MissGray.
There were no prices on the menu, and she ordered the macadamia pesto pasta and roasted carrot salad, thankful that her bill was on the house. Chris mostly left her alone because the house filled up for sunset. After dinner she crossed the lawn to a pair of empty Adirondack chairs and sat back to watch the blood-stained sky. At least that’s what it looked like to her. Pressure was mounting for her to dosomething to stop the hunt, and yet she’d learned little and found nothing. She’d only been there a few days, but she was starting to feel pretty useless.
Suddenly she noticed the silhouette of a man leaning against the coconut tree in front of her. He threw a rock and it skipped across the surface of the water, each tiny splash catching the last remnants of light. In the semidarkness she hadn’t even known he was there. Then he turned and hopscotched toward her on the small tufts of grass between the lava. The tiki torches lit up his face, and she saw it was‘opihiman. He froze when he saw her.
“Hey,” she said.
“If it isn’t the author.”
He wore jeans and an aloha shirt, and she realized this was who Sawyer was talking to at the table before he came over.
“I didn’t see you there. You blended in with the tree,” she said.
He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets. “Yeah? I was starting to think you might be following me.”
Hehadrecognized her then, earlier in the boat.
“Definitely not,” she said.
After a moment of silence he said, “Pretty evening, but then every evening is pretty here.”
“It takes the breath away. You said you aren’t from here. So whereareyou from?”
“Far away.”
He was standing just a little too close, and part of her hoped he would sit in the chair next to her, while the other hoped he’d leave her alone with the stars and the lapping waves.
“A man of vagueness, I see.”
“Pacific Northwest. Washington. What about you?”
“California.”
“So how’s that bestseller coming?”
Her cheeks heated up. “Great. How about those?opihi? You cooking them up for dinner in your hotel room?”
“Nah, they didn’t last long enough to make it back here. I like ’em raw and slippery.”
The way his eyes bore into her as he said it caused a hitch in her breath. “I will never understand how anyone could actually enjoy eating limpets and oysters and urchins.”
“Variation of species. It’s how we survive, isn’t it?”
Again, pinning her to the chair with his eyes.
“I guess so, but still. Yuck.”
To her surprise he actually smiled. Just a hint. “So are you really writing a book, or was that just your pickup line?”
Her ears caught fire at that last comment. “Full of yourself, aren’t you? As for the book, it’s still in the idea stage. I have notes and journal entries, and I do have quite a story to tell, but... I haven’t gotten very far.”
“What kind of scientist are you, exactly?” he asked.
“I did my doctorate on migration patterns of white sharks.”
A faraway look came over his face. “So let’s be honest. You’re here for the shark incidents, not to write a memoir.”
She felt like she had to defend herself. “Yeah. I was called here on account of my knowledge of white sharks, but sharks have been my whole world for a long time, and I was hoping to have some distance and time here to gather my thoughts.”
