Chapter 11

 

- CAMDEN -

 

 

Note to self:

If I’m trying to take things slowly with a woman, it’s best to keep my hands off her.

Especially when she’s wet.

Because seriously, with her in my arms I feel my alpha side rally, making me want to snarl at every guy on this beach right now.

She’s also Stella’s babysitter, I remind myself. And I need to be cautious about this.

Yet it’s hard to even think of her as the babysitter when there’s no Stella in sight. Only me and her and a few dozen beachgoers this late afternoon.

If I’d just met her randomly… well, hell, with this much chemistry between us, I’d know exactly how this evening would end. I’m pretty confident there.

But this is Annie. She’s not some tourist out for a meaningless fling with the guy who spends way too much time in the weight room at my condo’s gym. And even though she’s made it clear she’s not on the island for the long haul, if I start something with her, it’s got to last at least until Stella is back on the mainland.

Because while I might be able to find another babysitter, Stella’s grown pretty attached to this one.

But, damn, so have I.

 “Here,” I grasp my towel which is resting in the sand. I should just hand it to her, but I do the dumb thing—the insanely stupid hormone-driven thing that makes me wonder if I ever evolved past seventeen. Starting at her perfectly delicate ankles and moving upward, I proceed to pat down her legs myself.

It’s not me trying to cop a feel. I’d swear it. It’s that somehow I feel this need to take care of her the same way she takes care of Stella.

“Thanks,” she says, and I can’t help noticing that she doesn’t tug the towel free from my hands and wipe herself down on her own. That might prove promising.

“Hope that sundress isn’t dry clean only,” I say. A stupid comment. I don’t even know if there is a dry cleaner on the Big Island.

“No,” she replies. “I should know better than to turn my back on the ocean.”

“Happens to us all, one time or another. The Pacific loves a sneak attack.” I sit in the sand, stretching out a towel alongside me with the hope she’ll want to take a seat. “For every time I warned a tourist not to turn their back on the ocean here, I swear the ocean hears that and thinks, I’m gonna get that guy one of these days.”

“And has it succeeded?”

“Once it did a hell of a job on me at Kua Bay,” I admit.

She looks different to me as she smiles now somehow; I can’t quite put my finger on it until I notice how her eyes are hidden by speckles of water on her glasses. “Here,” I say, easing her glasses off her nose.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking somewhat horrified.

I pick up the t-shirt I’d set down on my extra towel a few hours ago, shake it lightly, and rub its material against her glasses. “Just cleaning them. My t-shirt’s made of microfiber. Good for that kind of job.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s no big deal.” I wipe the water from her glasses and rub away the drops. “You won’t be able to drive home looking through these.” Holding them up to the light, I peek through the lenses, looking for any remaining spots. I start to lower them, but something catches my eye as I look through them—the sight of the world completely undistorted through her lenses. I look again to confirm that I can see everything as clear as day.

Her glasses aren’t prescription.

My hand stills for a split second, peering through them.

I give myself a shake. It shouldn’t even raise an eyebrow. Lots of people wear glasses just for the show of it. But then I notice again how brightly the sunlight reflects along her blonde roots.

Dyed hair. Glasses.

My brothers would say my observation skills with women are not the best (and I’d say the same of them). But it doesn’t take a brick to hit me over the head to realize that this girl is trying to disguise herself in some understated way.

None of this should surprise me. She wouldn’t be the first person to seek sanctuary on this island. A running joke here is that the island is really just a mecca for people in the witness protection program.

And, being me, I can’t help feeling the need to ram my fist through whatever or whomever she’s running from.

After settling her glasses back on her nose, my hands rest at the side of her face for a moment. Just a moment, barely discernible.

The calming sound of a ukulele strumming in the distance has my eyes darting over to the Dancing Coconut. “It must be five o’clock.”

She seems almost breathless as I pull my fingers away from her cheeks. “Why do you say that?”

“That’s when the music line-up starts at the Dancing Coconut.”

“Oh—that’s where you work, right?”

I nod with mock pride. “Best margarita on the island, remember?”

“But you’re not working tonight?”

 “If I were, you’d be the first to know, wouldn’t you?” I laugh. I think she knows my work schedule better than I do these days.

I ease back onto the sand, watching the people crowd around the bar on the other side of the beach. I always find it amusing, watching it from the outside looking in. When I’m on the clock there, I’m more focused on making sure everyone’s got the right drink in their hand, while keeping one eye looking out for trouble. I may not be observant in relationships, but I’m sharp when I’m on the clock, and the managers at the Dancing Coconut have come to appreciate the benefits of having a former Special Ops guy around.

But when I’m not on duty, the scene looks different to me—relaxing even, watching the people flow in and out of the bar just the same as the waves come and go as they touch the shores of A-Bay.

I look at Annie and try to picture her as just some woman I met on the beach, not the one who comes to my door like a divine angel when I need coverage for Stella. If she was just some woman, I’d be asking her to join me for dinner right now.

I like that idea more than I can deny.

“You know, on top of a great margarita, they’ve got the best coconut shrimp over there.”

“I love coconut shrimp.” Her eyelashes flutter at the mention of the island favorite.

