“WE SEND YOU TO HAWAII and you drop off the planet!” Eden’s voice came through the phone without a hello.
Grace pushed the speaker button and put the phone on the bureau in her hotel room. “You’re just in time to help me pick out a dress for tonight’s reception.”
“Reception? What reception? I have to admit, Grace, I feared I’d find you curled in the fetal position in your room, nose in a good book.”
A book. Yes, she’d been meaning to read one, but, well . . .
What woman in her right mind would pick reading over cooking with Maxwell Sharpe?
Outside, the sun dipped into the inky ocean, streams of fire tinging the waves, igniting the horizon. She’d opened the sliding-glass door of her suite to hear the roll of waves on the shore, to smell the fragrance of plumeria outside her window.
“No reading. Just cooking —isn’t that why you sent me here?”
Grace stood in front of the mirror in her towel, lifting her wet hair from her neck, trying to decide if she liked it up or down for tonight. Despite her hours in the kitchen this week —the delicious fun of teasing Max, enjoying his patient attempts to teach her Hawaiian cuisine —she’d managed to deepen her tan. She could thank his desire to keep to their schedule of required fun.
Fun, like expanding her palate into the world of raw fish at a local sushi bar. And strolling down Waikiki Beach under a shower of stars. He’d even talked her into parasailing, the boat arching her high over the water to steal her breath as she surveyed the ocean, the beaches, the mountains of the glorious island.
The perspective made her realize that yes, with this trip, God had invited her into a bigger life, a world of tastes and experiences and . . . friendships.
That’s what she was calling it, because Max hadn’t, not once since the snorkeling fiasco, hinted at more. And he hadn’t really even hinted then, just reacted to his fear, something she’d finally accepted after their walk along Waikiki Beach —the one void of any romance.
Oh, sure, the palm trees had danced under a golden moon, the ocean whispering along the shore and the fragrance of romance hanging in the freshness of the salty air. Max bore every resemblance to a full-fledged storybook hero, walking beside her barefoot, leaving toe prints in the creamy sand. His tan showed through his gauzy white shirt, open three buttons down and teased by the wind. When he looked at her with those brown eyes, a sizzle tremored through her, something that turned into a full-out ache when he dropped her off at the elevator.
“Just cooking? Nothing else?” Eden’s voice held a hint of tease.
Grace picked up the phone and sat on the bed. “Nope.”
Silence. Grace made a face. Uh-oh —she sensed Eden, the journalist, on the hunt.
“Okay, what’s going on? I expected you to call me every day wanting to come home. So props to you for that. But you’re spending every day with Max Sharpe, one of the Blue Ox’s most eligible bachelors, and you’re telling me that you are just cooking?”
“Yep. Just cooking.” Day after day of grueling hours in the kitchen with a man who knew his way around a saucepan. She just might be in heaven.
“You aren’t even remotely attracted to him?”
Grace lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan stirring the balmy air. She could imagine her sister, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, sitting on her tiny deck in downtown Minneapolis, or better, on Jace’s patio in St. Paul, the stars glimmering off the dome of the state capitol building. “I didn’t say that.”
“I knew it!”
“But nothing is going to happen between us.” Grace sat up, running her fingers through her wet hair. “He made that perfectly clear the first day. He thinks of me as his sister. Or at least off-limits because I’m Owen’s sister.”
More silence.
Grace got up and put the phone back on the bureau. “It’s better this way. We’re entered in this cooking contest and we need to be able to work together without distraction if we want to win —”
“Hold up. A cooking contest? And since when doesn’t Max distract someone? Hello?”
Grace laughed. “We’re going to compete in a local culinary contest called Honolulu Chop. Or at least I hope so. If we get in, then we’ll compete for four days. One team drops out with each round. But get this —the prize is ten thousand dollars.”
“Ten thousand —wow.” Eden’s voice changed tone, and Grace could hear the latent cheerleader rising. “You can so do this. No one can open a fridge and throw together ingredients like you can.”
“I don’t know. I think Max is the superhero chef here. I’m still trying to figure out how to make poi.”
“Make what?”
