“I’d better enjoy this while I can.”
“Pehea ’oe, my sistah,” David Kahale said as he wiped down the bar.
He reached out to give her a fist bump. Santana tapped her knuckles against his. His hand was twice the size of hers. Then again, so was he. His personality was even more outsized than his body. Whether he knew them or not, he treated everyone who walked into his bar like family. He treated her that way as well. When her house had been seized by one of the many law enforcement agencies to whom she owed restitution, he had allowed her to convert the tiny space above the bar into an apartment. He had also given her a job helping the cooks run the line. The job didn’t pay much, but it was honest work and that was all that mattered.
She felt like she had come full circle. She had started out broke and she was broke once more. But she had something now that she hadn’t possessed back then: the wisdom to realize that she didn’t need money to feel rich. Even though she barely had a dime to her name, she had something that was priceless. Her freedom.
“I’m good, my brother. How’s your day going so far?”
He pointed to the spectacular view behind him. “Just another shitty day in paradise.” He placed a sun-bleached paper coaster in front of her. “Are you eating or just drinking?”
“Why can’t I do both?”
“I knew I liked you for a reason.” He picked up one of the laminated menus but didn’t hand it to her. “You don’t need this, do you?”
“Nah, I’ve got it memorized by now.”
He punched a code on a touch screen as he prepared to take her order. “What’ll it be then?”
“I’ll have a Tusker and a couple of fish tacos.”
“Just two today? You know my mahi-mahi’s the best in town.”
“Fine. You talked me into it. Make it three.”
He unleashed a loud belly laugh. “I didn’t have to twist your arm too hard.” He turned to the kitchen and repeated the food order he had just entered into the computer. “Three mahi-mahi tacos with the works.”
“Three all day,” Bishme, the lead cook said. “Coming right up, brah.”
Even though he wasn’t classically trained, Bishme was good at his job. He was a patient instructor, too. She was grateful for his tutelage. She made mistakes from time to time, but at least she was finally able to make a meal without resorting to throwing something frozen into the microwave.
Santana pointed to the touch screen. “Why do you even bother using that when you still insist on taking orders the old-fashioned way?”
David winked as he opened the bottle of Kenyan lager she had ordered. “The computer keeps track of customers’ tabs better than I do, but I give a better floor show.” He set the bottle on the coaster and tossed the cap in the trash. “Don’t look now, but I think the wahine who just walked in is checking you out.”
Santana sipped her beer but didn’t turn around. “Not interested.”
“You’ve been saying that for a while now. How long have you been back? Four months?”
“Three months, two weeks, four days, seventeen hours, and twenty-six minutes. But who’s counting?”
“It sounds like you are. Isn’t it time you had a little company?”
“You’re all the company I need.”
He laughed as he draped a bar towel over his shoulder. “I won’t tell Kalani if you won’t.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Let me check on those tacos. Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look,” she told herself after he went to the kitchen. Eventually, her curiosity got the best of her.
Acting as nonchalantly as she could, she turned around and pretended to check out the local scenery. The white sand beach and turquoise water mere feet from the Tiki’s patio were beautiful, but the woman standing just inside the front door took her breath away.
Brooklyn.
She looked away, convinced she was seeing things. When she looked back, she realized what she was seeing was real. This was really happening. Brooklyn DiVincenzo, the woman she had watched walk out of her life five months, two weeks, four days, and twenty-nine minutes ago had just sauntered back into it.
Santana hadn’t even allowed herself to dream that this could happen. Now that it was, she didn’t know how to react.
Brooklyn walked toward her. She was wearing strappy sandals and a floral print sundress that flowed like water as she moved. The two bodyguards stationed at each end of the bar moved to intercept her, but Santana shook her head to let them know it was okay for them to let Brooklyn pass. The men nodded and returned to their seats.
“Friends of yours?” Brooklyn asked.
“Something like that.”
The pair were her constant shadows. They came courtesy of one of the alphabet soup of federal agencies she was assisting.
“You’re a hard woman to find,” Brooklyn said.
“I’ve been keeping a low profile.”
She had been in something akin to the witness protection program for a good three months while she helped the attorneys assigned to prosecute Luke’s, Winslow’s, and Lee’s cases. She had been allowed to return home until the trials began, but she had no idea when that would be since Winslow’s and Lee’s defense lawyers were doing everything they could to drag things out.
Santana tried to think of something witty to say when Brooklyn joined her at the bar, but what came out sounded lame even to her own ears. “You got my note.”
Brooklyn peered at the seats on either side of her. Both were empty since the midday rush had already come and gone. “You said there was a barstool with my name on it, but I can’t tell which one it is.”
“Take your pick.”
Brooklyn claimed the seat to her right. “Nice one,” she said after she settled onto it. “I think I’ll keep it.”
Santana tried not to read too much into the comment—or the fact that Brooklyn was wearing the bracelet she had bought her. Brooklyn was here. Why and for how long didn’t matter.
