“I’m not sure how much time you’re going to get to go surfing while we’re there.” This champagne is going down far too easily.
“I’ll make the time, don’t worry. One of the best surfing spots in the world is just up the road from where we’re staying.” He must see something in my expression because he leans over and kisses me on the temple. Warmth spreads down my cheekbone. “And I won’t leave you hanging. I’ll grab a surf at dawn and be back in time for whatever tortures, I mean festivities, Emily has planned for us.”
That’s another thing I’m not used to. Someone who not only reads me accurately but is willing to adjust their wants and needs to fit in with mine.
Damn Mei and the ideas she’s put in my head.
I really, really need to keep the fake thing front and centre of my mind, along with all the reasons we aren’t suited. Because if I don’t, I’m in danger of doing or saying something that could end in tears.
As long-haul flights go, a business class trip to Hawaii is almost painless. Since it’s an overnight flight, the attendants convert our seats to beds shortly after dinner, and we settle down for what I’m hoping will be close to a full night’s sleep. Only it doesn’t work out that way.
I can’t sleep.
Even over the dull roar of the engines, I can hear Ant’s even breathing. Over the stale aroma of canned air, I can smell his warm sea breeze scent. If I stretch out my hand, I could touch the firm, bare skin of his arm. There’s not going to be any sleeping through that.
I toss and I turn. And toss some more.
Until I feel something brush my wrist.
Ant’s fingers slide across my palm, and he takes my hand in a warm, firm grip. Without a word, he’s stretched across the space between us to hold my hand.
And as though that hand is leading me into sleep, I drift off.
We touch down in Honolulu just as a pink and lavender dawn breaks over the island, and get straight on the short connecting flight to Maui with minutes to spare.
Maui Airport is open plan, and even though it’s still early, the air is hot and humid. It’s also fragrant with frangipani and the distant smell of the sea. Our bags bump down the conveyor belt, but Ant’s surfboard is carried out under the arm of a burly Hawaiian in the colourful shirt and shorts uniform of the airline.
“Thanks, man.” Ant takes the board.
“Couldn’t put this precious on a conveyor belt.” The guy winks. “The Hawaiian champion uses these.”
“So I hear.” Ant grins.
I’m about to ask what all that was about when Ant spots a guy carrying a sign with my name on it.
“That looks like it might be our ride.”
Before I know it, we’re climbing into the air-conditioned comfort of a big black four-wheel drive that will take us to our resort, which is about an hour up the coast from the airport.
I’ve never been to Hawaii before, and I’m glued to the window as we speed past an ocean the same blue as Ant’s eyes. Past beaches peppered with black rocky outcrops and lined with swaying palm trees. Thick vegetation is flowering everywhere. Lush green, vibrant reds and pinks, yellows and whites. It’s a sensory feast.
By the time we turn in between two stacked stone pillars and glide down the short driveway that snakes through riotous gardens and emerald green grass, I’m feeling a little light-headed from the unaccustomed travel, but I’m already in love with Hawaii.
The car pulls to a stop under a massive circular portico with a colonnaded walkway, flanked on either side by ponds full of enormous orange koi and pristine white waterlilies.
“Welcome to Kapalua Bay.” A lei of purple orchids is placed around our necks by a woman with a wide, smiling face and a crown of flowers. Our luggage is unloaded, and we’re shepherded along the path into an open-air atrium with a soaring wooden roof and a view across stepped gardens, pools and grass to the sea.
As arranged, we have a suite, and although it’s only one bedroom, it’s enormous and luxurious. A full kitchen, complete with a granite benchtop, sits at the rear of the suite, leading toa six-seater glass dining table. A beautifully furnished lounge room has doors standing open to a deep balcony overlooking the pools and the ocean beyond, allowing the frangipani- and ocean-scented breeze to flutter the sheer white curtains. The bedroom also has doors to the balcony, along with a full-size ensuite bathroom and a walk-in robe the size of my guest bedroom at home. There’s even a second bathroom on the other side of the apartment.
The porter deposits most of the luggage in the robe, although Ant takes his duffel and discreetly hands him a note. For the first time since I drove him home from dinner that night, we’re entirely alone.
“The balcony is huge!” I’m looking for something innocuous to say.
“The lanai,” Ant counters.
“Lanai?”
“That’s what it’s called in Hawaii. A lanai.” He stretches out on the sofa, which luckily is long enough to accommodate his height. “This is very nice. I’m guessing I’ll be sleeping here?”
