Heat Wave (3 page)

I want to ask more about him, but I’m getting more anxious than I already am. Why oh why did Logan even agree to hire me? My mother says it was his idea, but he’s never been known to be all that charitable. In fact, our relationship has been strained for a long time (if you can even call it a relationship), which is why this whole arrangement has been a shock. It’s either he’s that hard-up for cooks here, or this was my mother’s idea. My parents have shares in Moonwater Inn, so for all I know they could have threatened him.

Great
, I think to myself.
I’m probably being forced upon him. A charity case. Logan doesn’t want me here as much as I don’t want to be here.

To get my mind off of things, I make myself pay attention to the scenery of the cute town we’re passing through called Kapa’a, with its old-west style storefronts, the people milling about on the streets, the coconut palms as they sway lightly with the breeze.

And chickens. More and more chickens, strutting their stuff down the sidewalk with the tourists.

Charlie pulls over on the side of the busy road. “Want a coffee?” he asks me, nodding to the quirky-looking coffee shop called Java Kai.

“Sure,” I say and the minute I do I’m hit with a wave of jetlag, as if the distance has finally caught up with me across the Pacific.

The coffee shop is absolutely adorable, with a turquoise exterior and a few tables and chairs that seem to meander over to the equally charming Mermaid Café. But inside it’s chaos, completely full of people, with a long-line snaking toward the counter.

It takes at least five minutes before we finally get to the front of the line, and I take the opportunity to soak up the local atmosphere. There are some couples peering over their laptops, others that are deeply tanned and chatting to each other, adhering to the same barefoot policy that Charlie seems so fond of. I'm guessing they're locals.

When we finally reach the counter, I order an iced banana mocha from the red-headed barista. She's nice to me, as she's been with all the customers ahead of me, but when she starts talking to Charlie, it's like the sun has just broken through the clouds.

Charlie is a flirt, I can tell this much already, and this girl seems head over heels for him. I make a note to ask him later on about her but she's already addressing me.

“Are you the
haole
?” she asks.

I give her a look, wondering if she just called me some Hawaiian version of asshole.

“
Haole
?” I repeat. “I don't get it.”

Charlie nudges me with his shoulder. “It means outsider. Not from here.”

Well that doesn't sound very nice.
Haole
to you too.

“I guess,” I tell her, my smile feeling forced now. “I'm the new cook at Moonwater Inn.” I wonder if she even knows where that is.

“Oh, I know,” she says, smiling again at Charlie as she hands me my iced coffee. “Charlie fills me in on everything. The restaurant is one of my favs.”

I think she means to say that Charlie is one of her favs.

He gives her a wink goodbye to which she nearly melts, and we head out of the crowded shop. Despite all the fans that were whirring in there, I’m covered in sweat.

“Is she a friend of yours?” I ask, stepping around a clucking chicken before I get in the truck.

He shrugs as he pulls out into the road. Someone honks at us from behind since we apparently just cut them off, but Charlie just sticks his hand out the window and gives the hang loose sign with a twist of his wrist. “She's harmless. Went on a few dates but that was over a year ago.”

When the driver of the Jeep behind us gives an accepting wave, I turn back to Charlie. “Seems she's still hung up on you.”

He gives me a grin. “Can you blame her?”

I roll my eyes. “So what is this
haole
business? Do the locals hate outsiders here?”

“Not at all,” he says. “But it's a term and it sticks. I'm still
haole
.”

“Really? But you've been here a few years now. Six, right?”

“Doesn't matter. I wasn't born here, so I'm not local.”

“And is that girl local?”

“Ana?” he asks. “Yeah. Born and raised.”

I want to make a remark on how she doesn't particularly look Hawaiian because of her red-hair, but I'm starting to think that the whole island is one big melting pot of cultures.

“And in case you're wondering,” he says to me as the road dips closer to the coast again, the brilliant blue of the waves dazzling my eyes, “you don't have to be of Hawaiian origin to be considered Hawaiian.”

As I mull that over, my eyes are constantly drawn to the lush vegetation as it swoops past us on one side, fields of dry grass and red dirt on the other. Ahead of us the sharp spears of a low mountain range rise up, looking positively Jurassic, dark clouds hovering behind it.

“That's King Kong,” Charlie says. “Once we get to the side you'll be able to see the profile better.”

And as the road turns around the mass of jungled peaks and past the town of Anahola, I can actually see what looks like the profile of a gorilla peering across the land.

The sight doesn't last for long though because now those dark, distant clouds are right upon us, unleashing rain with one swift movement, like King Kong himself just turned on a shower head.

I twist in my seat to look at my suitcases in the back, glad that Charlie had tucked them under the surfboard.

“Are they getting wet?” Charlie asks, frowning in the rear-view mirror.

“So far so good,” I tell him. “Did you know it was going to rain? It was so nice before.”

“It rains all the time here,” he says. “That’s why it's called the Garden Isle. But don't worry, it never lasts all day and there's always some sunny spot on the island at any given time. Sometimes that means you're heading all the way to the southwest, to Waimea or Polihale Beach to get the rays, but I actually like the rain. And once you're in the water, it doesn't really matter.” He shoots me a sly look. “Do you surf?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ve never tried but I don’t think it’s my thing.”

“That’s fine. I'm going to teach you how.”

I laugh. “Oh you are? You think you can teach me-of-little-balance?”

He nods. “It's all in your head, not your body,” he says, tapping his temple. “And I'm a master of it. I teach surf lessons in the winter to make some extra cash, the swells up at Hanalei can get pretty good. I'll totes teach you for free.”