“Nothing. There’s a meet and greet tonight, and they finalize the contestants based on a casual, social interview, so you’re just in time to help me pick out a dress.” She went to her closet, opened it. “Green sundress or white floral Hawaiian dress?”
“How about the black cocktail dress I put in your suitcase for exactly this occasion?”
“Ah, that was you. I didn’t know whether to blame Amelia —”
“I have much better taste than Amelia.”
“And much skimpier. Seriously, Eden, did you really expect me to wear this?” Grace pulled the dress off the hanger. A halter-style cocktail dress, with a low back and above-the-knee skirt, it seemed like she might show less flesh in her swimsuit. “Where did you get this anyway?”
“I bought it for a cocktail party Jace invited me to a few weeks ago, but I didn’t have a magnificent tan . . .”
Grace’s skin had darkened to a beautiful penny shade. She looped the halter behind her neck, let the dress drape in front of her as she stood before the mirror.
“You want to get Max’s attention, wear that.”
“Eden!”
“I’m serious, Grace. From what Jace tells me, Max is a great guy. And very single. Do you like him?”
Oh, it went way, way beyond like. But she kept her voice small, bored, easy. “Sure. He’s nice enough.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Grace sat on the bed. “Like I said, he’s not interested —”
“Then make him interested.”
“No. I don’t —I don’t chase after —”
“Something you want?”
Grace swallowed, sighed.
“Isn’t this what the trip is about? Doing something out of your comfort zone?”
“I’m so far outside my comfort zone I’ve lost sight of it.” She got up and unzipped the dress. “I’ve done everything short of surfing here. I even went parasailing.”
“What?”
“Yes.” She climbed into the dress and zipped up the back. “And this competition is me living way outside my boundaries.” She smoothed the dress over her hips and saw that it didn’t dip too low in front, just enough to show off her tan, accentuate her hourglass shape, and reveal her legs. Who knew she could clean up with such class?
In fact, for a second she took her own breath away.
Silence. Then, “You put on the dress, didn’t you?”
Grace sighed. “It’s too . . . much.”
“You look fabulous in it, don’t you?”
She shook her head, reached for the zipper.
“Stop!”
What, could her sister see through the phone? “I can’t —”
“Okay, let’s go back to the competition. You want to get in, right?”
“Of course. We’ve worked so hard. I’ve spent all week in the kitchen practicing and learned how to make every native Hawaiian dish Max knows. I can chop up a coconut and even core a pineapple. I’m so ready for this. If it wasn’t for tonight’s interview —”
“That’s why you have to wear the dress. In this dress, you know you’re amazing. A winner.”
Grace again picked up her hair, held it away from her neck. Tugged a few tendrils around her face. Smiled. Whoops, too much teeth.
“You got this, Sis,” Eden said. “You want it, go get it.”
Go get it.
She did want it, and if this dress helped . . . “I’ll call you if we win.”
“You will,” Eden said. “Love you!”
The call ended, but Grace let her sister’s words linger and find her heart. You want it, go get it.
Yes, tonight she planned on winning.
The twilight had curled in like a mist by the time Grace finished tying up her hair, adding a few floral bobby pins and a silver and faux —she assumed it was faux —diamond necklace that Eden had also shoved into her bag. She’d even found a pair of strappy black sandals about two inches taller than she’d ever worn before. She dearly hoped she didn’t topple over in them.
But she had to admit, next time she left town, she’d require Eden to do all her packing.
Next time . . . ?
Okay, this vacation had sunk deeper into her skin than she imagined. Making her leave her hotel room looking like a woman who’d never known a life of cutoff shorts, pizza stains, and old Deep Haven Huskies hockey T-shirts.
She looked . . . elegant. Refined. Even sexy, although that word seemed unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable as it touched down in her mind.
Confident. Yes, she’d settle on that description. She wrapped a scarf around her shoulders and hit the button for the elevator.
A low whistle filtered down the hall. She turned and startled at the sight of her teacher, Keoni, walking toward her. He wore a white linen suit, his long dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, looking exotic and painfully handsome.
“I didn’t know you were staying here,” she said as the elevator door opened and he held it for her.
“I live on the Big Island, not Oahu, so the school provides lodging.” He stepped in after her, letting his gaze travel over her. “I think someone wants to win this competition.”
