Chapter 2
GIDEON
Gideon tossed his backpack over his shoulder and took a deep, satisfied breath of ocean air. Even from the airport, Gideon could tell the island was everything he’d hoped—laid-back, wild, humming with potential for adventure.
Like most things in his life, this trip had been spontaneous.
The ever-present need to get away from Redemption Ridge and explore again was finally strong enough to have him clicking the Book Now button without a second thought.
Although, his credit card might scold him for it later.
Unlike his siblings, who had both recently found themselves married and taking ownership of their portion of Redemption Ridge Ranch, Gideon was happily single.
And if a slightly deflated bank account was the price for his freedom, then it was one he was happy to pay.
Not that Cassie and Zeke seemed unhappy.
Far from it, in fact. Despite the unorthodox means of their nuptials, his sister and his brother had both found the happiness they deserved.
Zeke especially had settled into fatherhood, officially adopting his stepson, Stetson, as soon as Ruby Thompson could get the paperwork filed.
Cassie and Jason were expecting the newest member of the family in a matter of weeks. Cassie was already promising payback to her husband for the timing that resulted in her being eight months pregnant in the middle of July.
A beautiful woman in brightly colored clothes flashed a smile at him and held out a loop of flowers strung together.
“La ora na.”
Gideon had no idea what that meant, but he assumed some sort of welcome. “Aloha?” he offered in response with a flirty smile, ducking his head.
The woman laughed and shook her head, holding back the lei. “No, no. Not Hawaii, sir. Here, we say La ora na.” It sounded like “yoh-rah-nah” and he tried his best to imitate it.
She gave him a proud nod, then circled the flowers around his neck. “Very good. Welcome to Tealua.”
“Thank you,” he replied, his fingers falling to the new necklace and trailing over the live blooms. No cheap plastic party supplies here.
He wandered across the runway— though the term was rather generous—and stepped under the terminal roof, immediately grateful for the shade.
He took a moment to check his phone while leaning against a pillar, sending a message to his family that he had arrived safely.
His stomach rumbled unhappily as he tucked his phone away.
He spotted a snack bar near the welcome desk and headed for it.
It wasn’t until he pulled up his chair that he paid any attention to the other occupant.
A woman perched stiffly on the edge of her seat, several stacks of printed documents on the bar in front of her, the edge of a leather portfolio visible beneath the neatly stacked papers.
A manilla folder labeled “Tealua: Honeymoon 2025” in fancy script letters caught his eye.
He glanced around but didn’t spot her husband.
The woman was tapping furiously at her phone, then writing notes with surgical precision. Everything about her screamed I did not come here for surprises.
She looked like the type of person who had every day carefully segmented into ten-minute increments with ironclad plans for each one.
The idea made his skin crawl. Gideon didn’t have a schedule for his trip, just a list scrawled on a napkin from his first flight: “Snorkel. Hike. Surf. Eat something weird. Don’t die. ”
He sipped his pineapple soda and watched her try not to look irritated.
She’d angled her chair just enough to avoid facing him directly, but her eyes kept darting toward the entry doors, then her phone, then her papers, then the clock above the snack bar like she could will time to behave.
Intrigued, he offered a lazy smile and a “Rough flight?”
She looked up—sharp eyes, tidy bun, a practiced smile. “No,” she said crisply. “The shuttle I pre-booked is seven minutes late. This island seems ridiculously unprofessional.” She looked back at her papers.
He laughed, delighted that his initial impression had been so spot on.
“I don’t even have a shuttle.” Before she could respond with what he was sure would be judgment or even horror, he leaned one elbow on the counter and gave her his most innocent smile.
“You know, I’ve read somewhere that island time is more of a spiritual concept than an actual clock. ”
She didn’t even look up. “I pre-booked a shuttle. With a confirmation number. And a driver named Makoa.”
“I’m sure you did. And yet, here you are. Abandoned. Hungry. One fruity drink away from throwing your notebook into the ocean.”
She gave him a withering glance. “The planner stays,” she said, tugging it a little closer to her and out of his reach.
He fought back a smile. “That’s fair. I was going to suggest a symbolic burning, but it’s probably fireproof or something.”
Her lips twitched. Barely. But he saw it. He rapped a knuckle on the bar top. “Tell you what—if you give me thirty minutes, I’ll change your mind about this place.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t get up and storm away either.
He motioned to the manila folder in front of her. “So what’s the deal—a pre-planned vacation with an hourly agenda and color-coded dinner options?”
She stiffened.
His grin faded a touch. His big mouth always got him in trouble. “Sorry. That was—”
“It was supposed to be a honeymoon,” she said flatly, flipping the folder closed. “My fiancé—ex, I guess—he called it off three days ago.”
Gideon blinked. “Oof. That’s . . . Yeah, that’s awful.”
She shrugged one shoulder like it didn’t matter, but the way she adjusted the edge of the folder again—perfectly square against the counter—gave him an idea how upset she was.
“Sorry,” he said, more gently this time. “For real. That sucks.”
She gave a small nod, eyes trained on the condensation running down her mostly full drink. “The resort was non-refundable. Besides, I don’t have anything else to do. This was the plan. So here I am.”
Gideon lifted his cup in a small toast. “To a solo vacation.”
