“A shark?” I spike up in my seat. That’s something I try not to think about while I’m out for my morning swim.
Koa’s father nods to Shaka and Loca. “All right, you two clowns. We can hit the pause button for a while.”
“What?” Shaka says, feigning innocence. “We brought up the shark story. That practically makes him sound like a hero.”
Ruby nods. “A hero who escaped with his limbs intact.”
Keoni laughs. “Koa, how about you show Jinx the view from the ridge?”
Apparently, he’s decided that romantic scenery might help offset the systematic demolition of Koa’s mystique.
The entire table breaks out into a dozen conversations at once, and all around me I hear his cousins taking bets on various relationship milestones—engagement timeline, wedding date, first baby’s arrival, while the aunties start discussing potential wedding planning logistics with the enthusiasm of women who’ve been waiting for this conversation since Koa hit puberty. And honestly, they might have been, but according to Koa’s marital records, they’ve already had one wedding to plan.
“How about we escape the family tribunal?” Koa asks, offering his hand, already calculating how this could go south.
“Lead the way,” I say, accepting rescue from the well-meaning chaos.
He leads me indeed, and swiftly might I add, as we make our way up the path to the ridge which winds through wild ginger and plumeria trees that perfume the evening air with fragrance so amazingly sweet, I get why they bottle this stuff and sell it to tourists.
Below us, the compound glows with string lights while the sound of ukulele music and laughter drifts up on trade winds that carry the scent of barbecue smoke and tropical flowers and a brand of happiness that comes from family gatherings where everyone actually likes each other.
“I should apologize,” Koa says as we reach the ridge overlooking the valley that stretches toward the ocean like a green carpet unrolled by nature’s interior design team. He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me close, until I’m wrapped in his warmth and the scent of ocean and something that’s just him.
“Apologize for what? Your family is wonderful. They love you. That’s not something to apologize for.”
He winces. “My ex-wife called them overwhelming.”
“Your ex-wife sounds like she missed the point entirely.” And I’m not sorry about it, but I’m not saying that part out loud. In fact, if I ever meet her in person, I’ll thank her for it, too.
“Jinx,” Koa says with something vulnerable in those golden-brown eyes of his, “I need you to know—this isn’tcasual for me. Bringing you here, introducing you to my family... I don’t do that lightly.”
“Good,” I say, stepping closer until I can smell his cologne mixed with barbecue smoke and the faint scent of plumeria that clings to everything on this island. “Because casual isn’t really working for me either. Casual is so overrated.”
He raises a brow in amusement. “I completely agree.”
He leans in a notch, and I do the same before his lips close the distance between us as they land over mine.
The sound of ukulele music drifts up from the compound, and the distant sound of laughter and happy conversations create backbeat to what might be the most perfectly tropical romantic moment in the history of romantic moments.
Koa’s kisses taste like possibility and feel like coming home to a place I never knew I was looking for. His arms lock around me as we mold together, and I never want to leave.
A rooster crows as we pull apart, and we both share a little laugh.
“I think he approves of this romantic development,” I offer.
“That’s funny, so do I,” Koa winks as he says it. “Island chickens have excellent judgment.” His lips purse as his expression grows serious for a moment. “Bringing you home to meet my family might have been the second-best decision I’ve made since moving back to paradise.”
“Thesecond best?” I muse as I pull back as much as I can while still locked in his embrace. “What was the first?”
“This,” he says as his lips find mine once again, and for a moment, I forget all about murder investigations, my ex-husband’s wedding, and the fact that I’ve got the wrong day of the week stamped on my rear end.
Below us, the celebration continues with a warm chaos that comes from people who’ve figured out that family isn’t just about blood—it’s about making room at the table for anyone brave enough to love one of your own, even if they do find bodies at an alarming frequency.
In Hawaii, that’s not just acceptance—that’s ohana. And I just got adopted by the most wonderfully overwhelming family in paradise.
CHAPTER 11
Hawaiian family gatherings require skills I don’t possess, such as grace under pressure, tactful conversation, and the ability to survive a poultry assault.
