My bedroom door flies open just as I’m doing up the last button on my shirt.

“Damn,” I grumble. “Knock, much?”

Frank just starts rooting through my stuff. “Have you seen my jump rope?”

“No. Sorry.”

I turn back to the mirror, giving myself a quick once-over. Hair slicked back. Sleeves rolled up just enough so my tattoos peek out. A five o’clock shadow that I decided not to shave last minute. Hopefully, I’m doing a good job of walking the line between casual and classy.

Frank appears in the mirror behind me, wearing a frown.

“I thought you said you weren’t doing anything tonight.”

“Something popped up.”

After thinking about it some more, I realize there’s no harm in telling Frank where I’m going. We can both be pretty competitive when it comes to women, but he already said he’ll be busy with his own date tonight.

“Oh, yeah?”

“An exhibit at an art gallery.”

He makes a disgusted face. “Have fun.”

“I will.”

Suddenly, his eyes light up. “I know where I put it!”

“What?”

He darts out of my room and into the bathroom between the bedrooms. Sticking his head out of the doorway, he holds the jump rope up.

“It was in here.”

I put my hand up. “I don’t even want to know why.”

“See, I was—”

“Nope. Just said I don’t need to know.”

He shrugs.

“Gotta get some reps in before I shower and then…” He pumps his fists and humps the air. “Baby girl, get ready for Big Daddy Frank.”

“What happened to Frank the Tank?” I ask, referring to his army nickname.

“They’re interchangeable.”

I laugh, partly because ‘interchangeable’ is such a weird word to hear coming from Frank’s mouth.

“Don’t hurt yourself tonight, big guy.”

“Same to you.”

He winks before disappearing into his bedroom. I wonder for a minute if he knows that I have plans to see a woman tonight. Loose plans, that is.

One-sided plans.

I still don’t know how Violet is going to take me, popping up out of nowhere. Surely she knows I’m back on the island. Our moms are best friends, despite the fact that they are two of the most dissimilar women I’ve seen.

Maybe she hates me for not getting in touch.

I wouldn’t blame her for it. That’s one phone call that’s about eleven years overdue.

Stowing my nerves, I finish getting ready and head to the apartment complex’s parking garage. My baby is right where I left her, cherry-red paint shining even in the dim light.

Before climbing on my bike, I pause and run my palm over her curves, relishing the smooth feel of the metal against my hand.

My dream bike. Custom-made, every detail hand-selected by me. I saved years for it. One day soon, I’ll be riding it to work every day at my repair shop, then riding it home to my sweet little casa. When that’s happening, I’ll have finally arrived in paradise.

Violet’s gallery is also downtown, a walkable distance from my place. It’s a gorgeous evening, though, and I’m not passing up an opportunity for a ride.

I take my girl out onto the avenue, cruising with the breeze lifting my unzipped leather jacket. Just being on the road, even if it’s in the middle of the city, brings me peace. Within a few minutes, the mood has changed, though. I’m in front of Flower Power Gallery, and the sick feeling is back.

Finding a parking spot about a block away, I take my time fixing my helmet head, hoping the nausea will subside. Will I recognize Violet the instant I see her? Will she recognize me?

Though time and circumstance pulled us apart, I never stopped thinking about her. Often, I wondered what would have happened if I’d just kissed her on prom night—or before then. I liked to think a bit of fun wouldn’t have ruined our relationship. I’d had a shit-ton of girlfriends in high school, having gotten started early.

Yet none of them had ever kept my attention. Violet was the only chick I ever found interesting. I always told myself I’d done the right thing, but now I wonder if a fling might have been doable.

Not that it matters anymore. Right now, I’m interested in saying hi and catching up a bit. It would be dumb to expect anything else.

On the walk to the gallery, I pass by a flower shop with sunflowers in the window. After thinking about it for a few more steps, I turn around and head into the store. Sunflowers were always Violet’s favorite.

Ten minutes later, the bouquet of flowers clutched in hand, I enter the gallery. It’s so packed I can barely open the door without it hitting someone. I edge my way through the ground of mostly gray-hairs. There are some younger people too, but they’re all hanging out in clumps or on their phones.

The crowd makes it hard to move through the gallery at a fast pace, but that’s just fine. While everyone else surveys the art on the walls, I check the heads for one person in particular. Violet is nowhere to be seen. Maybe she couldn’t make it to the show. I have no clue what owning a gallery entails. Could be she’s stuck somewhere doing paperwork or encouraging a moody artist.

It’s almost a relief. So what if I leave here without running into her? I’ll be able to tell myself I tried. That’s something.

Since I don’t like the idea of just leaving, I take some time to look at the art. The section in the front is mostly devoted to sculptures of the human figure. Pretty cool, if you’re into that kind of thing.

What really grab my attention are the canvasses toward the back. I move in their direction, unable to take my eyes off the bright washes of color. There’s red on top of green and purple on one. Shades of yellow and orange bleeding into each other on another, reminding me of a sunset in the middle of the ocean.

I’ve never understood what the big deal about abstract art is, but looking at these paintings, I think I finally get it. I feel like I could fall into these colors, lose myself in a sea of calm blues and invigorating greens. Looking at these giant paintings, it’s like my mind has finally slowed down. The endless thoughts have all been pushed to the side.

