Chapter Nine Take the Scenic Route
Chapter Nine
Take the Scenic Route
Frankie
Who knew the Big Island was actually just called Hawaii?
I’d bought myself a couple of travel guides to read on the long flight over the Pacific and learned each island has its own name.
Collectively, they are referred to as Hawaii, but Charles and I are actually going to the island of Hawaii—the Big Island.
In my reading, I learn it’s arguably the most laid-back and least touristy of the islands. It sounds great to me.
When we land, I have two thoughts:
Wow, it’s beautiful.
I should’ve packed more deodorant.
It’s the most majestic, breathtaking place I’ve ever seen. Sun-drenched, with palm trees gently swaying in the warm breeze, and then parts of it look like I’ve landed on Mars—big swaths of earth scorched by lava, which has hardened into twisted black rocks where nothing will grow—maybe ever again.
Instead of Wincock, our sign says Hardcock this time—thanks to me. I chuckle to myself, waiting for Charles to notice.
“I said inconspicuous, Frankie. For heaven’s sake,” he scolds me, but I can tell he finds it the tiniest bit funny. Turns out I like keeping the old man on his toes.
Our driver drops us off inside another gated development.
I can see the ocean in the distance, and the electric golf cart in the garage is how we’ll get around.
It’s magical. The house is four bedrooms, four and a half baths, with a large back patio with a private pool and spa.
There’s a distant view of the water. I sincerely hope we’ll stay here for a long, long time.
I spend my days snorkeling while Charles sits in the shade and watches me. We eat lunch together alfresco, and sometimes I have to pinch myself that this is actually my job.
“I don’t think we should ever go back home,” I tell him on our fourth day.
We’re seated under the shade of an umbrella at my new favorite beach club—Mauna Lani, watching kids build sand castles and tourists learn to surf.
But it’s not just the view. It’s the quiet in my chest.
No email notifications. No awkward job interviews or spreadsheets. No empty apartment.
Here, I don’t miss my mom quite as much. Or maybe I do—but it doesn’t ache the same way.
And for once, I’m not scrambling to hold my life together.
He chuckles. “I agree, let’s stay put for a while.”
Later that evening, we’re on the patio, enjoying a light dessert as the sun sets.
Well, Charles is enjoying a light dessert.
My own bowl of passion fruit mousse is heaped with a mountain of whipped cream.
The warm Hawaiian breeze rustles the palm trees, and for maybe the first time ever, I feel totally and completely relaxed.
Charles sets his dish down and looks at me with that same calm intensity he always has when he’s about to share one of his nuggets of wisdom.
“Frankie,” he begins, “do you know why I like Jeopardy!?”
I smirk. “Because it makes you feel smart?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “No, though that doesn’t hurt.
It’s because it teaches you how to frame questions.
Most people think life is about having the answers, but I’ve learned sometimes it’s about asking the right questions.
Answers might change as we head into a new season, but the right questions?
Those guide you to places you’ve never thought to go. ”
I mull this over, stirring my coffee. “So, what’s the right question I should be asking myself right now?”
He leans back, gazing out at the horizon, where the last streaks of orange fade into purple. “Ask yourself what you’re holding on to that might be holding you back. Sometimes, it’s fear. Sometimes, it’s a person. Sometimes, it’s the idea of who you think you should be.”
I feel a twinge in my chest. Charles always knows how to get under my skin in the best and worst ways. But before I can respond, he grabs the remote and flips on the outdoor TV. “Come on,” he says, grinning, “Jeopardy!’s starting.”
We spend the next thirty minutes yelling out answers—or, rather, questions—at the screen. Charles is unbeatable, of course, but I balance him out on the pop culture side. It’s easy and fun, and for a moment, I feel like we’re in our own little bubble where nothing can touch us.
But bubbles always burst.
The next afternoon, I’m texting with Tessa when I hear the sound of tires crunching on the driveway. I glance out the window and freeze. Hayes is here. And this time he’s not alone.
A stunning blonde steps out of the car, her legs impossibly long and tanned, her outfit so perfectly tropical it could’ve come from a resort catalog—white linen shorts, a citrus-colored crop top, and a floppy straw hat she doesn’t even need.
She leans into Hayes, laughing at something he says, and my stomach twists.
A darker-skinned guy wearing a floral shirt climbs from the back seat of the SUV, dark sunglasses covering his eyes.
Charles tells me he forgot to mention Hayes is coming in today with some friends.
