Hula Girl Page 3

  On my last night at my father’s place in Brentwood, a posh suburb of Los Angeles, he took me to the backyard for a project he said he’d been meaning to get to ever since I’d gotten there. It was a model airplane. He wanted us to make it together.

  Those kinds of crafts weren’t my thing. I was an outdoors kind of kid. Give me the beach, a pool, a dirt bike for exploring trails, or a skateboard for trying tricks—anything where I could move, be active. Sitting in one spot for hours on end to painstakingly piece together tiny parts was not my idea of fun. I wasn’t shy about voicing this opinion, either.

  “You will sit here, and you will work on this until we are done,” he said in his insistent way. “Understood?”

  I’d been back talking him the whole trip. Maybe I’d just exhausted myself from the effort of it or maybe I figured I’d offer him a parting gift since I’d be leaving, but for whatever reason, I decided to do as he said.

  Then, the weirdest thing happened. After almost forty-five minutes of working in near silence, he started to talk to me. Like, really talk to me. It wasn’t the barking of orders like it had been for the last two weeks. It wasn’t the disappointed-in-me instructions to tuck in my shirt or wipe the dirt off my face. It was him telling me a little about himself. About who he had been when he was my age. I was shocked to learn that he had the same sense of adventure that I did. He told me tales of spending all day getting lost in Griffith Park with his buddies, of biking in the Santa Monica Mountains, even of trying to learn to surf at Zuma Beach.

  I saw him anew for those few hours we worked together. I thought, maybe he wasn’t so bad. But as we were finishing up the plane, his real motives for the bonding session came to light.

  He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “It was after that summer when I was about to turn thirteen that my father had this sort of talk with me.”

  I’d looked up at him, a sense of impending doom filling me. I couldn’t know exactly what he was about to say, but I was certain that I wasn’t going to like it.

  “What I’m saying, Ford,” he continued, “is it’s time for you to buckle down. Now is the time when it starts to matter what kind of grades you get in school. Now is the time to start learning how to get on in polite society instead of running around like a feral animal.” He paused here, squeezing my shoulder hard enough that I winced. “Now is the time for you to come live with me so I can assure your path in life.”

  I remember shaking my head but being unable to utter a word.

  “Listen, I know you’re full of all these … feelings about me not having been around. But that time before, I couldn’t have been of any use to a young kid. I had a career to start. I needed to dedicate myself to becoming something. And before you give me lip about the fact that I work for my father’s firm, understand that there is tradition in that. It’s important to maintain a line of succession when your family has built something of value.”

  “I don’t want to live with you,” I said.

  He considered me for a moment, obviously less than impressed with the stubborn look on my face. “Well, it’s not really up to you, is it?”

  “My mom won’t let me live with you.”

  “This is for your own good. You may not realize that right now. But by coming to live with me, you’ll get the best of everything. The best schools, the best—”

  “I won’t leave my mom,” I insisted.

  He sighed, clearly out of patience. Arguing with a child, even his own, was a waste of his time. “Do you really want me to go through a protracted custody battle with your mother? Do you understand the toll that would take on her financially? It could ruin that little music school she has.”

  “You’d do that?” I asked, mouth agape.

  “It’s time, Son. It’s time that I impose some discipline in your life. You need the kind of order and structure that I had at your age. It changed everything for me. Whereas once I was wild, I soon had a sense of direction. It was invaluable because it led me to become the man I am today.”

  “The kind of man who knocks up a random girl and leaves her on her own with a baby, you mean?” I muttered.

  His hand flew at me before I could flinch. The smack across my mouth stung, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let him think I believed his bullshit.

  “That’s the kind of attitude we’ll rid you of,” he said. “Now, you’ll go back to Maui, but only long enough for you to collect your things so you can return here.”

  “I won’t.”

  He leaned down to make eye contact with me. “Understand one thing, young man. You will destroy your mother’s life by refusing this.”

  I looked up at him, my eyes shining against my will.

  “Tears are for the weak. Remember that.” He turned then to move back into the house.

  Before he could disappear inside, I took the completed airplane and dropped it to the ground. The crunch of it under my foot was incredibly satisfying. But the fury on his face as he whipped back around to see what I had done was even better.

  I wanted him to know that I’d never stop resisting him, that he’d never tame me.

  And yet, I followed his plan of moving to LA, but only so that my mother wouldn’t be crushed by legal bills. I went to a private boys’ school and spent the first six months defying every authority around me. After realizing I was the only one suffering because of this attitude, though, I gave up and fell in line.

  I made friends with the popular kids. I got into playing baseball, which my father loved because he had played in school, too. I studied, finding that a little went a long way as I was exceptional at picking up and retaining information if I put even minimal effort into it. By becoming more like the son my father wanted me to be, I earned the freedom to go to Maui for the summer. Soon, my “good behavior” meant I spent every single school holiday with my mom. I learned to straddle the two worlds, but the whole time I was just biding my time until I could make my own decisions.