She grinned. “I do. It’s more than just the money —and the fun —though. It’s about Max and how much he’s believed in me.”
Oh, maybe that was too much information. She stared straight ahead and tried to keep her face from heating.
Then the elevator doors opened to the lobby and there stood Max.
So much for trying to keep cool. He’d also brought his A game to tonight’s reception. He wore a black suit, tailored to accentuate his wide shoulders and trim waist, and a pink dress shirt, a matching plumeria blossom tucked into the lapel buttonhole. He’d shaved, and the smell of his cologne tugged her out of the elevator. But the expression in his eyes stalled her just a few feet away.
He appeared almost . . . angry?
She wanted to flee the lobby for her room, forget this stupid interview and the fact that she had longed, just a little —or more than a little —for Max to be wowed. Longed to take his breath away.
Grace licked her lips, found her voice. “Too much? I can change —”
“We’ll be late. You look . . . you look . . .” He shook his head. “Let’s just go.”
He held out his arm, but his words cut through her, cold and sharp. She ignored them, bit her lip, and let him lead the way to his car, parked by the entrance. She climbed in, tucking the scarf around her shoulders, tying it in front. Blinking to keep the bite from her eyes.
He got in beside her. “You look real nice.” His tone sounded like he might be congratulating the other team on their victory.
But she did look nice —better than nice —and for a moment she hated him for stealing that from her.
He pulled away from the curb and said nothing during the drive to the reception. She glanced at him once and noticed his hand, whitened on the stick shift. Maybe he was as tense as she was about tonight. She dared a look at his face and found his jaw tight.
He noticed her gaze on him and met it. Offered the smallest smile.
Grace turned away, completely confused.
Music drifted from the glassed-in reception hall tucked into the arching, lush mountains and overlooking the Pacific Ocean. A valet took the car, and Grace conceded to taking Max’s too-muscular arm as he led them up the stairs and into the party.
Inside the hall, the open doors spilled out to the beach, where tiki lights illuminated a path to the ocean. A band played on the lanai, luring people to the outdoor seating.
Tucked surreptitiously around the room, cameramen captured every nuance of the evening —from the flickering candlelight to the excited hum of guests holding champagne glasses, all dressed in high summer fashion. Most of the men wore linen suits, the women in cocktail dresses. She saw Keoni greet a tall, sun-kissed blonde woman in a sarong, her hair loose and cascading down her back.
“That’s Tonie, one of the judges this year. She has a food blog and a show on a local cable network,” Max said.
As if sensing Max’s words, the woman looked over at them, smiling when her gaze fell on Max. Hungry. Interested.
A tiny knot tightened in Grace’s stomach. Good grief, she wasn’t jealous, was she?
“Uh, Max, I thought this was just a local competition. It’s not going to be on any cable shows, right?”
“I don’t know. I think they’ll broadcast it locally, but no, I don’t think anyone outside Hawaii will see it.”
She couldn’t place the feeling inside her —relief? Or maybe disappointment?
Well, they probably wouldn’t even be chosen.
“Let’s eat,” Max said, guiding her toward the food, his hand warm on the small of her back.
A lavish buffet of appetizers spread out as if hinting at the competition awaiting them. Grace left Max and perused the delicacies, reading the cards. Chicken yakitori, spanakopita, assorted dim sum, shrimp tempura, oysters Rockefeller, salmon roulade, ahi poke, sashimi, and grilled garlic shrimp skewers.
Behind her, Max had picked up a plate, started to fill it. Grace, however, had lost her appetite, strangling a bit on the taste of her own imminent failure. The knots in her stomach multiplied.
“I need some air,” she said and headed away from the table, out toward one of the smaller lanais. She stepped into the balmy heat and drank in the cool ocean breeze.
“Are you okay?”
The man, dressed in a black suit, black shirt open at the neck, was nursing a glass of red wine on the next lanai. His words left the tinge of an English accent in the air.
“I’m fine. I’m just . . . nervous, I guess. I didn’t expect to be here. I only came to Hawaii to learn to cook for my sister’s wedding, and suddenly I’m in this crazy contest.” She turned away from him and stared out at the ocean. “Don’t get me wrong —I want to win. I think we can win. Or . . . thought so until now. My cooking partner is so talented. It’s just . . .” She closed her eyes, breathed in more air.
