“Very productive,” Shaka confirms with a laugh because he’s completely immune to murderous glares from younger brothers. “We’ve been discussing social obligations and family expectations.”
“And mysterious changes in dating patterns,” Loco adds, committed to the cause despite the fact that Koa looks like he’s considering various creative uses for construction equipment.
“And the biological clock,” Ruby contributes, because if we’re going down this conversational rabbit hole, we might as well commit to the complete experience.
Oh, good grief.
Koa’s jaw tightens in a way that’s meant to intimidate but mostly just makes him look like a detective trying not to smile while planning elaborate revenge scenarios involving his brothers and possibly some very creative arrest charges.
“Jinx,” he says as he nods my way, “could I speak with you privately?”
“Of course,” I reply, trying to sound casual while my pulse decides to do its best impression of the entire percussion section of the Hawaiian Symphony Orchestra.
Loco and Shaka exchange a look that says,we regret nothing.
Siblings.
And suddenly I’m thankful mine are more than forty-five hundred miles away.
Koa leads me toward the edge of the patio overlooking Hanalei Bay. Palm trees sway as the trade winds carry the scent of coconut sunscreen, while surf provides an aggressively romantic atmosphere, as if the ocean itself is trying to set a mood.
Newsflash, it is a mood. The very best mood.
Although I have no idea what kind of mood Koa is in. Maybe he’s had enough of me. Maybe he’s had enough of us. In fact, maybe he’s come all this way just to tell me there is nous, right before he tosses me into the ocean and speeds off.
I would deserve it. All I’ve done since I’ve shown up on this island is leave a trail of death and destruction, and get myself kicked out of a record number of establishments in arecord amount of time. Mostly that had to do with Ruby, but where Ruby and Lani can or can’t go, there I go, or don’t. Okay, I’m rambling, but Koa looks so achingly handsome, I can’t think straight.
“My mother’s birthday is tomorrow night,” he says without preamble, deciding the direct approach is the only approach that won’t result in further sibling commentary. His lips pull into a tight smile, and I can’t help but notice there’s a tiny dimple on either side of his cheeks.
He has dimples! How could I have not noticed until now? Most likely because usually someone has to smile for you to notice, and heaven knows Koa Hale’s smiles are about as hard-won as his affection.
“So, I hear,” I say, enjoying the way his usual detective confidence seems to be wavering like a tourist’s resolve in the face of authentic Hawaiian spice levels.
“There’s a family dinner. It’s a pretty big production.” He runs a hand through his hair, struggling with whatever conversational territory he’s trying to navigate. “My mother’s heard things. About us.” He shifts uncomfortably. “She wants to meet you. If I say no, she’ll assume something is wrong. If I say yes, I’m bringing you into a family dinner that’s going to feel like an interrogation.”
Pineapple and Spam appear at our feet, summoned by the scent of romantic awkwardness, and settling in to observe the proceedings with the dignity of a couple of feline chaperones who have seen this particular dance before and have opinions about proper courtship protocols.
“But I would love to have you there. Would you like to come?” he asks, and there’s something in those gold-flecked brown eyes that suggests this conversation involves more than just solving his mother’s expectations about proper social behavior. “As my date?”
Behind us, Loco and Shaka belt out a few wolf-whistles, while Lani and Ruby join the demented choir with an entire stream of catcalls that should be illegal at their age.
I try not to look like I’m mentally choreographing a victory dance that would make the halftime show at the Super Bowl look understated, but internally I’m basically performing an entire tropical musical complete with backup dancers and a full orchestra filled with cats and chickens.
“I would love to.”
“Pick you up at seven?” he asks, and his voice has that slightly uncertain quality that suggests even detectives get nervous when asking women to meet their mothers.
“Seven sounds perfect,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice level while my body turns into one giant heartbeat.
“I can’t wait.” Koa gives a slight nod as a smile tugs at his lips before he turns around and takes off.
A rooster crows from somewhere near the pool area, providing his official seal of approval for this romantic development. The chickens seem satisfied with the proceedings, the cats have returned to their supervisory duties, and the construction project continues in the background like a soundtrack to tropical romance.
Tonight, I’m going to meet Koa’s entire family. In Hawaii,that’s practically a proposal. Or at least the opening act to a very promising series of romantic developments that might actually survive the tropical humidity and my tendency to find dead bodies at inconvenient moments.
Here’s hoping I don’t find one tomorrow night.
The resort hums with its usual chaos—chickens squawking, guests laughing, Spam sunbathing on a lounge chair—but for once it feels less like disaster and more like exactly where I’m supposed to be.