  Or so I thought. When I was almost sixteen, something shifted. I actually started to crave my father’s approval. I think it started when he took me to the office for the first time. He worked long hours, which I’d always considered a blessing since it meant we didn’t have to spend all that much time together. But the day he had me sit in his big leather wingback chair, I felt a sense of wonder at the grand space and furniture. He spread legal texts in front of me, having me read case law and quizzing me. To the astonishment of both of us, I answered every question correctly. It was then that he declared I had a photographic memory. He was so delighted with this that it made me feel … special. I felt special to him for the first time in my life. When he started talking about me one day joining the firm to carry on the family practice, I was suddenly eager to please him. Another thing that happened for the first time in my life.

  After that, I still went home to my mom whenever I could, but I also stepped up my studies. I had a mission. I wanted to burn through high school and college to get to law school. I wanted to be a part of my father’s plan.

  I got through all that schooling and took the bar. I worked at that stuffy law firm for almost four years before I snapped, walking away from it all and moving home to Maui. My mom’s boyfriend lets me stay in this place. It’s not much more than a shack, but it’s on the beach and gives me a roof over my head in between bouts of surfing.

  That was a year ago.

  I’ve been content during this time. Just living in the moment. Just living for me. Just trying to get back to who I used to be … before I bought into my father’s expectations.

  But now I’ve got the trip to L.A. looming over my head.

  There’s only one thing that will take my mind off this sense of dread. I haul myself to my feet, stretch the kinks out of my body, and reach for coconut water. It’s time to catch some waves, time to think about nothing but the sweet ride of the water.

  4

  Ava

  I’m awake before sunrise. It’s still relatively cool, s
o I put on my running gear and hope that the exercise will shake the restlessness I haven’t been able to dispel since I got here.

  By the time I make it to the Kapalua Coastal Trail, the sun has risen enough to ensure my run along the volcanic rock path is safe. The air smells sweet, and the water is the deepest blue. When the waves crash against the cliffside, the whitewash splashes up and glitters in the morning light. Even though I’d still rather be back at work, I do appreciate the beauty and tranquility of this spot.

  After I’ve run the entire route, about four miles round trip, I stop and take advantage of a natural formation that works as a chair. I sit and stare out at the ocean for a long while. The regret I have for how impulsively I broke up with Bryce is something I can live with. I don’t want him back. I just wish I had dealt with it better. It’s the mistake I made at work that bothers me more. My instinct is to redouble my efforts, to work even harder. But there’s a part of me that isn’t sure that will get me what I need. Because I’m starting to understand that I need some kind of change in my life. I’ve finally begun to think I need a real life. One that is about more than work.

  I just don’t know if I’m even capable of opening myself up to that.

  * * *

  After showering and grabbing a quick breakfast of local fruits and coffee, it’s still only seven o’clock. That means another long day stretches out in front of me.

  Before I can convince myself otherwise, I call for my rental car at the valet and set off in search of a store to buy a laptop, not even thinking of the fact that such stores wouldn’t be open at this hour.

  A working vacation is better than nothing, I rationalize as I fiddle with the GPS. I’m not all that far from the hotel when I realize I’ve started in the wrong direction. I have to go several miles more before I can find a spot to make a U-turn. Just as I get going on the road that will lead me to some kind of civilization, a chicken appears in front of me.

  Yes, a chicken.

  Tons of wild chickens roam all over the island, and everyone just lets them be. It’s a little weird.

  This particular chicken startles me so much that I slam on the brakes and swerve onto a dirt road, not wanting to hit it. Coming to a stop, I try to catch my breath. My adrenaline is pumping.

  Over a chicken.

  Laughing, I shake my head.

  Once more, however, I need to find a spot to turn around. I slowly continue down the rust-colored dirt path. The road isn’t wide enough to make an easy turn, so I keep going, hoping it will open up. On either side of the road, tall green grass cast golden by the morning sunlight, waves in the breeze. It feels like it’s just me out here, and for a moment, I don’t mind. I don’t think about my mission to go find a laptop. I don’t think about how much longer I have to stay on vacation. I don’t think about the mistakes I made. Instead, I roll down my window and put my arm out, letting my fingers graze the tips of the grass as I go unhurriedly by.

  It’s a fleeting moment of peace because soon I’ve come to the end of the path. It overlooks the ocean from at least two stories above and is a breathtaking vista. I drag my eyes away from the expansive blue water and realize the area has opened up with plenty of room to make a U-turn, even with the handful of other cars parked here.

  Deciding I’d better use this opportunity to get a better sense of where I’m going, I park the car, grab my cell phone, and step out. The salty air is humid as I watch the scattering of surfers down below. A few of them catch a long, rolling wave, but most hold back. It’s hard to tell from here whether the waves would be considered “good.” What I can see is that there are a lot of rocks, even a large outcropping, that must be avoided. It looks dangerous, leading me to think that the surfers must be well experienced if they’re out there.

  Turning to my phone, I quickly find that I have absolutely no service. I fiddle with it anyway, hoping that if I angle it one way or the other, I’ll get a couple bars. Nothing. Desperate, I hold it up over my head and wave it around a little.

  “If you add a little hula dance, it just might work.”

