On the dining table, a white box with a note pinned under it.
I walked over and opened the box. Mango crepe inside, neatly arranged—cream flowers intact, mango slices even. Looked handmade with care. Ice pack and insulation underneath.
I picked up the note: "Casey. I won't come looking for you. When you want to see me, come find me. I'll wait forever. Paul."
I stared at those words for a long time, remembering last night.
I took a bite of the mango crepe; sweetness melted in my mouth. Mango fresh, cream not too rich, crepe thinner than before—clear he'd practiced a lot. Six years ago in Boston, he couldn't even boil ramen. Now this.
Tears fell again, splashing the box, the note. I wiped my face. I'd said all those harsh things, but seeing him melted me. In his arms, I forgot everything. I still loved him—no matter the cursing, the pushing away. Since that day at nineteen in the coffee shop, that hadn't changed.
Chapter Nineteen
Casey
Hawaii mornings always carried that thick sweetness—ripe mangoes mixed with salt air. I sat with Tommy under the palms at Waikiki Beach, watching him work on his "sand castle" with that little orange shovel.
"Mommy, look! This is my moat." Sweat beaded on Tommy's forehead, his golden hair catching the light.
I brushed sand off his cheek, that soft ache blooming in my chest. He looked so much like him. Those blue eyes especially. When he focused on something, the expression was pure Paul.
I looked out toward the water. Surfers dotted the waves, their boards like bright notes dancing on blue silk. My gaze drifted across them and stopped.
Someone had just wiped out. He was standing up in the water. His instructor yelled something. He climbed back on his board and paddled out. The wave came. He pushed up, stood for maybe two seconds, then fell again. The water swallowed him whole. He tumbled before surfacing.
Paul.
He wore only black board shorts. Bare-chested in the bright sun, every muscle carved from years at the gym stood out sharp and wild. Water slid down his broad shoulders and solid chest, disappearing into the trail of golden hair above his waistband.
He tried again. And again. Sometimes he'd stay up a second or two. Sometimes he'd barely stand before dropping. Once the wave flipped him completely and sent his board flying. He swam after it, climbed back on, and kept going. His instructor clapped and shouted something. Paul looked back, grinned, and kept at it.
That smile pulled up old memories. In Boston, everything came easy to him. He learned fast, never looked this messy. Tennis—two weeks and he could rally with his instructor. Skiing—first day on the greens. He was always smooth, polished, and never made a fool of himself. But here he was, getting rolled by waves, thrown around like driftwood. And he wouldn't quit.
"It's Paul!" Tommy shouted before I could say anything. He dropped his shovel and grabbed my hand. "Mommy, can I go see him?"
Before I could answer, Paul was already walking out of the water. He set his board in the rack, turned, and saw us. His whole face lit up.
He headed our way, board under his arm. Each step flexed the muscles in his legs. Water dripped off his knees onto the sand. He radiated this raw, animal energy under that tropical sun. I couldn't look straight at him.
I swallowed hard, forced my eyes down to the sand. My heart skipped, then kicked into overdrive.
"Hey, little man. We meet again." Paul's voice came out rough from the workout. He crouched down to Tommy's level.
Tommy threw himself at Paul's neck. "You're learning to surf! That's so cool!"
Paul rocked back, caught himself with one hand in the sand. He laughed. "Still got a long way to go. I ate it pretty bad out there."
"I saw!" Tommy let go, stepped back, hands waving. "You fell from way up here, and splash! Huge splash!"
"You saw that?" Paul rubbed his nose, looking embarrassed. "Think I'm an idiot?"
"No way." Tommy's voice went serious. "You got back up."
Paul stared at him. Blinked. Then smiled and ruffled Tommy's hair. "Yeah. Got back up."
"Tommy, want to learn to surf?" Paul looked down at him. "I'll teach you."
"Yes!" Tommy jumped, turned to me. "Mommy, can I?"
