“Wow,” I say. “The house is absolutely amazing.”
Denver stops pushing the couch and straightens his posture, surprised to see me inside. I hope he doesn’t think I just walked in. That would be weird, especially since I think Aya is already waiting for me in her bedroom, wherever that is.
“I didn’t know you were here,” he says. “I’m sorry. Did I not hear the bell?”
“Oh, Aya let me in. I did ring the bell, though,” I tell him.
He runs the back of his arm across his forehead, and I can’t help visually tracing a line from his bicep down to his hand, watching his muscles flex and tighten against his golden skin. “You okay?” he asks.
Yup. Staring again. Must stop doing that. “Oh yeah, I was just admiring the view,” I tell him, trying to switch my glance toward the window before he questions me further.
“Which view?” he asks, shamelessly.
“Wow, listen to you being all egotistical and stuff,” I tell him.
“What can I say? If you’ve got game—”
“You’ve got no game,” I tell him. “I think we’ve been over this.”
“Damn, you are not like any other woman I have ever met,” he says, walking toward me.
“Easy? Blonde? Giggly?” Too mean? Maybe. That type of woman strikes me as his type.
“Hey now. You don’t have to make it so obvious that I’m easy to figure out.”
I place the bags down on the kitchen table and continue toward him. “I love it here,” I tell him again.
“Thanks. It’s nice, but it may take a bit to make it feel like home, you know?”
“I think that takes time, not things,” I tell him. I don’t exactly know by experience, since I haven’t ever moved into a new home, but for me, home is made up of the times spent there.
“Yes, and no,” he argues. “It’s also the people inside the home. It’s memories, which are a part of people, not objects, right?”
We’re standing in front of one another, and my heart drops heavily into the pit of my stomach as if I were flying down a steep roller coaster. “Yeah,” I say, agreeing but thinking of so many other things at once.
“You look beautiful,” he says, leaning forward and placing a kiss on my cheek. “I have something for you. Come here.”
“Kai!” Aya shouts from the other end of the house.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her. “Your dad is just giving me the rundown.”
Denver takes me by the hand and leads me into his empty-looking kitchen. “I stocked the fridge, by the way, and got a few things at the store in case you guys get hungry. I didn’t want to leave you here with nothing.”
“I grabbed a pizza too, just in case, but maybe I should give you more credit for being so put together.”
“I’m not put together. It’s just an act, trust me,” he says. “Hang on.” He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a plastic container. I can’t see what’s in it with his back toward me, but he opens it and drops the container onto the counter before turning back around. “I found this at a little street cart on the way to the store. It’s a hybrid.”
Every time we have intentionally seen each other, he has given me a hibiscus flower for my hair. Since I’m Hawaiian, it’s probably the sweetest thing in the world. Native men might do that for show around here, but it’s a tradition that seems to have gotten lost over the years. I’m not sure who taught Denver about it, but it makes my heart beat a little faster every time he gives one to me. I’m not used to people doing such things for me. “A hybrid?” I ask.
“I guess it was created from a combination of red hibiscus seeds and violet hibiscus seeds, and the outcome is a radial gradient of purples and reds. They were telling me how they cultivated them, and I thought it was pretty cool.”
“I’ve never heard of that before. It’s so pretty. I love it.” Denver sweeps his hand along the strands of my loose hair and tucks the right side behind my ear, then weaves the flower’s stem into place.
“You really do have a way of making flowers look more incredible. I thought flowers were supposed to do the job of adding beauty to something, but not with you. It’s definitely the other way around.”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I ask him, laughing because I don’t know how else to react to so much kindness and flirtation.
“Uh, my head? Duh.” He’s looking at me like I’m nuts, but seriously. In my experience, nice men aren’t typically as smooth as Denver is, and part of me wonders if his kindness is an act. He hasn’t given up on me yet, though, so I’m hopeful it’s part of a bigger plan. Not that I know what that plan might be, but I guess I’ve built my surrounding walls up pretty high over the years.