  I gasp at the suggestive words directed at me, turning to find a grinning man to my left. It takes me a second to realize how foolish I had probably looked as I contorted to try to find a signal on my phone and that this stranger is teasing me over it.

  Check that.

  This gorgeous stranger.

  The man is tall with lean, sculpted muscles straining against his thin T-shirt, a chiseled jaw lightly covered by the scruff of a beard, and defined cheekbones. His skin is tan, his eyes are pale brown with gold flecks, and his medium-brown hair is on the shorter side and untamed. But it’s his playful smile that does me in. And it’s the upturn at one corner of his mouth that has me wanting to taste his lips.

  There’s an expression in Spanish that perfectly captures how positively delicious someone like him is: Es un mango.

  He’s a mango. A sweet, juicy fruit.

  “I was just playing,” he says, thankfully pulling me from my completely inappropriate thoughts. “Odds are good you won’t be able to use that thing out here, though. You need help with something?”

  Uh, yeah, I need help. I need help pulling my tongue up off the dirt and back into my mouth. Figuratively, at least. He is objectively one of the finest men I’ve ever seen. And he’s left me speechless. I realize I must look like one of those hyper-dramatic actresses in a telenovela, at a loss for words when faced with a handsome stranger. I remind myself that I’m a thirty-year-old attorney and that I need to snap out of it.

  “No, no thank you,” I say, standing taller. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure about that? You really seemed to want to get that phone to work.”

  God, even his voice is sexy. It’s deep, but with a hint of raspiness.

  I can’t remember the last time I was so intensely attracted to someone. It sure wasn’t like this with Bryce. I mean, he checked all the boxes: handsome, smart, in great shape. But there was no real heat between us.

  And even though this stranger is still eyeing me with amusement, waiting for me to answer and probably thinking I’m some sort of flaky weirdo, heat is exactly what I feel between us.

  “I, um,” I start. “I was on my way into town, actually. But one of those crazy chickens ran me off the road, and I turned down here sort of by accident.”

  He laughs, but it doesn’t feel like it’s at my expense. Not when his eyes are so warm, his expression so open. There’s something both boyish and world-weary about him. The combination doesn’t make sense, but it is incredibly compelling.

  “Yeah, those chickens don’t exactly follow the rules of the road. But that’s a good thing for you, isn’t it?”

  A red flag goes up with that last comment. It makes me think he’s about to give me some obnoxious come-on line about how that chicken running me off the road brought me to him and doesn’t that make me a lucky little lady?

  “How’s that?” I ask, a challenge in my voice.

  “If it weren’t for that crazy chicken, you may have just blown on by and never seen one of the most beautiful parts of Maui,” he says with a grin.

  “Oh.” I feel foolish for presuming ill intent from him.

  “This is Honolua Bay. If you go down that way a bit more, you can find a rad jungle trail to the water. But it’s pretty rocky and not that easy to get into the water. Once you do, though, if you swim out past the shallow, you’ll find a snorkeling paradise.”

  “Is that what you’re doing here?”

  “Nah. I’m here to hopefully catch some waves.” He glances over my shoulder at the water, and I can tell he’s anxious to be in it.

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  His eyes drift back to mine. And then they slide downward, surveying me. Every inch of me.

  The gauzy white slip dress I’d thrown over my ruby-red bikini falls short against my thighs. I’ve always thought that my legs, shaped by the quick, high-intensity runs I squeeze into my schedule whenever possible
and accentuated by wedge sandals, are one of my best features. By the way this gorgeous stranger is eyeing me, he would seem to agree.

  “Listen, uh, I’d invite you to join me in the water down there,” he says, tearing his eyes from me, “but it’s not the best place for a casual swim.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sort of on a mission, anyway.”

  “Right. You said you were headed to town?”

  “Yeah. I’m desperate to buy a laptop. I need to check in on a case.”

  “A case? That sounds like lawyer-speak. God, I hate lawyers,” he says absently and I cringe. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice, as his eyes have once more been drawn to the water below. “Uh, you’re not a lawyer, are you?”

  “A lawyer? Me? No. Um, nope.” Why I felt the instinct to lie to him baffles me, but there it is.

  “Oh, good.” He graces me with that crooked grin once more. “Well, Hula Girl, good luck with your mission.”

  “Thanks.” That one word trails off prematurely as I watch him pull his T-shirt off, revealing a chest that makes my mouth water. It’s smooth, except for ridges of muscles. The exquisite definition I noticed earlier in his arms is matched on his torso and even down to his hips where his black and gray swim trunks are slung low enough to showcase a perfect V.

  He turns to the bed of a Chevy pickup truck that has seen better days and pulls a surfboard from it.

  I hesitate longer than I should before forcing one foot in front of the other toward my rental car.

  “Oh, hey,” he calls out.

  I whip around to face him once more.

  “There’s a little place, a locals’ place for food and drinks, called Makai’s. I’ll be there tonight after eight. Why don’t you stop by? That is if the chickens don’t run you off the road.”

  His smile is a tease. A flirt. An invitation.