Hawaii, it became a part of me.”
When she finally pulled into the crushed oyster shell parking lot of a place that looked like a ramshackle fishing shack, Jesse gave her a dubious look.
“Do not judge a book by its cover,” she said leading the way to the entrance.
No sign proclaimed that the place was a business, let alone a restaurant, but the lot was jammed with cars, pickup trucks and a few motorcycles and scooters. The lunch rush?
At best and most generously it could be described as a dive. At worst, well, it was probably best not to think of the worst, Jesse decided.
The interior of the place lived up to the promise from outside. The “restaurant” Baden called Uncle Jimmy’s had about fifteen, maybe as many as twenty smallish tables of rough-hewn wood, many of them looking like rejects from a yard sale after a hurricane. The chairs weren’t chairs at all, but benches designed for function not comfort.
Jesse wasn’t a foodie but he knew this place would never win any awards for its ambience.
A line of people was at the counter, and the tables where diners were already sitting were covered with what looked like a big sheet of paper. A moment later, a woman passed by pulling a contraption that looked like a giant roll of parchment or waxed paper on a spindle. At the tabletops without a covering she pulled a length of the paper from the roll, tore it off and headed to the next table.
