Aloha in Love

by Watts, Jennifer

  “What’ll it be?” He barks, but I can’t tear my eyes away from his face.

  His dark brown hair extends to just below his ears, with sun-kissed highlights emphasizing the green of his hazel eyes. A full beard camouflages his notably square chin, and as I continue my perusal, I notice the makings of rough beauty: strong nose, full lips, and an inch-long scar bisecting his eyebrow.

  “What do you want?” He repeats, louder this time.

  I can’t help but stutter. “What do you have to eat?”

  “No food.” He shakes his head, rattling the shell necklace looped around his neck. On anyone else, the necklace would look ridiculous—frat boy to the umpteenth degree—but on him it’s just…yum.

  “Nothing?” I ask, my stomach growling again.

  “Popcorn.” He shrugs. “Maybe some macadamia nuts in the back.”

  “Then I’ll have both, along with the biggest margarita you can make.”

  He blinks and I can’t help but notice his long eyelashes, or the adorable cluster of freckles under his left eye. Oh boy…for a woman who just swore off men, I’m paying way too much attention to his facial features.

  He grabs a blender for my margarita, turning away just as someone snags the seat beside me. “Apparently this place used to have delectable food, at least until cranky old Keo here bought it.”

  So his name is Keo—that’s one little detail out of the way. I glance over and see a shock of frizzy grayish hair attached to a very tiny woman. She’s wearing a fringe suede jacket and bellbottom pants, plus a straw hat and oversized sunglasses, which she whips off and sets down on the bar top.

  “I’m told they served fresh fish tacos and poke that would melt in your mouth,” she adds, “but this big galoot gave it all up for booze and mixed nuts.”

  His shoulders stiffen, but I can tell that he’s listening. “Ah well, at least he didn’t let them tear it down and build a McDonald’s instead. Right, Keo?” She waves at him, and I notice a collection of turquoise and silver rings all over her fingers.

  “Pave paradise and put up a parking lot?” I say, and she cackles back.

  “I’m going to like you. I can tell already. The name’s Adele. What’s your story, doll? Here on your honeymoon?”

  I snort. “Not quite.”

  Keo sets my drink down, and immediately I throw half of it back. “Another please.” His eyes narrow as I smack my lips together, but he nods nonetheless. I down the rest of my first drink and slam the glass on the counter. “It’s nice to meet you, Adele. I just moved here—at least—I think I did.”

  “You think?” She answers, reaching over to grab some popcorn from the bowl Keo just placed before me. I glance at the popcorn myself and shake my head. I should be starving, but the ice from the margaritas is filling me up.

  “I quit my job, sold all of my things, and now I’m starting over.”

  “Good for you!” She shouts, grasping my wrist with butter-coated fingers. “Fuck the man!”

  “The man?”

  “The establishment.”

  “It wasn’t really like that, actually.”

  “What was it like, then?” She gives me an expectant look, and already I can tell that she and I will be friends. Keo sets another margarita down for me, and I proceed to order a tequila shot. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Three margaritas, one handful of popcorn, and ten macadamia nuts later, I’m giving Adele my life story. As I launch into another tale about my cheating soon-to-be-ex-husband, I notice that my tongue is numb from the frozen drinks.

  “So it turns out that our two hundred dollar a pop trainer was working out more than my husband’s quads.” I snort, causing Keo to swivel around. “He even had a track suit custom-designed for him to wear jogging with her—some top of the line sweat-wicking material weaved with silver unicorn tears, or whatever nonsense like that. It cost two thousand bucks, too. I mean, it was for running—some sweatpants from Costco could’ve done the trick, right? Don’t even get me started on his stupid espresso machine. It was this god awful looking thing with revolutionary fine foam technology. Apparently the thing won awards.”

  I lay my head down on the bar-top and make eye contact with Adele. “Want to know a secret?” I mock-whisper, and she nods serenely.

  “I used to pretend to drink his expensive coffee before work, but then I’d simply pour it down the sink and make a Starbucks run.”

