Heat Wave(79)

I’m buoyant – in the water, in spirit, in my heart.

But I don’t push my luck. You never do with the ocean, I know that by now. As quickly as I splashed in, I trudge out of the water and head over to the hotel, passing Nikki as I do so who gives me the once over, a mug of coffee in her hand.

“Did you go swimming in your dress?” she asks, looking me over.

I shrug. “The ocean called to me, what can I say.”

“Did you see the whales this morning?”

“Whales?” Humpback whales arrived this month to the islands and its always been a dream of mine to see them. In fact, it was the one thing that Juliet and I bonded over as children. When she was ten, she was obsessed with becoming a marine biologist. That was the last that I remember her really being a kid – after that she seemed to grow up so quick. And naturally, wanting to be just like her, I started loving whales and other marine mammals too. But by the time I graduated onto sharks, Juliet had moved onto something else, leaving me in the cold.

“Yeah they were just out there,” she nods at the shore, “breaching and everything.” She adjusts the brim of her bright pink trucker hat and looks at me. “By the way, what happened to you last night? You just disappeared.”

I try not to smile. “I went to bed early. Turkey coma.”

She seems to buy that and pushes out her belly in a vain effort to be relatable. “I feel you on that. It was awesome though,” she adds quickly. “Your mashed yams are a million times better than my grandma’s mashed potatoes that’s for sure.”

I take the compliment with thanks and hurry back to my room to take a proper shower, all the while my eyes going over the grounds, looking to see if I can spot Logan already. Even though we’ve been apart for, oh, I don’t know, twenty-minutes, I already have that itching need to see him again, like a junkie seeking her high. It’s ridiculous and I don’t even care that it’s ridiculous.

Luckily I have work to distract me and I head into the kitchen earlier than I should, an hour before Johnny is supposed to show up.

Since I started working at Moonwater, I’ve had some creative input in the dishes and a few of them have really taken off. But I haven’t had that kind of urge that used to plague me when I was a struggling chef-to-be. There’s something to be said about the monotony of being a line cook that really gets your mind and heart wandering, dreaming about what kind of dishes you’d be serving and making if the restaurant was yours.

Here, I have the freedom and yet, until today, I haven’t really felt the urge. Maybe because moving here has been such a distraction, maybe because I just haven’t felt that creative push. After all, it’s taken me nearly two months now to really get into the swing of things and know the job and the food and the people.

But with knowledge comes confidence. And with happiness comes creativity. As I stand in the kitchen, taking a look at all our ingredients, glancing over the menu, I can feel everything come together with one jab of inspiration.

I’m thinking about Logan and how hard he’s had to work to get this hotel up and running. I’m thinking about the hardships he’s had to face with Juliet gone. I’m thinking about Juliet and the pride she must have taken in Moonwater, even if she took none in her marriage. I’m thinking about the way Logan looked at me last night, the way he looked at me this morning, the way it felt to have him inside me, wanting me in every single way. I’m thinking about my family here, how people have my back for maybe the first time ever.

All of those feelings are boiling to the surface and there’s only one way for me to express it. I need to create something that would please everyone, that would be bring us all together. I need to make Moonwater’s signature dish, something a bit salty, spicy, sweet. Something that tickles all the senses and makes eating the pleasure that it should be.

I get to work. I don’t even think, I just run off of this creative juice that’s replaced my blood. I think of plumeria flowers and creamy sand beaches and salty-breezes and the freshest fish. I think of eating fruit; fresh mango from the stands in Hanalei, the juices running down my arms and pulling over in Charlie’s truck to buy green coconuts that you drink from the shell. I think of humpback whales frolicking off shore, happy to be alive in these warm waters, thriving under the sun.

By the time Johnny comes in for his shift, I’m done and staring at the plate with a discerning eye, not sure if what I created is total garbage or not.

“Aye, Ronnie,” Johnny says, grabbing his apron off the wall. “You’re here early. What are you doing?”