Chapter 5
ADELAIDE
“Duke Kahanamoku didn’t just surf,” Clio says into the microphone, sweeping an arm toward the ocean while standing at one end of the double-decker bus.
“He won Olympic gold in swimming, served as Honolulu’s sheriff for twenty-six years, and then basically handed surfing to the rest of the world like a gift.
So next time you see some guy wiping out in Malibu and acting like he invented the sport, just remember it started on this beach with this man. ”
Someone ahead of me on the bus lets out a very sincere “Wow,” and honestly, fair enough.
I’ve claimed the back corner of the open, top deck like a lizard.
My legs are stretched across two seats, my face tipped toward the sun, and the wind keeps lifting my hair off my shoulders with warm little fingers.
Below us, Kalakaua Avenue is showing off with its beautiful beach, palm trees, and sidewalks.
Waikiki is stunning.
The water is that ridiculous blue that never looks real in photos, as if the ocean has been edited, while the dormant volcano, Diamond Head, rises at the far end of the strip all dark and dramatic.
I’m in paradise, and it’s currently snowing in Whispering Grove. I know this because Chris sent me a photo this morning of the front steps covered in snow. Sucks to be him.
I’ve been in Hawaii for four days now, and somewhere between Clio force-feeding me salmon and tuna poke, ordering me to stop checking my phone, and dragging me onto this stupidly charming open-top bus so I can learn the route for when she insists I work as a tour guide in her business, whatever’s been cinched tight inside my chest since LA has loosened a little.
Not loads because I’m not fixed. I don’t want to get carried away, but it’s enough that I can breathe without feeling as if I’m borrowing somebody else’s lungs.
I glance over at Clio as she launches into her final spiel to the attendees on the tour bus. She’s wearing a sundress the color of a traffic cone, and it somehow looks incredible on her. Her blonde bob is blowing all over the place.
“Last stop, everyone,” she says brightly. “Watch your step on the stairs, and mahalo for joining us today.”
Everyone starts gathering bags and sunglasses and sunburnt children, and Clio breezes down the stairs with that same impossible energy she’s had all afternoon, ready to smile, answer questions, pose for photos, and probably solve a minor diplomatic issue if one comes up.
Meanwhile, I stay exactly where I am.
The bus slowly empties around me, just the low rumble of the engine beneath me and the noise of Waikiki carrying on around us in that golden, late-afternoon glow. The whole place is beautiful in an almost aggressive way.
I lean further in my seat, letting the sun soak into my skin. For the first time in ages, I don’t feel as if I’m bracing for something, which probably means I should.
Clio reappears minutes later and drops into the seat beside me. I push my feet down just as the bus starts pulling into the traffic and heading down the road.
She immediately steals the water bottle next to me. “Were you even listening?” she asks, then drinks half of it.
“Duke Kahanamoku, Olympic swimmer, sheriff, father of modern surfing. I got it.”
“I mean the whole tour?”
“I got all the important parts.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then the sun hits her adorable face, and she closes her eyes.
For a second, we just sit in it, the warm evening air and the pink starting to bleed into the sky at the edges.
This is what people mean when they talk about Hawaii.
Not just the pretty parts but this specific feeling of the whole place exhaling.
I bump my shoulder against Clio’s and wait until she opens her soft blue eyes. “So, I think I found a van,” I tell her.
“Oh, still going with the van idea, then?”
I nod. “A good one, actually. Not creepy or murder-y. Roof rack, little kitchenette, bed in the back. I’m very committed to the aesthetic.”
Clio studies me for a second. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I glance out at the blur of palm trees, traffic, and tourists everywhere, the warm breeze blowing through our hair.
“Yeah,” I say after a second. “It’s just…” I tuck my hair behind my ear, then shrug. “I think I need it right now. A little space and something that feels like mine. Not permanent, just mine.”
Her expression shifts then, the teasing gone from it. “Okay,” she says gently. “I get that.”
“My back, for the record, does not get your couch.”
That gets a laugh out of her. “Rude. My couch is lovely.”
“She’s beautiful to look at and deeply committed to spinal misalignment.”
She laughs again, leaning her head briefly against mine. “I did miss having you around.”
“I missed you too,” I admit. “An unreasonable amount, actually. Having you this close still feels weird in a good way.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “Well, if you’re determined to embrace island-van gremlin life, I’m not going to stop you.”