  “A true rebel.” A much deeper voice cuts through our conversation, and I lift my head to see the hulking bartender. His voice is flat and unreadable, so I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or not.

  “It speaks,” I say, half-slurring.

  “Figured someone else should get a chance.”

  “Hardy-har-har.” I dismiss him with a flick of my hand, turning my attention back to Adele. “Not to mention all the nightgowns he bought me. He slept in silk boxers like some kind of Hugh Heffner wannabe, and I hate the feeling of silk, but he never got the hint. He’d buy me all these silky lace nightgowns, like it was the fifties or something, and I’d try—I’d try to sleep in the damn things, but every time I’d long for the ratty Bob Marley tee I’d worn since college. I mean, who on earth enjoys sleeping in itchy lace and gauzy chiffon? It’s like being wrapped in expensive dryer sheets.”

  Adele sighs in ecstasy. “Ah, the sixties…I loved my husband so much that I spent fifty years wearing house dresses. Now I’m seventy-eight years old and the love of my life is gone, so I say fuck dresses. I’ve been reborn.”

  “Good for you.” I push her stem-less glass of white wine towards her and raise mine up for a sloppy cheers.

  “I think I want to be a lesbian,” she states, matter-of-factly, making me spit out a mouthful of margarita.

  “Sorry?”

  “I’d like to give it a whirl, now that Hal’s gone.”

  “I don’t think it works that way,” I counter. This conversation is careering off track faster than a runaway train, but Keo seems totally unfazed, continuing to towel off freshly cleaned glasses.

  “I’m sorry about your husband,” I half whisper, realizing that I’ve unleashed all of my problems onto this poor, unsuspecting woman without asking a word about her life.

  “Pshaw.” She squeezes my free hand, the one that’s not wrapped around my margarita. “When I lost him a few years back, I decided that I needed a big change, and now I love my life in Paia. I’m truly blessed.”

  “To you then, Adele, and to your beautiful life.” I throw back the rest of my margarita and shift my attention back to Keo.

  “Another, please.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m not serving you anything else!” He barks.

  “Why not?” I whine, but it takes all my effort to speak without slurring.

  “I SAID NO!” He shouts so loud that I actually let out a whimper. I feel everyone turn to stare at us, and Keo looks even scarier than my first impression might suggest. I slide off the stool on shaky legs, and Adele does the same, linking one arm through mine. She leads me to the tree trunk stools and makes me sit down.

  “Don’t mind him,” she says, reassuringly, slinging an arm around my back.

  I inhale a shaky breath. “What’s his problem?”

  “I’m not really sure. I just know the rumors, but I’ve never put much stock in gossip.”

  “Rumors?”

  She hesitates before answering. “They say he killed his whole family, but that’s hardly possible if he’s here running this bar in Paia.”

  “Killed his family?” I glance over my shoulder at Keo. His back is turned away, but his shoulders rise and fall in a broken succession of deep breaths.

  “All I know is that Keo owns this place and holds the title of grouchiest-man-in-town, so most people tend to give him a wide berth. Consider yourself appropriately warned.”

  I look around the bar and see that she’s not wrong; it’s empty apart from the seats we just abandoned. The remaining patrons give Keo sidel
ong looks, and one woman even whispers something in her partner’s ear. They share a worried glance, all fueled by his outburst, no doubt. I’m still feeling a little raw, but at least Keo’s outburst helped me sober up. I tell Adele that I want to go home, and she insists on accompanying me, at least part of the way.

  I spot a small pizza place along the main drag, and my mouth waters at the smell of fried dough and melted cheese. I’d forgotten how hungry I was—my last good meal was some granola before boarding my plane this morning. I devour two slices of veggie pizza and Adele keeps me company, eventually walking me home. She’s pretty sprite for an old lady; in fact, I almost have to jog to keep up with her, but I do find her presence comforting.

  “Do you have kids Adele?” She smiles in the moonlight, illuminating her forlorn features.

  “Hal and I couldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. Dale and I couldn’t either. We tried…” I trail off.