I frown at him and his use of the word
totes
. “I don't know…I feel there's a catch here.”

He wiggles his brows. “You'll find out sooner or later.”

I'm not sure if that's innuendo or not, but from his interactions with Ana, Charlie already seems to have a bit of a reputation and I've learned my lesson when it comes to sleeping with the staff. I learned it big time.

Charlie turns the radio up for the rest of the drive, playing some ukulele music that makes me feel like I’m in the movie
The Descendants
, as the land becomes more tropical and green as we head north. The rain isn't letting up and Charlie tells me how as we get into winter, the north takes the brunt of the bad weather.

Along the way he starts pointing out more sights—the open plains where they filmed scenes of Jurassic Park (my inner nerd girl freaks out over this one since I can tell you exactly what scenes those were), the turn-off to some lighthouse, the resorts of Princeville, until the road curves along a cliff and the bay opens up below us.

Even with the clouds and the rain, I can still see the green expanse of what Charlie tells me are taro fields, backed by the stunningly rugged peaks of the mountains, half-hidden by cloud. It’s absolutely gorgeous and I snap a few pictures in vain, trying to capture it.

“Wow,” I say softly, craning my neck behind me as the view disappears. We're heading down the side of the cliff now, back toward the water.

“Next time it's sunny, we'll stop there, make sure you get some good pictures. Nothing beats Hanalei on a gorgeous day. Make the people jealous back home.” He pauses. “You have a boyfriend?”

I give him a wary look. “No.”

“I guess if you did, he would have come with you,” he notes.

I make a dismissive noise as we come to a one-lane bridge, the traffic backed up by a few cars as we wait for the other vehicles to come across. A sign indicates that you should let five to seven cars pass or go ahead of you when you're crossing, as a common courtesy. After our turn, we wind past a swollen river and wet fields that resemble rice paddies. With the lush, ragged mountains rising dramatically behind it all, it reminds me of pictures I’d seen of Vietnam, or some place in South East Asia.

The town of Hanalei passes by us quickly, which is supposed to be the closest town to the resort. Even in the shitty weather, people are strolling down the road without umbrellas, laughing at the rain with surfboards tucked under their arms or sucking back iced drinks. Cute storefronts, bars, and restaurants abound on either side of the road.

After we pass Hanalei, the road becomes this twisty, winding vein as it skirts the rough ocean, the surf pounding up against the lava rocks, palm trees waving in the wind. We pass one one-lane bridge after another, the scenery causing me whiplash as I try and take it all in.

Charlie continues to name certain beaches and places but I'm not really listening. I’m nervous all over again. Maybe it's the iced coffee I just drank down, but even without him saying anything, I can tell we're getting closer to our destination. We’re close to the scene of the accident. We’re close to the end of so many truths, so much heartache.

I close my eyes for the rest of the journey.

CHAPTER TWO

“And here she is,” Charlie says.

I take in a deep breath and slowly open my eyes as we slow down in front of a large tiki-style sign saying Moonwater Inn, the scene of a moon rising over surf carved into the wood. He pulls the truck to the right and into the parking lot of the hotel.

Oh my god.

This is it.

This is my new home.

Fortunately, it's gorgeous.

“That's the restaurant just up there,” Charlie says, jerking his chin toward the large building near the water, done up in a tiki theme, similar to the hotel's signage. “Home sweet home.” He parks the truck in a spot labeled “staff” and we get out.

The rain has let up slightly, a light drizzle, but the wind is driving it sideways. It's still warm though, and to be honest the feeling of it on my skin is refreshing. It makes me realize how badly I need a shower. I resist the urge to smell myself and hope that Charlie didn't think I needed extra deodorant.

Aside from the restaurant, there’s a tennis court to the left and a small lawn area bordered with torches. To the right, skirting along the beach and the ocean is the hotel, spread out into small, two-story buildings. It’s nothing fancy, a bit on the dated side, which is a relief. I’m not sure I could work at a high-class establishment.

Charlie brings my suitcases out of the back of the truck and gives me a triumphant grin. “Dry as anything.”

He wheels them over to me while I go back to staring at everything, aware that the longer I stand in the parking lot, the more wet I'll become. My hair is already sticking to my face.

“How many buildings are there?” I ask, reluctantly following him toward a single-story building named Reception. “How many rooms?”

“Two buildings right on the beach, three with ocean views, set a bit further back, and two that have mountain views, facing that way.” He points to the razor-ridged mountains that rise sharply from the other side of the road, their tops shrouded by cloud. “Thirty rooms in total.”

It's almost heavenly, this place: the clouds, the rain, the steady, rhythmic pounding of the waves, the rich and clear birdsong that sounds from the trees. But the closer we walk to the reception area, the worse I feel. Because this is no longer me in Chicago, wondering about the journey. This is no longer me on the airplane, imagining how things are going to be. This is no longer me in Charlie's truck, getting a quick tour of the island as we make our way north.

This is me at the start of my new life.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Here we are,” Charlie says as he pauses by the open doors of reception. Is it just me or was there a flicker of uncertainty passing over his eyes? Considering how calm and easy-going he's been, that definitely doesn't help the situation.

“Shephard?” Charlie says, knocking on the side of the door. He pokes his head in and looks around the corner. “Where is Shephard?”

Knowing he's not in there, I poke my head into the office and see an Asian girl sitting on the other side of the reception desk, two empty chairs across from her. She's super pretty and about my age, with dark hair cascading over her shoulders, and staring at Charlie, completely unimpressed.

“This her?” she asks, not getting up, not smiling at me either.