“Especially then.”
We reach Poipu Beach just as the sun starts its descent toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of gold and orange. The South Shore has a different energy from the North. It’s more developed, more polished, but still undeniably beautiful. After eight hours of island touring, I’m sunburned, windblown, and completely enchanted by both the island and the man who’s been showing it to me.
“Perfect timing,” Hale says, parking where we can watch the sun sink into the Pacific like a giant orange dropping into blue silk.
“For the sunset?”
“For me to ask if you’d like to have dinner. There’s a place here that does the best fresh fish on the island, and I think we’ve earned it after today—you for sharing information, me for not arresting you for interfering with my investigation.”
The sun touches the horizon, sending a path of gold across the water that leads directly to where we’re sitting. The air is warm and soft, filled with the scent of salt and tropical flowers and the type of possibility that makes people do things they probably shouldn’t but definitely want to.
“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” I say.
And watching the way his eyes light up when I say it, Irealize this investigation just became a lot more complicated in all the best possible way.
CHAPTER 20
The Lazy Fish Grill perches on the edge of Poipu Beach, all weathered wood and string lights that twinkle against the darkening sky like someone strung up a constellation specifically for romantic dinners.
The sound of waves provides background music while the scent of grilled mahi-mahi and warm ocean air creates an atmosphere that’s unforgettable.
“Table for two,” Koa tells the hostess, who takes one look at him and suddenly develops the enthusiasm usually reserved for meeting celebrities or cops who are too hot for their badges and britches.
“Right this way, Detective Hale! Your usual spot?” The blonde winks and swoons in his presence. I’m guessing that happens a lot around him.
“You have a usual spot?” I ask as we follow her to a table that overlooks the beach.
“I eat here when I want to remember why I moved back to the island.”
The hostess seats us at a table where we can watch the last traces of sunset paint the sky in impossible shades of purple and orange that look like someone went wild with cosmic watercolors.
Tiki torches flicker along the beach, and somewhere in the distance, someone is playing the ukulele with an effortless ease that makes the tourists reach for their cameras and the locals nod with satisfaction.
“So,” I say, settling into my chair and trying not to notice how the flickering light makes his eyes look even more golden than usual, like someone sprinkled treasure in them, “do you always take murder suspects out for dinner, or am I special?”
“You’re not a suspect.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if you were in charge of the killer chaos, this place would have burned down by now. Possibly the entire beach. Maybe the ocean.”
I shoot him a look for going there.
The waitress appears with menus and water glasses, takes one look at Koa, and develops the same glazed expression as the hostess. “Your usual drink, Detective?”
He nods, and I quickly say, “Make it two.”
“Two Kona Longboards coming up,” she says, floating away on a cloud of obvious infatuation that I’m trying very hard not to relate to.
“Do all the women on this island react to you like you’re some kind of law enforcement deity?” I ask.
“Just the smart ones.” He gives a little wink as he says it.
“What about the smart ones who are immune to your charm?”
“Haven’t met any yet.”
“You’re meeting one now.”