  “Don’t be sorry, my dear. We had a beautiful life together. Don’t be discouraged either—you’re young! It sounds like you’re better off without this Dale anyways. Who knows what the future holds?”

  “I hope you’re right,” I say, stifling a yawn with my fist.

  “Don’t hope so, honey—know so.” She gives me a firm hug, and I find myself melting in her arms. I’ve received more hugs today than over the past four years combined.

  “I like you Ashley,” she says, pulling me tight. “I think I’ll keep you. Now go and get some rest. I’ll introduce you to Kayla tomorrow. She’s a firecracker—you’ll love her. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  I find myself nodding, despite having no idea to what I’ve just agreed. “Sounds good to me. Hey Adele, what’s your last name?”

  “It’s Lucky. Adele Lucky.” She shoos me down the path to my suite, and I find myself grinning from ear to ear.

  “That sounds about right.”

  Adele’s voice shouts after me in the darkness. “Dear, you’ve been drinking and traveling all day—go straight to bed!”

  I give her an acknowledging wave, but I have no intention of following her instructions. The night is young and the amber moon sits high and bright in the sky. I stumble past my cottage and head directly for the stretch of ocean in the distance, climbing over a row of dense shrubs to reach a slice of rocky beach. The ocean looks almost silver in the moonlight, its white-capped waves crashing into the shoreline like musical chords. I jump from boulder to boulder, teetering in thin sandals as I move towards the tide line. I’m almost there when a huge hand plummets onto my right shoulder, jerking me backwards until I slam into a rock-hard body. I let out an ear-piercing shriek upon realizing that I’m staring over my shoulder into the dark eyes of our local bartender-slash-potential-murderer, Keo.

  I heave air into my lungs, trying to find the right words, but nothing rational comes to mind. My eyes find fierceness in his gaze, and my heart hurts for the hard lines along his mouth, the dark secrets twitching in his jaw. He holds my back against his ferociously huge front, and I can’t help but tremble.

  “Just where do you think you’re going, Ashley?”

  Chapter 5

  I manage to shirk out of his rough hold, whirling around until we’re face-to-face.

  “What are you doing here?” I sputter, but the rush of adrenaline leaves me breathless.

  “What are YOU doing here?” He parrots, and I laugh because it’s all so absurd.

  I gesture to my right. “As a matter of fact, I’m staying here—in the guest cottage.”

  He looks down at the ground, then back up at me. “I live here.”

  “Did you not just hear what I said?”

  “Yes, but I still live here.”

  “No, I’m renting from Kane. You’re Keo.”

  “Kane Keo, the owner,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “And you’re renting the suite, Miss Walsh, not the beach.” The name surprises me at first, because nobody calls me Walsh anymore, but I do remember booking the accommodation in my maiden name.

  “I didn’t realize that the beach was off limits.”

  “It’s dangerous out here—the ocean doesn’t mess around.”

  “I was just having a look.”

  “Well don’t—the last thing I need is a dead tourist on my hands. Use your head next time.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what he knows about dead tourists, but self-preservation wins out. I keep my mouth shut. The rumors are likely nothing more than rumors, but Kane has an aura of danger that I don’t want to test. I step back a few paces and almost lose my footing on some loose rocks. He lunges forward as if he’s going to grab me and then stops himself, so I take the opportunity to give him a onceover. He’s barefoot and wearing low-slung board shorts, along with the same tattered t-shirt he had on in the bar.

  I notice a large tattoo around his calf, a series of intricate looking black bands and shapes, extending from just below his knee to his ankle. It looks like some kind of tribal design, but it’s hard to make out in the darkness. His hair blows wildly around his head, making him appear part-warrior and part-predator all at once. Honestly, I don’t know men like Kane. My love life has been all fitted suits and shiny brown wingtips, whereas he is rawness personified, opposed to the cufflinks, manicures, and designer haircuts that otherwise characterized Dale. While I can tell that he’s is getting more impatient with me by the minute, I can’t stop staring. Instead, I give him a wink.

