Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
T he car arrives not long after. I’m surprised when Kimo doesn’t ask the driver to spot him some cash, as he suggested earlier, but instead gives him an address. Leaning back in the seat, he gives me a wink. “I got a better idea. Trust me...”
A few minutes later, we pull up in front of a small, cute restaurant not too far from the airport. So Ono. With its turquoise-blue walls, surfboard-and-seashell aesthetic, and the ukelele covers of pop songs playing from the corner jukebox, it seems like the kind of place that would be more at home in a beach town than in the Chicago suburbs.
I, of course, know the importance of this restaurant. It’s the national fast-food chain that Kimo rallied the internet behind to keep from going bankrupt. If the crowded tables and line of customers almost to the door are any indication, Kimo’s intervention did more than just keep the restaurant’s stock value from plummeting. The place looks rejuvenated and thriving.
What I don’t know is if Kimo will tell me about his role in keeping So Ono alive. I check his face as we go inside, but he’s keeping his expression neutral. “I have some friends here,” he tells me vaguely.
Hmm. Not going to brag about single-handedly saving this place from ruin. Interesting.
When the middle-aged Polynesian man behind the counter spots Kimo, his face breaks into a broad grin. “Kimo Hood! Get over here!”
“Good to see you, Uncle.” Kimo meets him halfway across the room and they embrace.
“Did you come here for a kau kau?” the man asks. “It’s free for life for Kimo Hood—though it looks like you’ve been putting that offer to good use, brah.” He pats Kimo’s belly good-naturedly.
Kimo’s grin turns sheepish as he glances over at me, though I suspect it has more to do with this man calling him “Kimo Hood” than for the remark about his belly. As I saw firsthand last night, Kimo has absolutely zero self-consciousness about his body...his big, sexy, manly body...
Nope. Stay focused, Matilda.
“This is my friend, Mattie.” Kimo pauses as the older man and I shake hands. “Can you spot her a meal and I’ll pay you back later?”
“Pssh.” The man waves away Kimo’s request. “Your money’s no good here. Sit down. I’ll bring you both a plate of loco moco...”
A few minutes later, the dish of meat, rice, gravy, and fried egg is set down in front of us. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the food arrives. I scarf mine down, only thinking to be embarrassed by my voraciousness afterward, when I see that Kimo’s finished his plate and eaten half of the macadamia nut pancakes the manager brought out for us to share.
We say thank you and Kimo gives the man another hug before promising to visit again soon, then we’re back in the car and making our way downtown.
Somehow, despite the large, hearty lunch, I’m still very aware of the unfinished business Kimo and I have. Namely, the sex we started last night but were unable to finish. Surely he’s pieced together by now that I’m the type of woman who has a Costco-sized package of condoms back at her place. We could have safe sex until the end of time and still have a handful of condoms leftover. I understand now why he was so attentive on the plane, why I got that freebie shoulder massage with no strings attached, why he’s treating me to lunch and escorting me home: He still wants to have that hot, no-strings-attached sex with me, as promised. That’s all.
I’m relieved that all of his niceness now makes sense. Relieved, and definitely not disappointed.
To my surprise, there’s an unfamiliar man waiting for us outside my apartment door when we arrive. He’s older and looks gruff, with a tough, no-nonsense air about him as he beelines toward us. I shrink back instinctively because—hello, kidnapped twenty-four hours ago! But Kimo approaches him with his hand extended, as if they’re buddies already. “Hey, Stan, right? I’m Kimo Kapono. This is Matilda Markov.”
The man nods to each of us in turn, as if he was expecting us. Which is weird, because I wasn’t expecting him...I look up at Kimo, and he gives me a sheepish smile, like he knows what he’s about to tell me is something I’m not going to like. “I asked Jay to set some security detail up. I thought it wouldn’t hurt for you to have, just for a while, until those kidnappers get caught and we find out who was behind the whole thing.”
This was so not the kind of protection I was hoping to put to good use back at my place. I glower, first at Kimo, then at Stan, then back at Kimo again, since technically Stan’s just doing his job—and also, he’s kind of scary. “I don’t want some guy following me around. No offense.”
“Who’d be offended by that?” Stan mutters under his breath in a thick Boston accent.
“Well, he’s not just ‘some guy,’” Kimo informs me. “He works for Cipher Security—they’re, like, the best of the best, according to Jay.” He gestures toward Stan. “Plus this guy used to be, like, the bodyguard for Abram Harris, so...” Kimo raises his eyebrows to show how impressed he is.