I step close to the yellow and orange one, the only thing stopping me from touching it the other people around.

“You like it?” a female voice asks.

“A lot.”

I glance over—and freeze. Violet is standing right next to me, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the painting. Feeling my eyes on her, she turns to me. For a moment, she looks confused, like I remind her of someone, but she’s not sure who. Then, her mouth drops and her eyes go wide.

“Oh my God,” she breathes. “Sean?”

“Violet,” I croak.

“What… You…”

“I got home a few weeks ago. For good. I’m out of the service.”

“I know. My mom told me.”

The realization that she knew I was in town but still didn’t get in touch hurts a little, but I did the same to her. It wasn’t until I saw the flier that I thought about finding her.

“You look good,” I breathe.

And, Christ, does she. Her hair is still long and thick, falling over her shoulders in every shade of blond in existence. Her face has changed, but ‘aged’ isn’t the right word for it. She’s matured. There’s experience there. But she’s still the same drop-dead gorgeous girl I left on a porch eleven years ago.

“I brought you these.”

She takes the bouquet, her lips turning up. “Sunflowers are my favorite.”

“I know.”

Pink colors her cheeks. “Did your mom tell you about the opening?”

“No, I saw a flier. I mean, I knew you had a gallery…I, uh…” I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable.

Judging by the way Violet tucks her hair behind her ears and looks away, the unease is shared.

“Is this your favorite painting in here, too?” I ask, eager to get the attention on anything but us.

Violet’s laughter is musical. “It would be pretty biased for me to claim it is.”

“Why is that?”

She points to the little card beneath the painting. Shades of Light, it reads. Violet Powers.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She smiles, looking me up and down. “It’s been so long.”

“I’m sorry,” tumbles right on out.

“I should have written more,” she says.

“I should have too.”

“And called,” she sighs.

“I should have visited.”

We catch eyes, and the new smile on her face is relaxed. In a moment, everything is forgiven.

“We’re both pretty shitty people, huh?” I ask.

It gets the laugh I wanted. “You haven’t changed much.”

“Knock on wood.”

Her smile flickers and her eyes search me.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, holding my breath, wondering if I want the answer.

Violet quickly looks down at the sunflowers. “Nothing. It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” I whisper.

Without meaning to, I clock her left hand. No wedding band.

“So, what do you get up to now?” I ask. “You have this big, fancy gallery, so I know you’re a successful artist and entrepreneur.”

Her blush is back. “You basically just summed it up. This gallery is my life.”

I shove my hands deep into my pockets, aware that my body, of its own accord, seems to keep swaying toward her.

“What about friends? I bet you have a lot.”

“The people I work with.” She half-smiles.

“And a boyfriend?”

Violet blinks fast. “Oh. No.”

“That’s…surprising.”

“Is it? In this town?”

“Everyone thinks their city is the worst dating spot in the whole world.”

“If Honolulu’s not the worst, it’s definitely one of the finalists. What about you? Do you…?”

I let her trail off, enjoying the anticipation in her eyes. Maybe I’m a fucking dreamer, but there’s something here. The chemistry that I thought died years ago; not only has it not disappeared, it’s stronger.

“No,” I simply answer.

“Ah.” Violet nods, taking a quiet moment to herself before speaking again. “No girlfriend or anything like that.”

“Never.”

Unexpectedly, she looks sad. “But you must have met girls in the army.”

“Yeah, but…” I shrug.

I don’t need to finish that. Violet knows what I’m trying to say. Even as far back as high school, I knew serious relationships would never be my thing. I’ve seen how easy it is for people to get locked down in a situation they later discover they didn’t really want. That’s not the life for me.

Ironically, it has nothing to do with childhood trauma or some shit like that. My parents, far as I can tell, are pretty happy with each other. And I’m pretty happy on my own, enjoying each rising sun—with the occasional company of a pretty girl.

“Same old Sean,” Violet whispers.

At first, it sounds like a compliment, but as she keeps looking at me, something mysterious shifting in her eyes, that becomes questionable.

“Violet…” I clear my throat, not sure what to say.

Before I can figure myself out, a petite brunette comes up and touches Violet’s shoulder.

“Someone knocked Octavia’s Male Nude Number Two down,” she whispers.

“Oh my God,” Violet groans. “Is it okay?”

“A little bit chipped off the end of its…well…” The girl looks over at me.

I grin. “It’s a good thing size doesn’t matter, right?”

She snorts, and Violet laughs a bit as well, though she also buries her face in her hands.

“Sean, sorry. I need to go perform some damage control. Whoever first thought of serving wine at gallery opens was an idiot.”

The brunette nods eagerly, just as Violet touches my arm.

“Find me before you leave. Or I’ll find you.” She starts walking backward. “Just don’t go without saying goodbye. Promise?”

I stare deep into her eyes. “Promise.”

She and the other woman slip into the crowd, leaving me with an odd feeling I can’t pinpoint. Unease? Loneliness?

It’s impossible to say, but there’s a cooler of beer on the far wall, and I’m sure after one or two of those I’ll be right as rain.