“Well, come on, then. Let’s grab a bite. I kind of owe you,” I add quickly when I see her eyes search for an excuse to say no.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do. You’ve had my six these past couple weeks. Least I can do is take you out once in a while.” I find myself tacking on that last part pointedly, as if I want to keep the door open for future dinners.

Which is an odd thought coming from a guy who usually prefers one-night stands.

By the look of refusal brewing in her eyes, I’m waiting to hear some excuse from her. But instead she says, “Your six?”

“Yeah, my six.” My eyes widen. “Oh, that’s right. It’s kind of a military term, I guess. When someone’s got your six, that means your six-o’clock. Picture it like this.” I slide up closer to her, unable to miss that she smells like a sweet mix of saltwater and coconut oil. My hand touches her shoulder as I face her in the same direction as me. Pointing out to the horizon, I tell her, “That’s your twelve o’clock, right? So picture gunfire coming from that direction. But you’ve got to make a move—say—to get to your three o’clock position.”

“Which would be there,” she says, darting her arm out. With me sitting right beside her, her forearm brushes against my bare chest. I’ve never known a move to be so innocent yet so erotic.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re a quick study,” I observe. “So anyway, someone’s got to cover you. And when someone’s got your back, so to speak, we sometimes say, ‘I’ve got your six,’ which comes from—”

“—your six o’clock position.”

“Right.” My tone is strangled as I’m thinking of the many other positions I’d like her in other than my six. I clear my throat.

I’m reluctant to scoot away from her. I turn to her, and feel her soft breath quickening with her lips dangerously close to mine. And those eyes, dammit, they look so familiar to me behind her glasses.

I could kiss her right now. Just like I nearly did standing next to the car yesterday. My brother isn’t here to stop me. But there’s something inside of me holding me back—damn, is that one of those things called a conscience I feel?—something in her eyes that tells me if I kissed her right now, she’d turn tail and run the other way.

I force myself to slide away from her just a few inches. “So, dinner? Don’t say no or you’ll crush my ego. And believe me, after barely getting a passing grade with Stella for the past couple weeks, my ego is a little vulnerable.” There’s such truth in that statement that it stuns me sometimes. Me, the confident, cocky son-of-a-bitch that I’ve always been, turned into a panic-stricken wuss by the arrival of a little girl.

There’s a long, weighted pause, and I can see the entire conversation she’s having with herself behind her eyes, as if its dialogue is scrolling along her eyes like subtitles in a foreign movie.

They’re the same things I should be saying to myself right now.

This is dangerous.

We should keep our relationship to strictly business.

If this turns sour, Stella might wind up broken-hearted.

Yet, much to my surprise, the word I hear slip from those gorgeous lips of hers is a faint, “Okay.”

“Okay?” I feel the need to confirm this.

A slight smile perks up one side of her mouth. “Okay. If only so I’ll have enough time to convince you that you’re getting much better than a passing grade with Stella.”

I stand and extend my hand to help her get up. “That might take some extra convincing,” I say, even though I don’t want to talk about Stella right now. Right now, I don’t feel like someone who’s temporarily playing the role of daddy-pro-tempore. Tonight, I feel like any other guy who’s just trying to get to know some woman.

I slip my t-shirt over my head—even the beachside Dancing Coconut has a strict no-shirt-no-drink policy—and take the extreme risk of jutting my bended elbow toward her, hoping she’ll take it. She almost looks confused when I do. But then I feel her soft hand in the bend of it, lightly holding onto the inside of my elbow.

I’m not even going to think about what her touch seems to do to me.

“They’ve got a hell of a sunset from here in a while,” I say, retrieving her sandals as we stride along in the sand.

“All sunsets on this side of the island are spectacular. And sunrises on the Hilo side.”

I nod in agreement. “Have you ever seen the sunrise from Pololu Valley lookout?”

“Never. When I was here, I was taking care of two kids. I can’t imagine trying to get them out the door in time for that.”

“Oh, you’re missing out.” I’ll take you there, I want to say. But somehow, the words stay lodged in my throat, as though if I make too many plans with her, she might bolt.

But in my head, I’m making that promise to her. One day, I’ll share a coffee with her, watching the first rays of the day shine down on the emerald cliffs and rough surf of the northern end of the island.

I can certainly make this last long enough for that.

There’s a crowd waiting for a table at the Dancing Coconut. But when I whisper in the ear of the hostess that I’ll cover for her on the holiday of her choosing, one miraculously opens up just for Annie and me, a small one close to the shoreline where we can watch the entertainment and the sunset at the same time.

I glance at the menu even though I know it by heart.

“Hey, Cam,” our waitress, Nalani, greets me with her usual high-five. “What are you doing at one of my tables?”

“Taking this pretty lady out for a bite to eat,” I say, enjoying the blush that touches Annie’s cheeks when I say it. “Nalani, this is Annie.”

“Aloha, Annie!” She gives her the same high-five that she gave me, as if they were college roommates. It’s just Nalani’s way. “Is this the same Annie who’s been taking care of Stella?”

“That’s me,” Annie replies.