She raised an eyebrow but clinked her plastic cup against his anyway. A quiet, reluctant sort of truce.
“So what now?” he asked. “Stick it out and spend the week proving you’re the better half? Or head home and let the island win?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know. I thought being here would help. Like maybe I could still enjoy it, on my own. But nothing’s gone according to plan, and now I’m sitting in a glorified snack hut talking to a stranger with sand in his hair.”
He brushed a hand through his hair, remembering that he’d taken advantage of his extended layover in Tahiti and ventured to the nearby beach, then nearly missed his flight. “Probably not just sand. Salt. A little seaweed. You’ll soon find that’s very on-brand.”
She didn’t smile exactly, but her shoulders loosened—just a bit. “I find that terribly hard to believe.”
His lips twitched at the small display of sarcasm from this prim and proper woman. Outside, a delivery truck rattled past the open wall.
Gideon watched it roll by, then glanced back at her. “You ever do something just because it sounded like a bad idea?”
She gave him a sharp look. “That’s not how I operate.”
“Then maybe that’s the problem.”
She opened her mouth to argue . . . and then closed it. Her gaze slid to the clock again. The shuttle was now thirty minutes late.
He stood and tossed his cup. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “But it involves pineapples. And maybe a criminal offense. Not sure yet.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious. You gave me thirty minutes. I intend to make them count.”
“I didn’t agree to any such thing,” she protested, but followed him anyway.
Gideon led the way out of the snack bar, weaving past a row of mismatched chairs and a half-hearted tropical mural toward a wide-open loading area behind the welcome center. The pavement shimmered with heat, and the hum of idling engines pulsed like background music.
She followed, but only barely. He glanced back. Her steps were tight, cautious. Like she was ready to bolt if he tried anything weird.
He stopped beside a battered delivery truck parked near a stack of cardboard boxes stamped with fruit logos.
The back was open, crates of pineapples and bottled water stacked high.
A man in a stained T-shirt and flip-flops was busy ratcheting a tarp down, earbuds in and sweat running down his temple.
“Hey, man,” Gideon called, flashing a smile. “You headed toward the resorts?”
The guy pulled one earbud out and gave him a once-over. “Maybe. Why?”
“Any chance you’ve got room in the back for two weary travelers?”
The man blinked. “You need a ride?”
“Just to the—” He glanced back at her, realizing he didn’t know where she was headed. “Which resort are you staying at?”
She hesitated, almost as if she didn’t want to tell him. He held his casual smile steady.
“Tealua Haven Resort,” she finally provided.
“What a coincidence,” he said with a smirk.
“Two tickets to Tealua Haven,” he relayed to the produce truck driver. “The shuttle’s late, and I promised her an unforgettable welcome.” Gideon turned to flash her a grin, knowing full well she was standing six feet away, stiff as a board and clearly regretting her life choices.
The driver looked between them. “You don’t look like you work for the resort.”
“I don’t.” Gideon leaned an elbow on the edge of the truck bed like it was all perfectly normal. “But I do tip in U.S. dollars.”
The guy snorted. “Fine. Hop in. Don’t sue me if you fall out.”
Gideon turned to her. “Well? The shuttle’s still MIA. This is your chance to add ‘rogue produce transport’ to your honeymoon itinerary.”
Her arms crossed. “I don’t even know your name.”
He grinned. “All the best stories start out that way.”
She glanced at the truck, then at her watch, then back at him. “There are no seat belts.”
“There are pineapples. Very absorbent in a crash.”
For a second, she looked like she might turn on her heel and retreat to the safety of her itinerary.
Gideon wasn’t sure why he hated the idea so much.
But then her mouth twitched—just enough to betray the tiniest spark of reluctant amusement.
She exhaled slowly, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was about to do. “If I die, my mother will hate you.”
“I won’t let that happen,” he reassured her, dropping his carefree grin for a moment and letting the sincerity of his promise shine through his expression.
He offered a hand. She didn’t take it, but she climbed in anyway, clutching the hem of her blouse as she perched delicately on a crate. Gideon lifted her suitcases in and jumped up beside her, giving the driver a thumbs-up.
As the truck jolted forward, she braced herself, knuckles white against the wooden slats.
“You’re insane,” she muttered.
Gideon leaned back and grinned at the blue sky overhead. “Yeah. But for the next ten minutes, so are you.”
As they picked up speed along the coastal road, the breeze finally caught her tightly pinned light-brown hair.
A strand escaped, dancing across her cheek.
She didn’t swat it away. His fingers itched with the desire to reach up and tuck it behind her ear.
But he also liked the small sign that she wasn’t so perfectly put together anymore.
It made her seem more real. Less untouchable. Like maybe underneath the schedule and the sharp edges, there was someone who used to laugh easily. For some reason, he wanted to be the one to make her remember how.
She caught him watching and lifted her chin, the barest hint of challenge in her expression—like she knew exactly what he was thinking but wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
He watched her squint toward the ocean, her fingers gripping the sides of the crate.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She hesitated just long enough to make him wonder if she’d lie.
“Juliana.”
“Gideon,” he said, sticking out a hand, even though they were both holding on for dear life.
She looked at his hand, then shook it. “You’re insane, Gideon,” she said again.
“Maybe,” he said, grinning. “But you’re still in the truck.”