“Really?” He leans back in his chair, studying me with intensity, and I’m getting the feeling that this interrogation might end in either handcuffs or kissing. I’m sort of rooting for both. “Because you agreed to spend the entire day with me, accepted my dinner invitation, and haven’t stopped flirting since we got in the truck this morning.”
“That’s not flirting. That’s strategic information gathering.”
“What information are you gathering?”
“Whether you’re as insufferably confident as you appear, or if it’s just an act you put on for tourists and murder suspects who can’t stop staring at your jawline.”
“And what’s your conclusion?” He frowns as he asks, and he only manages to look that much more handsome in doing so.
“Still gathering data. Might need more time. Possibly years.” Decades even.
The waitress returns with our beers and a smile that lingers just a second too long on the hot detective. “Tonight’s special is ono with macadamia nut crust, served with coconut rice and grilled vegetables. It’s the chef’s recommendation and also mine because it’s incredible.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, because honestly, at this point, I’d eat cardboard if it meant continuing this conversation.
“So,” Koa says once we’re alone again, taking a sip of his beer and watching me over the rim with those impossibly distracting eyes, “tell me about the ex-husband who led to this geographical confusion and possibly this entire situation.”
“It’s your standard midlife crisis package. Pretty young thing, sports car, sudden discovery that marriage vows were more like guidelines than actual commitments.”
“How long were you married?”
“Seven years. Long enough to learn that shared streaming passwords don’t constitute true intimacy, and that ‘I’m working late’ usually means ‘I’m working on ruining our marriage.’”
“What did he do for a living?”
“Corporate tax attorney. Specialized in helping rich people avoid consequences for poor decisions. In retrospect, I should have seen the irony coming.”
The food arrives with a theatrical presentation that assures us the chef takes his macadamia nut crusts very seriously, possibly more seriously than I take most things in my life. The fish is perfect—flaky, perfectly seasoned, probably caught this morning by someone who knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t accidentally set anything on fire in the process. In other words, not me.
“This is incredible,” I say, taking another bite.
“Island living does have its advantages.”
“Speaking of which, where exactly do you live when you’re not interrogating suspects over romantic dinners?”
“Kilauea. North Shore, about twenty minutes from the resort. Close enough to respond to emergencies, far enough to pretend they’re not happening when I’m off duty.”
“What’s it like?”
“Quiet. Rural. The sort of place where your biggest traffic jam is caused by cattle crossing the road, and your neighbors are more likely to be wild chickens than people.”
“Sounds peaceful.”
“It is. There’s a lighthouse there—built in 1913, still operational. Best place on the island to watch the sunrise when you can’t sleep because you’re thinking about cases or other things.” His eyes meet mine when he says “other things,” and I feel my face heat. “And the whole area is dotted with these old stone walls from the sugar plantation days. Local legend says they’re haunted by the ghosts of workers who never got paid.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask.
“I believe in things that can’t be explained by rational investigation. This island has plenty of those.”
“Like what?”
“Like the way certain places feel different. Sacred. Like they remember things that happened there, even if no one alive was around to witness them.”
The way he says it makes me look at him differently, really look, and I see layers I didn’t expect. There’s something deeper here than just a cop who grew up local. There’s someone who genuinely loves this place in ways that go beyond professional duty.
“What’s your favorite part of the island?” I ask because I genuinely want to know and also because I like watching him talk about things he cares about.
“It’s hard to choose. The Na Pali Coast for drama, Hanalei Bay for beauty, Waimea Canyon for perspective. But honestly? I love the little things tourists never notice. The way the trade winds sound different depending on where you are—gentle in the valleys, fierce on the ridges. The fact that you can drive for twenty minutes and go from tropical jungle to desert canyon. The way time moves differently here.”