“You’ve saved our boy here. So first drink is on the house.”

She shakes her head. “Water’s fine.”

Nalani cocks her head. “This is A-Bay. Everyone needs at least a margarita in their hands.”

“I really don’t need—”

“She’ll have a margarita.” My eyebrows rise as I look at the resistance on Annie’s face. “I remember you told me you love a good margarita and they’re the best here. Even when I’m not the one making them.” I look back at Nalani. “And a beer for me. Anything local will do.” What people usually don’t know about the island is that we’ve got some pretty awesome breweries here.

“Any apps?”

“Yeah, two coconut shrimps and we’ll have dinner, too. Just give her a sec to look at the menu.”

“You bet. Our fish of the day is mahi mahi.” Nalani gives me a knowing look. The fish of the day here is always mahi mahi. Tourists never stick around long enough to realize it’s a bit of an inside joke for us.

That said, our mahi mahi is nothing short of spectacular, and I order it every time.

“So how is it that you ended up working here?” she asks. “Can’t imagine you did a lot of bartending when you were in the Army.”

I chuckle. “You know how it is on the island. You take what job you can get and are happy for it. Besides, I love being on the beach. Don’t care if I’m swimming here, bartending, or picking up trash.”

“Picking up trash?” she asks.

“Yeah. My brothers and I do beach clean-up on the island a couple times a month.”

“That’s nice of you.”

I shrug. “Not really. Just giving back to the island that gives to us, you know?” I tilt my head as I watch her look around the bar with a sense of nostalgia in her eyes. “Did you ever come here when you were living with the Shimozatos?” I ask her. She hates talking about herself, I’ve learned. Questions like, Where are you from? or What was your life like back on the mainland? are met with evasion. But I’ve found out by now that if I ask for specifics, I can actually draw a few things out of her.

“Once—yeah, we did. We sat over there,” she answers, pointing to a table close to the bar. “It looked different, though, back then.”

“I know. I came here a couple times with some friends when I was at Pohakuloa. It had more of a tiki bar vibe going on. All the seating was toes-in-the-sand. Less of a menu, too. I don’t see many Pohakuloa guys at the bar these days. But they don’t have two-dollar beers anymore here, either.” My eyes settle on her again. “Maybe this is where I’ve seen you before. I keep thinking you look so familiar. I’m trying to remember if I ever saw a Japanese family sitting with a cute brunette before.” I say brunette pointedly, remembering her blonde roots.

“I actually doubt you ever saw me,” she responds. “I’m just one of those women who looks like everyone else.”

My eyes lock onto hers. “Hardly. Not with those eyes, you aren’t.”

“My eyes?” She almost looks like she’s wondering if I meant that as a compliment or an insult.

“Yeah. They’re gorgeous. They just pop behind your glasses. Take those glasses off and I might have to fight off half the guys at the bar to just keep you to myself.”

Her blush deepens. “That’s ridiculous. But thanks.”

“I like the sundress, too.”

She grins. “I just bought it. My co-worker told me I tend to dress like a fifth grade teacher.”

“Hey, my fifth grade teacher was hot.”

She guffaws. “Seriously?”

“Smokin’ hot.”

Her face screws up. “I’m trying to figure out how you’d even notice that at that age.”

“I got started appreciating women pretty young. Comes from having two older brothers. Just around that time, Dodger had developed a serious crush on Britney Spears. It was the nineties, you know. Had a poster on his wall of her. I’ll never let him live that down. Last winter, I found the same one on eBay and stuck it to his wall on Christmas morning. He wasn’t amused.”

She laughs. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have siblings. Now I know.”

“You’re an only child then?” Another shoe drops. I love discovering little jewels of information about her.

“Yeah. I was a surprise, actually.”

“A good surprise,” I clarify.

She looks faraway suddenly. “I used to think so.”

“What made you start thinking otherwise?”

She shifts in her seat. “Oh, I don’t know. I think my parents question a lot of the choices I’ve made in my life. They’re not exactly bragging about me to their friends.”

In that moment, I’m thinking I don’t care much for her parents. “Why? Because you work in child care?” I ask cautiously, avoiding the word babysitter because it does sound a little like she should be fifteen years old.

“I think they’re okay with that. They never expected me to go to law school or something. I’ve always liked kids, so it’s a good fit for me. But—” Visibly unnerved, her voice stops as though someone just jammed her next words back down her throat.

Her eyes dart toward the water, gaze wary, when I’m grateful that Nalani appears with our drinks. As much as I want to learn more about Annie, I don’t like seeing her anxious like this.

After we order dinner, I let my eyes join hers, meandering out to the Pacific, watching the sky turn to a brilliant rose along the horizon. “Beautiful sunset,” I say.

Annie volleys me back a smile, seeming relieved at the change in subject. It hits me in the gut somehow—that smile—like a sucker punch. I’ve always liked her smile. But there’s something about seeing it tonight, with the sun tracking lower in the sky and the tiki torches bordering the restaurant, that makes it look not quite as sweet and innocent as it usually does.

I watch the light flicker in the reflection of her glasses, and wonder what she’s hiding and whether she’ll ever share it with me.