Forgot to mention? Do I need to check this dude into memory care? This is going to change everything. My happy bubble has just been popped.
I plaster on my best fake smile and step into the foyer. “Hayes. What a surprise.”
“Isn’t it?” he says, grinning as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. The woman—who looks familiar to me as she gets closer—steps beside him, her hand casually resting on his arm. “Guys, this is Olivia. And Charles, you know my friend Malachi.”
“Of course,” Charles says, shaking Malachi’s hand.
“And this is Francesca,” Hayes adds stiffly. “She works for my uncle.”
“Frankie,” I correct him.
“Pretty sweet work trip,” Malachi says, smiling at me. He’s pocketed the sunglasses, and he’s very cute, but if he’s friends with Hayes, it probably means he’s a walking red flag.
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” I say, returning his smile.
I realize why I recognize Olivia. Liv Holloway was a famous child actress who starred in a bunch of movies alongside other A-listers.
But aside from a few bad teen comedies, she sort of faded from public view.
At least, I haven’t heard anything about her in years, so I have no idea what she’s doing these days.
“Nice to meet you, Olivia,” I manage, extending my hand. Her grip is delicate, and her smile overly rehearsed, probably from hours spent in front of a camera.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she says sweetly, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. That’s obviously a lie. Why would Hayes have said boo about me?
Charles clears his throat, breaking the tension. “There are drinks and snacks in the kitchen if you’d like.”
“Perfect,” Hayes says, leading Olivia and Malachi toward the kitchen as if he owns the place.
I retreat to my room and continue texting Tessa.
Frankie: Ugh! You will not believe this. Guess who just showed up to ruin my island paradise?
Tessa: Literally no idea . . .
Frankie: Hayes :(
Tessa: What’s his vibe? I picture a beta male. An entitled dweeb
I laugh so hard I snort.
There’s nothing beta about him. I actually wish there was. He seems to take over every room he’s in and manages to suck all the oxygen out in the process.
Frankie: This is him.
I send Tessa a photo I snapped of Charles and Hayes in Montana. I sketched devil horns on top of Hayes’s head.
Tessa: Holy main character energy. He’s a total snack!
Frankie: He’s a jerk
Tessa: If he were an apple, he’d be a delicious
Frankie: And a control freak
Tessa: He looks AI generated
Frankie: He’s insufferable!
What does she not understand about this? I just want someone to make it make sense. How is life fair that Hayes gets to be gorgeous and rich and charming . . . all while having the heart of a shrew.
Tessa manages to remove the devil horns and crops Charles out of the photo before sending it back to me.
Tessa: 10/10 would ride this ride
Sadly, she’s not done.
Tessa: For real though, that man is next level hot! He’s a walking fire emoji.
Frankie: Gross. If you’re done drooling, I need to figure out a way to coexist with him and his little girlfriend. I don’t know how long they’ll be here. Maybe I need to end my boy-ban and get on some dating apps here—meet someone myself.
Tessa: Why am I getting the impression you’re jealous?
Frankie: Jealous? Ewww. No
I continue typing.
Frankie: More like annoyed
Yes, annoyed and frustrated. This is supposed to be my job, and that’s something that I take seriously. I actually think I’m damn good at it, and I’m pretty sure Charles agrees. And now we’re two for two with Hayes barging in and making everything about him.
If this is my story, he’s the villain. The way he watches me from a distance, scowling and frowning when Charles and I share an inside joke.
Does he not want his uncle to be happy? I can’t understand his anger, it’s so misplaced.
But there’s nothing I can do besides live with it, because everywhere I turn, there he is.
Tessa: Okay because I was going to say, Hayes is not your type and based on everything you told me—a complete tool.
“Francesca?” The sound of Hayes’s voice comes through the closed bedroom door.
I open it and peek out. “Yes?”
“What’s the Wi-Fi?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t know what possessed me to actually follow through on that dumb joke from earlier—but when we got here, I changed the network name.
It made me smile. And honestly? It kind of felt like something Charles would secretly appreciate.
“ItHurtsWhenIP.”
Hayes remained stone faced. Not a chuckle, not the crack of a smile. Nothing. Nada. This man probably thinks I’m certifiable.
“The password is HideYoKidsHideYoWi-Fi.”
“Great. Thanks.” He turns to leave, and I release a slow groan.
It’s funny, dang it! Why can’t he just be normal?