I straighten a notch as I shoot a quick look of panic to both Lani and Ruby, both of which whom have their eyes peeled on us, and can’t be bothered to breathe lest they miss a moment of whatever is about to unfold.
Koa shrugs my way with a look that says just go with it, so I do.
“I was hoping to figure that out myself,” I admit, deciding that honesty might be the best policy with a woman who could teach FBI interrogation techniques to professionals. It’s no wonder Koa went into law enforcement. His mother inspired him.
“Good answer.” Linda pats my hand as she says it. “I don’t trust women who have everything planned out immediately. It shows they’re not paying attention to who he really is.”
Who he really is?
A rooster crows from behind as if agreeing with Linda’s assessment of relationship strategy.
“Koa’s ex-wife never understood why he needed the ocean,” Linda continues, loading my plate with enough food to sustain a small expedition.
Did she say ex-wife?
I look up at Lani and Ruby, and they shrug my way, then cast a quick glance at Koa, and he offers a short-lived smile.
So, the man has a few female skeletons in his closet. Whodoesn’t? At least he’s not hosting his ex’s nuptials at his place of employment, which happens to double as his home for the foreseeable future. It couldn’t be anymore complicated than Erwin and me—and Candy Tassels. I still think that’s her stripper name.
Linda nods. “She thought island life was quaint for vacations, but too limiting for real living. She never understood why family matters, why roots matter.”
“I guess some people are island people and some people aren’t,” I say, playing it safe.
“And some people are worth waiting for,” Linda adds, giving me a look that suggests she’s already made her assessment, and the results are favorable. I hope.
Loco gives a loose applause. “Now, we’ve got some stories to tell.” He pats Koa on the back, and Koa closes his eyes because he knows what’s coming.
Shaka laughs. The brothers have clearly decided this is the perfect moment to embarrass Koa via a few childhood stories. And I can’t wait to hear them all.
Loco’s grin grows wide. “Did we tell you about the time Koa tried to arrest a tourist for impersonating a local?” he asks with enthusiasm like he’s been saving this story for exactly the right moment.
“He was four,” Shaka adds helpfully. “He made his own badge out of bottle caps and demanded to see the man’s resident identification.”
Koa groans. “Not this again.”
“What happened?” I ask because I enjoy watching Koa’s mortification in tropical settings.
“The tourist played along,” Keoni says, pride evident in his voice. “Gave him twenty dollars for doing such a thorough job protecting the community.”
“Koa kept that twenty dollars until he was twelve,” Linda adds. “He said it was his first paycheck in law enforcement. He made me frame it.”
“Aww,” Lani, Ruby, and I coo in unison.
“Mom,” Koa says with the weary patience that decades of maternal oversharing can bring.
“And then there was his man-bun phase,” Shaka continues, immune to his brother’s warning glares. Ironic since Shaka himself sports the same hair-do.
“He was ahead of his time,” Bree says with a laugh as she gives Shaka’s bun a quick tweak. “It’s very progressive fashion sense.”
“Or the great surfboard incident,” Loco adds, committed to this comprehensive character assassination project. And Ruby, Lani, and I are so here for it.
“What great surfboard incident?” Clearly my commitment to Koa’s dignity has limitations.
“We were here for a visit that summer,” Shaka begins. “He was fifteen and thought he could surf a wave that was basically a liquid mountain.” He takes a moment to shake his head at his brother. “Koa ended up getting personally introduced to a reef shark that day.”
“Not personally introduced,” Koa protests. “More like briefly acquainted.”
“The scar on his shoulder and cheek says otherwise,” Linda contributes cheerfully.