“Thanks for respecting my journey.”
“I’m tolerating it because I love you.” She snuggles me more.
“That’s fair.”
“But you’re still coming over all the time.”
I glance at her. “Absolutely.”
“Good.” She brightens a little, that spark coming back into her voice. “Because tonight you’re meeting my people.”
I groan softly. “The crime people.”
“The Mai Tai Mystery Club,” she says with a smirk. “Put some respect on the name.”
“You’ve made them sound unhinged, and who named it that?”
“They are but they’re lovable. You’ll fit right in, and my sister loves a Mai Tai cocktail, so we went with her choice.”
“That doesn’t reassure me.”
The bus starts slowing, and Clio gets to her feet, smoothing her sundress down over her hips. “We need food first,” she says. “I’m not cooking, you’re definitely not cooking, and if I show up empty-handed, Aura will give me that look where she judges me.”
“Yeah, your sister can definitely be judgy.” I laugh and follow her toward the stairs. “So what’s the plan?”
“Maybe plate lunches and something sweet.”
“And then I get dragged into your terrifying little murder circle?”
“We have a very organized corkboard. There may also be red string.”
I stop short. “You’re joking.”
“It helps.”
“With what?”
“With the drama, mostly.”
I laugh despite myself, and by the time we hop off the bus, I’m lighter than I was five minutes ago.
We wave to the older driver, who smiles at Clio, and then we’re out in the warm evening air, the sky darkening above the shopping center as we head off in search of food for Clio’s weird little homicide hobby group.
Ala Moana is enormous and buzzing, all open-air retail energy and the smell of sunscreen and something frying somewhere.
We’re strolling through the underground parking lot.
The food court building is ahead of us on the left, already glowing with dinner crowds.
And diagonally across from it is a display window full of chocolate.
See’s Candies.
I stop dead. Full-body shutdown in the middle of the parking area like someone’s yanked my power cord because suddenly I’m back on the plane.
Ace leaning sideways in that oversized first-class seat as if he had nowhere better to be, that delicious mouth tipped in a smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
He’d held out the little bag of See’s like it was nothing, just a lazy offering between strangers.
And when I’d taken one, he’d watched me eat it like the whole thing was foreplay.
I can still see the way his fingers brushed mine when he passed me the bag again. Still hear that low growl under his words, feel the heat of him later, the look in his eyes when the flirting stopped being a game and started feeling dangerously real.
My chest tightens.
Ace.
I left him on that plane with no number, or promise, or messy goodbye on purpose. I had enough of a mess chasing me without adding to my troubles one devastating man with a filthy mouth and a weakness for teasing me.
That was the smart choice. Annoyingly, I seem to be having an emotional response to my own intelligence.
Where is he now?
Probably fine, gorgeous, and already flirting with some other woman over snacks and ruining her life too. I haven’t forgotten a second of our time together.
“Hey.” Clio nudges me with her shoulder, then glances up at the sign and back at me.
“You’re staring at a chocolate shop like it holds the answer to your life.”
“I was thinking.”
“That much was obvious.” She tips her head, studying me. “About what?”
“Nothing.”
“Adelaide, come on, it’s me you’re talking to.” She huffs.
“It just reminded me of something.” The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake.
Clio’s whole face lights up. “Oh, no. That was terrible. You can’t say it reminded you of something and then expect me not to become obsessed.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“That’s for me to decide.”
“It was a thought. A passing one.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then looks at the See’s sign again like it’s handed her a clue. “A person?” she asks.
I say nothing.
Her mouth drops open. “It is a person.”
“It’s not a thing.”
“That was not a denial.”
“It was the spirit of one.”
Clio grabs my wrist and starts walking toward the shop.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going in.”
“I don’t need chocolate.”
“You absolutely do, and then you’re telling me why a perfectly normal candy store has you standing in a parking lot looking like you’ve just seen the Ghost of Bad Choices Past.”
“That’s wildly dramatic.”
She glances back. “You know me. Wildly dramatic is where I shine.”
That, at least, is true.
By the time we get inside, the woman behind the counter is already smiling at us. She offers out the sample tray, and I accept one on instinct because I’m only human.
Caramel.
Of course it’s caramel.