If not for Max . . . Well, she didn’t deserve his kindness, and she knew it. But maybe it had more to do with her brother than her. She got that.
He turned down the radio. “Think you could handle an early lunch?”
Grace nodded. “Although I read in my packet that tonight we are having a luau.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty tame. They do that the first night so that you get accustomed to Hawaiian food. We’ll spend the rest of the three weeks learning to make some of the specialties.”
“I saw the recipes. What is poke?”
“Pronounced pokay, like okay. It’s fabulous. A raw seafood salad—they usually make it with fresh ahi.”
“Raw?”
“You know, a lot of cultures eat raw fish. Especially Asian. But even in Minnesota we eat raw fish.”
“We eat smoked fish caught out of Lake Superior. My father buys smoked herring and trout down at the fish house for our guests.”
“Your family runs a resort, right?”
She leaned back, let the sun bake her face, her arms. The traffic had slowed as the road narrowed. The ocean combed the shore just beyond a rim of palm trees and sea grasses. She could drink in the view for hours. Hawaii. Wow.
“Our place is called Evergreen Lodge Outfitter and Cabin Rentals. But it burned down last summer, so we’re rebuilding.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, it was terrible. But my older brother, Darek, has a lot of plans to upgrade, so it’ll probably work out for the good. Give us a few years and the place will be incredible.”
“And you work at the resort?”
“No, I work at a pizza joint.”
“That’s right.” He glanced at her again. “No delivery.”
He remembered? After six hours of conversation, a crossword, and calling the flight attendant for another cool cloth for her forehead? “I make a mean spinach pizza.”
“I’ll bet you do,” he said, flashing her a grin.
Maybe, no, she couldn’t eat.
“So what else is on the menu at the cooking school?”
“Poi, of course. Which is sort of a Hawaiian pudding. And lomi-lomi salmon, another staple on the luau table. We’ll probably learn to roll sushi too.”
“So a gal has to learn to like raw fish.”
“Might be helpful. We’ll make manapua also. It’s a sort of breaded pork dumpling. And the finale will be laulau. It’s . . . hard to explain. It’s made with pork, or sometimes chicken, and butterfish and wrapped in taro leaves, and then in ti leaves and steamed. It’s amazing but can be tricky to make.”
“Max . . . how many times have you attended this cooking school?”
“Well, this would be my third time.”
His third time?
“Why do you keep coming back to the same school?”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Shrugged but didn’t look at her. “I like Hawaii. And . . . cooking. And here . . . well, it’s relaxing.”
She could almost grab it, the sense of something more, lingering outside their conversation. As if, past his carefree demeanor, Max might be hiding something. “Why don’t you buy a house here?”
He laughed. “No. I don’t own property. That would get complicated.”
“You could get a little vacation house, invite your teammates after the season, cook for them, show them the island. You could let your family use it, and then someday, if you get married, you could honeymoon here, teach the kids how to cook, maybe even surf. Pass it down through the generations, make a real family place.”
When he tightened his mouth, she had the strange feeling she’d said something wrong.
Max pulled off the highway into a dirt parking lot. A white food truck marked with graffiti like a modern-day guest book was parked next to a grouping of tables shaded by red, green, or blue canopies. A line of tourists snaked from the walk-up window.
“Wow, it’s packed.”
“That’s because it’s world famous. C’mon, it’s delicious.” He got out and just like that seemed to revert back to himself, the casual cowboy swagger taking on a surfer aura as he moved toward the menu board posted at the edge of the property.
He looked so easy, casual, like he belonged here, belonged anywhere. Could conquer anything.
She wanted that—the confidence to do anything, be anything, go anywhere.
The ability to reach out and grab life.
Grace stepped up beside him and studied the board. “The garlic shrimp scampi looks good.”
“Hot and spicy for me,” he said. “I’ll order while you find us a table.”
Grace looked around the crowded eating area. Not a space in sight. In fact, at least two couples were eating on the hoods of their cars.