Chapter Ten #2
“Nice try,” Everett said without glancing at her, which meant he was a professional. “Shirley Temple.”
“Fine.” She sighed as if his answer was a grave injustice.
Rowan eyed the cocktail list. She could play it safe with a crisp white. Neutral. Or she could lean into the burn. “I’ll have a vermouth and tonic. With orange.”
“Another Negroni,” Everett said. The waiter puffed up, promised to return soon, and disappeared.
“This is the first time I’ve dined with a woman who hasn’t ordered a salad.” Rowan rolled her eyes but his tone was mild. “Does everyone on the island consume food as a sport?”
She usually avoided talking about her father, but something allowed her to share without the usual sting.
“I was raised on the theory that food can be a bridge across differences. When everyone is seated at a table, it’s an opportunity to experience culture in its most specific ways. It’s honoring others.”
Surprise darted over his features. “You speak eloquently.”
A flash of temper hit. So arrogant. Assuming she was ignorant because she worked at a surf shop. “Yes. I notice sometimes you do, too.”
His jerk gave her satisfaction. The quick twitch of his lips soothed.
“We haven’t tried any Hawaiian food,” Kelsey said. “What are some of those dishes?”
“There’s several. Two basics are poi—it’s a taro root paste. And haupia, which is a delicious coconut pudding. Shaved ice is a staple. Lomi salmon is also a favorite. It’s raw and chopped with tomato, onion, and chilies.”
“Oh, I won’t like that. But haupia and ice sounds good.”
Everett chuckled. “You haven’t met a sugary dessert you disliked.”
“I don’t like pink cotton candy. Only the blue.”
Everett gave his daughter a look. “Kels, the color doesn’t affect the flavor of cotton candy. You know that.”
The girl shrugged. “It does for me.”
Rowan smiled. “I can tell you about some of my favorite restaurants, but a luau is the best way to experience everything at once.”
Kelsey’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I’d love to go to one! Dad’s been too busy. What’s the best one?”
“All the hotels have them, but I’d recommend the Toa Luau. Cousin Howie is the primary dancer and he’s amazing. I’m happy to send the link for tickets.”
“Can we go, Dad? It’s practically a requirement if we’re in Hawaii.”
“Yes. Let me get more on solid ground with this opening and I promise we’ll go.”
Rowan took in Kelsey’s dejected nod. The girl didn’t believe him. She watched him peek at his phone from underneath the table and type out a rapid stream of text. He might be sexy on the outside, but Everett was married to his job. No woman could compete—not even the one he loved the most.
A stab of regret pierced her. He wouldn’t know what he was missing until it was too late. She might not have had a mom, but her father had stepped in and never made her feel the lack. It was another reason his loss hurt so bad.
The drinks arrived. The vermouth and tonic was amber gold with tiny bubbles riding up the ice like climbers on a glacier.
She took a sip and the bitterness bloomed, citrus bright, with herbal depth.
It tasted like summer in a city, like something you drink on a balcony when you’re pretending to be fine.
Everett’s Negroni glowed bloodred, a little poison square.
His mouth on the glass was neat and efficient.
He didn’t chase the ice cube; he let the drink come to him.
Kelsey’s teeth worried the end of her straw. “This is my thank-you dinner. For teaching me. For trying to make my dad step away from his stupid phone. Like he’s doing now.”
Everett laid his phone on the table. His face tightened but he spoke softly. “It’s not stupid. I can’t help my job, Kels. I thought you understood.”
“I do, but you’re worse than me. It’s not fair when you tell me to put mine down all the time when you’re doing the same thing! Sometimes, I just . . . hate phones.”
Rowan winced. That was a missile shot that landed perfectly.
“I showed up today for your surfing lesson. I’m doing my best.”
Rowan saw Kelsey struggle to communicate. Her heart ached watching her try to put feelings into words when her hormones were probably kicking her in the teeth. “I know. Sorry.”
A muscle jumped in Everett’s jaw. She felt a bit sorry for him, but seeing Kelsey jumbled up, not able to truly speak, made her chest hurt. What was she doing stuck in the middle of this? And why did she care so much?
They were all saved from awkward silence when the food came, first fast, then slow—the way good kitchens do.
The calamari were crisp and tender, thick rings and little tentacles dusted in paprika.
Small plates dropped in waves. The seared beef tenderloin looked like a steak got dressed up for a royal ball with the pat of foie gras perched on top like a fancy hat, full of velvety richness.