  Immediately he growls at me. “Get off my beach”

  “Done and done.”

  I stomp right past him, biting my tongue in the process. I’d love to tell him to shove the rental up his ass, but other than his major dick-vibe, Kane’s place is perfect for me. I definitely won’t find something comparable at this time of year, so I walk back to the suite with my head held high. I can feel his eyes trailing me all the way to the door, but I don’t look back. I simply punch in the key code and slam the door as hard as possible, kicking off my sandals but leaving my sundress in place.

  Sleeps seems near impossible, but my fiery mood leaves me the moment that my head hits the pillow. I feel my eyelids drooping like molasses. As I drift off, I can still feel Kane’s rough calloused hands on my exposed shoulders. I wonder how they’d feel on other parts of my body, and my hand snakes under my sundress, dipping beneath my panties to find another outlet for my desire. I close my eyes while imagining those lustrous dark eyes—like magic eight-balls—full of questions and answers and mystery.

  • • •

  When I wake up, everything hurts: my pounding head, aching feet, and gurgling stomach. I touch my nose and feel the beginnings of my first Hawaiian sunburn. My shoulders are also on fire. Being fair-skinned, I’m usually more careful about the sun, but yesterday was a whirlwind. I groan remembering how I acted at the bar, my two slices of heavy pizza, and that run-in with Kane Keo. What a great start to my new life. I roll over and look at the time, realizing that it’s a quarter to ten, and I’m fairly certain I agreed to some kind of activity with my new friend, Adele.

  At least I made a new friend.

  I chase two ibuprofens with an ice cold shower, throwing on a swimsuit and cover-up before heading outside. Kane’s place is dark and the blinds are drawn. The house appears to be locked up like a fortress. Weird. I thought he’d be up early and working like a machine. A shiny silver Land Rover interrupts my spying, rumbling down the pathway and onto my driveway. Adele is at the wheel, her long silver hair whipping in the wind as she waves at me. Someone sits in the front passenger seat, so I happily hop in the back as Adele begins with the introductions.

  “Ashley Walsh, meet Kayla Lee. Kayla meet Ashley.”

  Kayla whips around and gives me a smile, revealing a set of adorable dimples. “So you’re the malihini. How ya goin’?”

  “I’m not sure what that is, but I’m good, thanks.”

  “It means newcomer.” It takes me a minute to place her accent: Australian. It seems at odds with her raven hair and deep caramel
tan.

  “Wow, you have the best tan I’ve ever seen.”

  She’s gorgeous, like, catalogue model gorgeous. She laughs and blinks her wide-set blue eyes at me.

  “I’m Greek Australian—the Greek part helps with the tan, the Australian part with surfing.”

  “Kayla here is an A.S.P. ranked semi-pro surfer,” Adele explains.

  “Wow, that’s incredible,” I chime, though I have no idea what A.S.P. means.

  “American Surf Professionals.” Kayla fills in the blanks, as if she can read my mind. I actually have heard of American Surf Professionals, which is incredibly cool. Apparently I’m riding with a big time athlete.

  “She’s sponsored as well,” Adele adds with pride. “Yep, Kayla Lee for Australian Gold.”

  Kayla laughs off the comment, but the sound is like liquid gold. “It’s far less impressive than it sounds,” she says. “Being a sponsored surfer usually means a lot of time nursing injuries and sleeping on other people’s sofas, but it helps with groceries and keeps me in the best gear.” She gestures to her cute shorty wetsuit.

  I take one last look at Kane’s house before Adele peels onto the highway. Part of me wonders whether he’s watching from the window, but another part of me isn’t sure why I even care. After a short drive, we arrive at Baldwin Beach. I’m literally gaping at the ocean as I clamber out of the Land Rover. Mature palm trees blow gently in the breeze, framed by dense greenery, flowers, and driftwood, as sand dunes rise up to meet the clearest turquoise water I’ve ever seen. Kayla slings an arm around my neck to get me moving.