Brooklyn looked her up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this…”
“Casual?” She no longer owned any designer clothes, so she usually resorted to what she was wearing today—shorts and a T-shirt. Here, she didn’t need to dress to impress. Here, she could just be herself.
“I was going to say ‘relaxed,’ but casual works, too.”
“I’m an island girl. I’m in my element.”
“I can tell. It looks good on you.”
The way Brooklyn was looking at her reminded her of how they used to be. How they could be again? Not in this lifetime. She handed her a menu. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved. Thirsty, too. The only things they fed us on the flight from Hong Kong were pretzels and peanuts. The inside of my mouth feels like a salt lick.”
“I’ll bet.” Santana grabbed a glass from behind the bar and filled it with water. “I just ordered some fish tacos. We can share them if you like.”
Their fingers touched when Santana handed her the glass of water. “Yes,” Brooklyn said, holding her gaze. “I’d like that.”
Santana tried not to stare at Brooklyn’s mouth as she took a sip of her water. It had only been a few months since she had kissed those lips, but it felt like forever. So much had happened since the last time they had seen each other. And once Winslow’s and Lee’s trials finally got underway, so much was still to come.
“I heard about the deal you made with TechSass,” she said. “How did you manage to talk them into entering a partnership with your company rather than purchasing it?”
“Before I met with them, I read your note for inspiration. Then I gave the presentation of my life. My knees were knocking the whole time, but I did it. And the best part is I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else to get myself through it. I went in there telling myself that who I am was good enough. Then I proved myself right.”
All the doubts Brooklyn had in her abilities were g
one. For the first time, she truly seemed to believe in herself. No wonder she had never looked more beautiful.
“Sorry about the wait, my sistah,” David said when he came out of the kitchen. “Here’s your lunch.” He set a plate containing a trio of tacos and a couple of lime wedges on the bar. “Can I get you anything else?”
“An extra plate and two more beers would be great. Thanks, David.”
He arched his eyebrows when he saw Brooklyn sitting next to her, but he didn’t say anything except, “Coming right up.”
Santana slid the food toward Brooklyn. “Go ahead. It’s probably been a lot longer since you ate than I have.”
There were no nonstop flights to ’Ohe Sojukokoro. From New York, the trip took a good twenty-four hours. Sometimes more, depending on how many connecting flights you were willing to endure in order to lower the price of your ticket.
Brooklyn offered a mild protest, then inhaled one of the tacos in less than thirty seconds. “Sexy, right?” she asked after Santana wiped a blob of spicy aioli off her lip.
“Very.”
They shared a laugh, then fell into an uncomfortable silence, uncertain how to move past the small talk and get to the heavy lifting.
“Detective Barnett refused to name names, but I know what you did,” Brooklyn said. It was so like her to skip straight to the point. “You took quite a risk by coming forward.”
“If you’re trying to make me out to be a hero, don’t. I didn’t do what I did for the glory. I did it because it needed to be done.”
“Is your mother safe?”
“For now.” Santana had sobbed like a baby when they had finally been reunited. They were still working on repairing their broken relationship. She could only hope they would have time to make all the pieces fit.
“And what about you?” Brooklyn asked. “Will you have to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?”
Santana indicated the burly bookends on each end of the bar. “Not as long as I have them around.”
“Was the risk worth the reward?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Luke, Winslow, and Lee had made numerous preliminary court appearances since they had been taken into custody. In light of his impromptu confession, Luke had chosen to cooperate and plead guilty in exchange for a lighter sentence. Winslow and Lee, on the other hand, had decided to contest their respective charges. Santana hoped the prosecutors’ expertise and the testimony she and the other witnesses had agreed to provide would be enough to convince the juries in the Townsends’s trials to return favorable verdicts.
“What about us?” Brooklyn asked. “Were we worth it?”
The question hit Santana like a punch to the gut. “Of course we were. Do you even have to ask?”
“No, but I need to hear you say it.”
Though the doubts Brooklyn had once harbored about herself were gone, the doubts she had about her—about them—seemed to remain. Yet she had flown thousands of miles to be here. Her willingness to do that spoke volumes. Santana resolved to make sure she hadn’t traveled all this way in vain.
“Yes,” she said, “we were worth it.”
Brooklyn must have been feeling the same kinds of emotions that were roiling inside her body because her hands shook when she took them in hers. Santana tried to offer her the stability she needed. The kind she had only been able to pay lip service to before. She wanted to show she was ready to do it right this time. That she was ready to go all in, not just far enough to keep her cover story intact.
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me, Brooklyn. Meeting you didn’t just change my life. It gave me life. I was numb before I met you, but you sparked something in me I didn’t even know was there. Like you, I’ve lived my life hiding behind different personas, but I’ve never felt more like myself than I was when I was with you. I don’t expect you to take me back. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. I just want you to know that I never lied about my feelings for you.”