Shrimp sizzled with clouds of garlic and chili rising in the air.
Everett broke off a piece of bread, dipped it, and took a slow bite.
She watched him eat and tried not to be distracted by those full lips and the interesting expression on his face as he took in the flavors.
Everett chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then nodded. “I approve. The bread could be thicker.”
She couldn’t help the words that popped out. “You want to make the dish less interesting?”
He tilted his head. “I want structure.”
His cashmere voice contradicted his steel spine. She had no problem with structure. It was needed to teach surfing, but eventually, chaos would come for its price. Most wanted to touch the chaos and go home tidy.
She’d tried that once. It hadn’t worked.
Rowan pushed the thought aside and focused on the real star of the table. Two canoe bones roasted, fat shimmering, with a bright green scatter of parsley and lemon zest.
She began to eat fast, then slow, mirroring the kitchen.
Paper-thin slices of jamón de bellota glistened on the plate, the salty, nutty flavor exploding in her mouth.
A pan of saffron-stained rice arrived studded with shrimp, mussels, clams, and smoky chorizo—like someone had scooped up a piece of the coastline and served it sizzling.
One by one, she sampled each plate, taking time to savor each bite.
When she looked up to wipe her chin, she found Everett watching her, gaze narrowed as if studying her for a later exam.
Rowan took another sip of her cocktail and tried to ignore it.
Kelsey tried the jamón de bellota with trepidation, but stuck to the deal. After a few bites, she brightened. “Okay, that’s not bad!”
“It’s ham,” Everett said, deadpan.
“It’s new,” Kelsey pointed out.
Everett took a slice. “Eat it slowly. It’s meant to melt,” Rowan said.
He gave her a long stare. “You’re giving me instructions on eating now?”
“Only because you chew like you’re negotiating a merger.”
Kelsey giggled. Rowan grinned and reached for the bones, scooping marrow with a tiny spoon, letting it melt.
Butter and lemon zest and parsley danced on her tongue.
She made a small, involuntary sound in her throat.
Everett’s eyes darkened and then shuttered.
His throat worked when he swallowed, a tight little movement she pretended not to track.
Kelsey’s voice ripped her from the intimate moment. “Rowan, did you always, like . . . eat things like this? With your dad?”
Rowan’s fork paused above the paella. She kept her eyes on the food, the one thing she knew how to talk to. “We ate things. He would try one weird thing at every place. Sometimes he hated it. The point was trying. He used to call it ‘expanding his ocean.’”
“Did he also surf?” Kelsey asked.
There was something about the frankly direct question that eased the tightness in her chest. “Yes. He was well known on the circuit and began teaching me when I was young. We were originally in California, but we moved here when I was five. To chase the waves, he told me.”
Kelsey propped her chin in her hand, fully attentive. “Wow, so cool. I can’t imagine surfing so little. Was he a good teacher?”
“The best. He knew when to be patient and when to push. We had a harder time of it since he was my dad. I always wished he’d treat me like other students but looking back, I’m not sure why I expected it. Family is different. He had a bigger investment.”
“Did you always want to surf?” Everett asked curiously.
“Yes. I can’t remember wanting to do anything else. I can still hear my father’s voice, and his endless lectures about the ocean. He’d tell everyone these embarrassing stories—leading every answer back to the water. And he had a strong voice that carried. Everyone stopped to listen when he spoke.”
“I bet you sound like him.” She turned in surprise to Everett. “Not the volume. The quality. You’re quiet, yet people are drawn to listen. It must be a gift he passed on.”
The words jolted through her like a shock.
She suddenly felt vulnerable, in this dining room, across from this man who made her feel things she thought were dead.
Rowan managed a nod, reached for her drink, and thankfully, Kelsey changed the subject.
The girl chattered and the rest of the meal flowed.
“Rowan says I’m a fast learner. She says I don’t get discouraged. She says—”
“She said ‘when your brain stops trying to beat the ocean and your body starts listening.’” Everett twirled the fork around the squid-ink pasta. “I do hear things between emails.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow in surprise. What do you know, he was listening.
The fact he’d heard one of her most important lessons and could recite it back made her body loosen. All those tight muscles to keep up her defenses during this dinner softened.
“Very good, Dad.” Kelsey beamed, then attacked another piece of pizza. Mozzarella stretched obscenely, tomatoes sweet and bright, basil torn and fragrant.