Stormy Paradise

This time when he steps forward, I don’t retreat. And when he reaches for my hand, I don’t yank my fingers away.

“I didn’t come here for me,” he says, his voice softer now, his eye contact unwavering. “I came here for you. Or at least for that piece of you still inside me. To keep it alive a little longer.”

Without a doubt, this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. If it’s true. Likewise, if he really did come here just to try and relive some of our relationship, it’s goddamn heart melting. Bu

t despite the swelling part of my heart urging me to throw myself into his arms at this moment, to simply release myself to emotion, my brain stops me; I’ve trusted him before.

And it just about killed me.

I look down at my hand in his. Connected to my first real love once more. A man I once moved across the country for. A man I now can’t bring myself to take a single step towards.

“Too little,” I say and pull my hand away. “Too late.”

Even though I’ve said these words and broken the connection, I don’t turn my back on him. I would love to convince myself that walking away from him is undeniably right. I can remind myself that he has burned me so many times before. Left me in a new town because he had to chase after his dreams, not caring about mine. Even though I know he’s bad for me and that I’ll end up regretting leaving this tiny weak spot on my armor that he might wriggle back into my heart through, I can’t help myself.

“Come on,” I say and start walking back towards our rental houses.

“Where are we going?” he asks, but I don’t answer. I don’t slow down. If he can’t even follow me like this, there’s no way I can give him a second chance.

My heart flutters just the tiniest bit when he dashes to catch up. To walk beside me. To keep his mouth shut and try not to take control of the situation like he always used to. Because in the past, not having a plan would have killed him. He always had to know what we were going to do. And in knowing, he would take charge. But he can’t have that anymore. Because I have no idea what’s about to happen either. All I know is that he’s going to have to prove himself. Time and time again, before I can even entertain the idea of us again.

And even though it wasn’t meant to be a test, he passed the first one. He’s here. Following me for a change. My stomach rumbles and I decide to toss him a lifeline, as short as it may be.

“I’m starving.”

He nods at this, cautious like a dog obeying his master’s command to ‘stay’ while also focusing solely on the snack held out within chomping distance. “What would you like?” he asks cautiously.

All I’ve wanted was to stay away from the touristy areas, but part of that is because I could never afford to stay in a luxury hotel. Nor could I imagine spending the near $100 on a luau feast. And it’s not that I see Jessie as a wallet, but we’re both starving and if my first meal in Hawaii is going to be with him, I’m going to need some entertainment to distract me from the warring factions in my head.

“Something big.”

That’s all I give him. When we get back to his little patch of the beach, he rushes inside to grab his car keys, but I stop him. He’s been drinking. Plus, I have another reason in mind. Something devious that I may not act on, but that prompts me to take my car anyway.

“I’m driving,” I tell him. “Just give me a second to change.”

And obedient as a lap dog, he sits down beside me in the Mustang ten minutes later. And when the car starts, he smiles at the corny music pouring out from the stereo, but he keeps any smart quips to himself. Though I can see he’s literally biting his lips with the effort.

“What?” I ask. “Don’t like my taste in music?”

Apparently not trusting his own voice, he just shakes his head.

“Then let’s go,” I say and set out for the exact direction I just came from. Towards the city and the promise of food, and possibly a little taste of revenge for dessert.

Chapter 6

Jessie

The luau is incredible.

Even I can admit that, and I’ve been living in New York City, where world-class entertainment is available at all hours of the day or night. I’ve been to Broadway, high-class strip clubs where even twenty-dollar bills are frowned upon by the girls, and underground speak-easies where you need a password to get in and the singers are dressed like something from the roaring 20s.

But it’s not the shirtless guys spinning fire and girls gyrating their hips under palm leaves that hold my attention. Nor is it the smorgasbord of kalua pork, poi, poke, grilled squid, and dozens of other barbecued meats, rice dishes, and all sorts of vegetables and fruits.

No, the reason this luau tops everything I’ve seen back in the city is because this time, instead of sitting across from executives and stock traders who talk only about their portfolios, I’m opposite Holly.

It almost feels like a dream. And the longer I watch her, cheering at the entertainment on the stage, I wonder why I ever left her behind.

Pride. That’s why.