When I Fall in Love(23)
Keoni wore his hair in a long black ponytail, more surfer than chef with his dark, sea-salted skin. He had probably hit the waves this morning, already found his aloha spirit. He wore his shirt open, his doggers low, and resembled nothing of his accolades as one of the island’s most decorated chefs. But only two years ago, Chef Keoni had dived headfirst into a season of Iron Chef Hawaii and emerged the winner.
“Absolutely. And scouting talent for this year’s Honolulu Chop competition. We’re doing a four day cook-off at Honolulu Days. You’d be perfect for it. We want more than locals—we want people who love Hawaii, even if they are haoles.”
“Hey, give me three weeks, I’ll be as local as you. How’s the surf?”
“Junk. All slop. But tomorrow the waves are supposed to be bombin’. Maybe we can catch some after class.”
Max’s gaze roved around the diners as Keoni talked.
“You’d better land yourself some vittles before the tour leaves.” Keoni glanced at his dive watch. “You have about fifteen minutes before we pull out.”
“No problem.” He clamped Keoni on the shoulder. “Catch ya.”
Max stood for a moment on the veranda, watching the breakers offshore, soaking in the heat of the morning. He’d spent too long on the ice, needed the sun to sink some vitamin D into his bones, shore up his body for the next season.
Before he could stop himself, he headed back to the lobby and hit the up button for the elevator.
He’d just check on Grace, make sure she’d woken up. After all, jet lag could play tricks on a body, especially one as wrung out as Grace’s. He wasn’t babysitting, just . . . caring. Because of Owen.
He found her room at the end of the hall and knocked. Waited. Knocked again.
He finally heard her shuffling to the door. The bolt clicked and she eased the door open, blinking against the sunlight in the hallway. “Hello?”
“Aloha,” he said, probably brighter than he needed to. He schooled his voice. “Uh, you know we leave in fifteen—or maybe ten—minutes, right?”
She opened the door wider, rubbed her eyes. She wore a white T-shirt, and blue-painted toenails poked from the too-long hem of her yoga pants. A black eye mask mashed her hair on top of her head. If he didn’t know better, he’d peg her as hungover.
She shook her head and pressed a hand to her stomach. “Uh-oh.”
“Do you need to sit down?”
“Maybe.” She slid to the floor, bracing the door open with her foot.
He crouched on the other side of the threshold. “Are you still sick?”
“I can’t tell.” She pulled off the mask. “I don’t think so.”
“If I say the words exotic food tour, how does that make you feel?”
She made a face.
“Right. Okay.”
“But—don’t worry about me. I’ll stay here, lay out in the sun, try to figure out why I said yes to this trip.” She closed her eyes, leaned her head against the door.
“You’re not going to leave before the fun starts, right?”
“Isn’t this the fun?” she said and chased it with a grin. Yeah, Jace had also neglected to mention the smile.
Max answered it with a smile of his own. “I’ve been on this tour a couple times before, so what do you say we opt out and I take you on your own tour? We’ll head up to the North Shore, watch the surfers, then visit the turtles on our way home. And along the way, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll stop in at the shrimp trucks.”
Her smile dimmed. “No, Max. You’re so sweet, but . . . I’m not stupid. On the plane, when you didn’t know who I was, you offered to show me around. I realized from your offer to a stranger that you were hoping to not have to spend time with me, the girl waiting in Hawaii. I know this is your vacation. And I know how hard you work. So really, I’ll just sit this one out and read a book. Be free.”
Max couldn’t pinpoint why her words stuck a needle in his chest, why suddenly it seemed as if the buoyant joy of the morning evaporated. Wasn’t this what he wanted?
Clearly his mouth wasn’t listening to his brain. “Are you sure? It’s a gorgeous day.”
“Which is why you should be out enjoying it. Go on your tour, Max. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.”
Absolutely. Of course she would be. And this was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Right. Okay, then. Get well.”
“I will. You have fun.”
She stood, closed the door.
Have fun. That’s why he was here, right?
He took the elevator down, walked outside, and found the group waiting for the Hawaiian Culinary Adventures shuttle near a towering palm tree. Two women in long sundresses, their hair pulled up to expose necks the color of cream, huddled together taking vanity shots, giggling. A couple in their midfifties—him with a baseball cap, her in a pair of khaki shorts and a pink T-shirt—sat on the cement wall. He glanced at their name tags: Chuck and Marnee Miller.