The Ohana Cottage

4

MIA

The Toasted Crab is pretty much what you’d expect from a Hawaiian tiki bar, but in a good way. There is a long, rectangular bar along the far wall and a small stage in the corner. High tops and tables fill the rest of the indoor space, and I notice there is a sliding door that leads to an outdoor seating area, with cute umbrella shades perched over the tables that look like cocktail umbrellas. It’s pretty crowded; I don’t see any tables open inside or out. I spot an empty barstool on the left corner of the bar and make a beeline to grab it before someone else does.

The bartender comes my way after a few moments and hands me a drink menu, wiping down the counter with a rag at the same time. “You need a food menu, too, or just drinking tonight?”

“Food too, please.” I’m starving, but I peruse the drink menu first and find mostly your typical tropical drinks. Lots of piña coladas, margaritas, and six different mai tais to choose from. I order a hibiscus mai tai—when in Rome, right?—and order some grilled shrimp. The bartender is super cute: blond hair, blue eyes, and the tan skin and well-defined muscles that most of the locals seem to have. Must be all the surfing. The register is right next to where I’m sitting, so he starts a conversation with me while he enters his last few customer orders.

“So you’re a tourist, right? How long are you here for?”

“How do you know I’m not a local?” I ask, disappointed. I thought I was doing a better job of blending in.

“I was born and raised here; I know all the locals. I’m Matt, by the way. Where are you staying?”

“Nice to meet you, Matt. Mia Taylor. I’m renting the Ohana Cottage from John Byrd,” I reply, then immediately curse myself for telling a stranger where I’m staying.

If I get murdered in my sleep tonight, that is definitely all on me. I wonder if I should text my parents and let them know I love them now, or later.

“Oh, John’s a good buddy of mine! He does a great job keeping that place in tip-top shape, so you have nothing to worry about,” he says. “Just a heads-up—you probably won’t run into him much; he likes to keep to himself.”

I’ve noticed that.

“Why’s that?”

“It's not my place to say much, but he recently retired from the military. I think he’s been through a lot. He doesn't like to talk about it and mostly keeps to himself. I keep trying to get him to come out and hang out, but he doesn’t take me up on it too often.”

Huh.

“I’ll be right back with your drink,” he says, tapping the bar top with a grin.

Once he backs away, I settle into people watching. I wouldn’t say that I go out by myself often, but that doesn't mean I’m bothered by it. I’m comfortable in my own skin, and I enjoy spending time by myself. I usually start a conversation with whoever is around me—remember, Minnesota friendly—but the barstool next to me is empty, so I can't make a new friend yet.

My mind wanders to John. Taking in what Matt told me, his behavior makes a lot more sense now. He gave off a ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe and seemed like he didn’t want to be bothered. But apparently, he has deeper issues that he’s working through. My heart tugs for him, knowing what a sacrifice it is to serve our country. It’s no secret that soldiers who come home often have a hard time dealing with whatever they experienced overseas.

Matt sets my mai tai on a napkin in front of me. The ruby-red cocktail looks almost too pretty to drink, with a pineapple wedge on the rim and a maraschino cherry on top.

“Thank you!”

He winks at me and goes back to serving his other customers. I sip on my mai tai and go back to people watching. There’s a couple sitting toward the middle of the bar that look like they’re having a heated conversation about something, and another couple next to them are practically on top of each other, making out. There’s a live band setting up in the corner, getting ready to start playing. People start shifting their seats to angle them towards the stage. Matt brings my shrimp over, setting the plate in front of me.

“Enjoy!”

A man slides into the seat next to me, stumbling a little and shifting a few times to find his center of gravity on the stool. One too many mai tais, probably. I tug a shrimp off the skewer with my teeth, savoring the fresh and juicy bite. We sit in silence for a few moments; then he seems to become aware that I’m next to him. He shifts on the stool, and I can feel his eyes creepily scan my body from my face down to my toes. They linger a little too long at my crossed legs, where the hem of my dress has ridden up more than a few inches above my knees.

Ugh.

I’m more bummed out than anything. After being holed up in the cottage working and having very little interaction with others, I was looking forward to meeting some new people. Now it’s looking like I might have to call it an early night. I’m not about to entertain some drunk guy who has wandering eyes.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he slurs as his body subtly sways from side to side. “You from around here?”

Wow. Minimum effort on pickup, too.

I smile politely, but I don’t want to pour gasoline on this fire by engaging in a conversation with him, so I keep my mouth shut. I eat the last piece of shrimp then I pull out my phone, occupying myself with checking emails. I lift my gaze to try to make eye contact with Matt so I can pay my tab, but he’s all the way on the other end of the bar, chatting with a pretty woman.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He leans toward me, close enough that I almost gag on the cloud of whiskey that covers my face. Irritation washes over me, and I have to force myself to not scrunch my face in disgust.

“No, thank you. I’m heading out soon.”

“Aw come on, sugar, one extra drink won’t hurt nothing.”

I feel his hand on my arm before my brain can register that he’s actually touching me. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry to remove his hand, either. I stare at his hand for a moment, shocked at the contact.

Oh, hell no.

I jerk my arm away and open my mouth to tell him to get lost when suddenly I’m staring at the back of a white shirt. Someone has forcefully squeezed in between us, severing any connection the drunk man had to me.

“She said no,” a deep voice says firmly.

John?

I recognize his voice before I glance up and see the back of his head. He’s glaring down at my new “friend,” his body completely shielding me.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” he tells the drunk man.

“Hey, John…is there a problem?” Matt questions, looking surprised to see John.

“This guy’s had enough; it’s time for him to go. He put his hand on her after she told him no.”

“Ah, shit, man. I didn't mean no harm. Didn’t realize she was with somebody.” He makes an attempt to get off the stool, but mostly just falls forward into John. John doesn’t budge, his body firmly planted next to me.

One point for John's muscles.

“Why don’t you call it a night, man,” Matt suggests with an amicable smile but firm tone. He waves a security guard over, who grabs the man by the elbow and walks him towards the front door.

“Wow, thank you, I was about to—” I begin.

John slowly turns to face me, and the look on his face cuts me off. His eyebrows narrow, and he scowls at me. He is pissed.

Did I miss something? Is he mad at me?

“You shouldn’t have come by yourself. It’s not safe for women to be in a crowded bar by themselves, especially beautiful ones, and especially at night when almost everyone in here is drunk,” he says in a low voice, almost like pushing words out of his mouth is painful.

Wait, he thinks I’m beautiful? I make a mental note to process that one later and try to focus on the issue at hand.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I came to Hawaii by myself. So I literally go everywhere on my own,” I say, doing my best to channel some of Paige’s sarcasm.

His glare doesn’t falter.

My face is only inches from his chest as I stare up at him. This is the closest we've ever been to each other, and from this close I can really see how incredibly gorgeous he is, even when he looks like he wants to murder someone—apparently that person is me?

His short brown hair is styled messily, and he has slight stubble on the side of his face and chin, like he hasn’t shaved in a couple days. His face softens only slightly, his blue eyes finding and holding mine for a few seconds. Something starts stirring in my stomach, and I try to figure out what it is.

“Did you come here because you knew I was going to be here?”

“No.” Something in his expression makes me question that.

Clearing my throat, I slide off the stool. “Well, I appreciate your concern, and thank you for your help, but I really can take care of myself. I’ll see you around.”

He moves back an inch or so, just enough to let me squeeze by. My chest brushes against his stomach as I step off my stool, and I try to ignore how good he smells. I make my way out of the bar, feeling his eyes on me right up until I climb in the Uber.