Stan clears his throat, looking a little embarrassed by Kimo listing out his credentials. “I’ll also be doing a lot more than following you around, Ms. Markov. I’ll be monitoring who comes in and out of the building, keeping an eye out for anyone else who might be following you?—”
No matter how impressive this guy is, I still don’t need someone watching my every move. “Unless you’re planning to help me fold laundry, I’m not super interested,” I inform him curtly.
Stan arches an eyebrow at me. “Not really in my job description, lady.”
My knee-jerk response is to snap at him, but I realize that, once again, my ire is being misplaced on the guy just hired to do a job. So I glare back at Kimo instead. “I don’t need a babysitter. Those guys weren’t even after me, they were after you .”
“Yeah, but now you’re on their radar.” Kimo puts his hand on both my shoulders, lightly running his palms up and down my arms. “Now they know how I?—”
But he cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence. I frown at him, opening my mouth to call him out on that weird pause, before rethinking it. What was he going to say? I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it. “What about you?” I challenge. “Are you going to hire a Kevin Costner to follow you around and keep you safe?”
Check out my movie reference! And Helen says I don’t know any pop culture after the ’90s—likely because I was raised by cable reruns of shows and movies from that decade. Pfft. I say, who needs to know any pop culture after the ’90s?
Kimo’s expression shifts to something sheepish. He scratches the back of his head. “Uh, no?”
I fold my arms, intensifying my glare. I was just trying to call him out on his bullshit before, but now that he’s actually admitted it, I realize how colossally stupid he’s being. “And why not? You were just the target of a kidnapping! From the sound of it, it wasn’t even the first one. One of these times you’re not going to be able to sweet talk your way out of things!”
“I’ll think about it,” Kimo says vaguely, which I know is code for, I want to get this Russian beda off my back .
I want to protest more about his lack of caution, but I realize it’s not really my place. We’re barely more than strangers, despite spending a bizarre few days together. Now it’s my turn to uncomfortably scratch the back of my head. I guess this is where we part ways, maybe exchange a few awkward texts checking up on each other over the next few days, until we eventually let things peter out. Unless...
I eye the security guy, who’s thankfully stepped farther down the hall and out of earshot, I guess to give us some privacy. Even so, I lower my voice to make sure he can’t overhear. “I don’t suppose you want to...?” I motion toward my door with my thumb, raising my eyebrows meaningfully. Then, in case Kimo misses my meaning (subtlety was never my thing), I add, “I have lots of condoms inside.”
Kimo huffs out a laugh. “Believe me, I wish I could, but I should get home. My niece and nephew are pretty worried about me. And my māmā is about ready to murder me for getting kidnapped again. I think I better get back, smooth some things over.”
Kidnapped again ? My eyebrows arch at the confirmation of what I already suspected—that Kimo has been kidnapped before, maybe even more than once. The knowledge makes me nervous for him, especially now that I know he hasn’t hired any security, and he basically just shrugged off my suggestion that he do so.
But...it’s not my place. It’s not my place! I bite my tongue and force a smile, just in case he thinks I’m offended that he isn’t coming inside. Which I’m not—well, not much. I know the pecking order of things. “Of course. Get back to your family.”
Kimo observes me carefully, his face creased with concern. “Do you have someone you can call? Any family nearby or...?”
“Oh, yeah. Lots of people!” I say this as brightly as possible, even though I’m not convinced it’s true. There’s always Nina and Helen, but Helen might be at work, or busy with Thad, and sometimes Nina’s uncle is really strict about letting her out of the house if it isn’t for work or church. I’m sure someone will come by eventually. And anyway, I might decide I’d rather put on one of my box sets of Full House and spend the rest of the day in bed. “I’ll be fine.”
Seeing he’s still unconvinced, I shoo him toward the elevator. “Go on, go. Go! I’ll be fine. Go see your family.”
Kimo lets me sort of sweep him toward the elevator with my hands, though he lingers as he waits for it to arrive on my floor. “We’re going to see each other again, Mattie.”
“Sure we will,” I say in that same overly bright, too-forceful tone.
Kimo stops me, cupping a hand to the side of my face. He looks intently into my eyes, and for a second, I forget to breathe. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
I think for a moment that he might kiss me. I think for a moment that I might want him to.
But a kiss that doesn’t lead to sex...why bother? At least, that’s always been my motto. Anyway, it’s a moot point, since he doesn’t even try. No lean in for a kiss. Nothing.
The elevator door dings open, making me jump. I self-consciously step away from Kimo as he steps into the elevator and turns back to give me a wink. “Take care, Matilda Markov. I’ll be seeing you, soon .”