“My parents ask about you all the time. They still adore you. When he talks about you, Pop always refers to you as ‘the one that got away.’”
“Did you tell them who I am or what I used to do?”
Brooklyn shook her head. “It’s your story, not mine. You should be the one who gets to share it.”
“Thank you for that. I’ll tell them everything as soon as I can. Charlie’s parents, too. I know how much they mean to you. I won’t allow myself to become a wedge that comes between you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. I’ll willingly accept the consequences, no matter what they turn out to be.”
“You’d do that?”
Santana could tell how much of a toll the situation had taken on her. She caressed her cheek. “For you, I’d do anything. Even if it means staying as far away from you as I can.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s not safe for you to be around me. As much as I want to be with you, I won’t let you risk your life by—”
Brooklyn didn’t let her finish. “You’ve spent so many years worrying about the ones you love. Give us a chance to return the favor.”
Santana remembered the conversation she’d had with Brooklyn’s father about his hope for Brooklyn to find a partner who wasn’t seeking to leech off of her. “I’m flat broke and practically homeless. I have nothing to give you.”
“All I want is your heart.”
“You’ve had that from the beginning.”
Brooklyn slid off the barstool and threw herself into Santana’s arms. Santana held on tight. She didn’t plan on letting her go. Not this time. Not ever again. When Brooklyn kissed her, the vast empty space inside her began to fill. Then it—and her heart—began to overflow.
“I love you, Brooklyn,” she said when they finally broke the kiss.
“I love you, too, Santana.” It was the first time she had ever heard Brooklyn call her by her real name. She couldn’t wait to hear it again. “I do have a question for you, though.”
“Ask me anything.” From now on, her life would be an open book. Because she would be able to spend it with the woman she loved.
Brooklyn pointed to the tacos. “Are you going to eat those? Because I am really, really hungry.”
Santana felt the laughter bubble up from inside her. Laughter that always seemed to come so easily whenever Brooklyn was around. “Take them. They’re all yours.”
And so was she.
Epilogue
Brooklyn’s heart was full. So was her stomach. Santana and her father had grilled enough fish to feed an army. They had been so proud of themselves and their catch that she and her mother had felt obligated to treat themselves to not only a second helping but a third. Now she was paying the price.
“I really should have skipped dessert.” She rubbed her stomach as Santana sat next to her on the porch swing.
“Isn’t it a sin to say ‘no’ to tiramisu?”
“If it isn’t, it certainly should be.”
“Drink this.” Santana handed her a highball glass filled with two fingers of Scotch. “It will make you feel better.”
Brooklyn took a sip and sighed as she felt warmth slowly permeate her body. “Good whiskey makes the best digestif.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Santana draped her arm across her shoulders. Brooklyn curled up against her side. “For an island girl, you certainly seem to enjoy the country.”
“What can I say? I like it here.”
They were back in the Catskills. Back in the cabin Santana had rented more than a year ago when she had met Brooklyn’s parents for the first time. Now they were practically family. Not practically. Now they were family.
Naturally, her parents had been shocked when Santana told them the unvarnished truth about herself. Like her, they had eventually been able to separate who she was from what she had been forced to do. Santana had vowed to spend the rest of her life making amends, and the role she had played in bringing the ones re
sponsible for Charlie’s death to justice proved she was a woman of her word. Her bond with Brooklyn’s parents had grown stronger in the ensuing months. Brooklyn was looking forward to watching it deepen as well as forging her own ties with Santana’s mother.
“This place holds special memories for me,” Santana continued. “For us.”
“I can’t help but smile every time I remember you doing a header in the lake after you lost your grip on your fishing rod during that first trip. I can’t help but tear up each time I remember you making my mother laugh during your walk through the woods.”
“I noticed you didn’t mention the part about us sitting here listening to your parents have sex.”
“The less said about that, the better.”
“Did you remember to pack the earplugs? It’s almost that time, you know.”
“Got them right here.” Brooklyn patted her pocket. Her parents’ sexual shenanigans were nothing if not predictable.
Though they joked about them now, Brooklyn considered herself lucky every time she watched Santana and her parents interact. It was like they had known each other all their lives. Something she was immensely grateful for since she planned to have Santana in her life for the rest of her life.
She sighed again. She wished she could replicate the contentment she felt being here in this place with this woman by her side. No matter what a series of advertising campaigns once proclaimed, there wasn’t an app for that.
“What’s on tap for tomorrow?” she asked.
Santana turned to her. “Making more memories?”
Brooklyn pressed a kiss to her lips. “I can’t wait.”
About the Author
Yolanda Wallace is not a professional writer, but she plays one in her spare time. Her love of travel and adventure has helped her pen numerous globe-spanning novels, including the Lambda Award-winning Month of Sundays and Tailor-Made. Her short stories have appeared in multiple anthologies including Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets and Women of the Dark Streets. She and her wife live in beautiful coastal Georgia, where they are parents to two children of the four-legged variety.
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