“Just?” he said quietly.
“Lots of pressure. All those cameras watching our every move. And . . .” She looked out toward the ocean, the darkness, the mystery. “I don’t want to let him down.”
“I see.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the man as he took a sip of his drink. He considered his wine, then her, his blue eyes latching on to hers. “Be yourself, keep an open mind, and do your best. I have no doubt you’ll blow everyone away.”
What kind words, and being delivered with that British accent didn’t hurt either. “Thank you.”
He nodded, lifted his glass to her, then turned to go inside.
“They’re introducing the contestants,” Max said behind her.
She followed him inside and stood next to him. From the podium in front, Keoni was introducing the contest and this year’s field of entrants. Six teams all vying for entry, with five slots. Keoni singled out a brother-sister team of native Hawaiian descent, a hippie husband-wife team who ran a café on the North Shore, and a father-son pair from the base at Pearl Harbor. The sight reminded Grace of her father pairing with Owen.
She recognized the two ladies from their class, gussied up in Hawaiian dresses and leis. They waved to the crowd, giggling, as they were introduced.
When Keoni called their names, Max took her hand and raised it with his above their heads. Nodded to the crowd with a “bring it” athlete’s expression.
Super. She’d forgotten his other persona, the hockey player, the guy who didn’t know how to lose. Aka ninja chef on overdrive.
Grace let go of his hand as soon as he lowered hers and wrapped her arms around her waist. She barely heard the names of the last contenders, muscle-built brothers from California who’d flown over for the competition and waved from their perch by the appetizer table.
“When do the interviews start?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Max said, looking over her head around the room, anywhere but at her.
“Max! I didn’t know you were going to compete!”
Grace could have predicted the voice came from Tonie, the blonde. She watched as the woman wrapped an arm around Max’s neck.
Max kissed her on the cheek, his smile warm. “You look gorgeous, as usual,” he said, so much charm in his voice that the dark burn in Grace’s chest could turn her to cinders.
Tonie smiled, lifted a shoulder. “I would have gladly been on your team if you’d called me.”
Uh, I’m standing right here. Grace shook her head and made to move away, but Max caught her with a hand to her back. “Have you met my teammate? Tonie Addison, this is Grace Christiansen.”
Grace held out her hand, found Tonie’s slim and cool in hers. The woman’s eyes held a glint of challenge even as she smiled. “Nice to meet you. Are you a chef?”
Grace couldn’t help it. “Yes. I’m the kitchen manager for a restaurant in northern Minnesota.” She didn’t have to mention it was a pizzeria, right?
“Lovely.” Tonie’s gaze flicked over Grace, her expression hooded. “I wish you the best of luck.” She smiled at Max, then moved away.
“I want to go home,” Grace said quietly, not necessarily to Max, but he caught it.
“What?”
She glanced at beautiful Tonie, with her shimmery skin, the way she could glide through a room. Tonie looked like the perfect partner for Max, the one who could help him win any competition.
Grace just looked like a girl trying way too hard. She rubbed her arms. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. This was a terrible idea. We’re going to get destroyed, knocked out in the first round.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to do this. I feel stupid.”
“Well, you don’t look stupid,” he said gruffly. She probably wore too much hurt in her eyes because suddenly his expression changed. He took her by the elbow and walked her toward the door.
Keoni intercepted them. “Are you leaving?”
Max nodded, and Grace couldn’t look at either of them. Somehow she’d wrecked this entire evening.
“Grace isn’t feeling well,” Max said quietly.
Keoni nodded, something enigmatic in his eyes. “I see.”
“Sorry, dude.”
Keoni said nothing as Max led her outside, handed his ticket to the valet.
“Max, you should stay. I’ll get a cab —”
She didn’t know how it was possible to shiver in Hawaii, but she felt as if she were standing in the middle of a Minnesota snowstorm at the height of January.
In fact, in that moment, she longed for it.
Grace just had to wear that dress.
Just when Max had all his feelings tightly in check and somehow managed to keep himself safe from her effect on him, she had to appear in a dress that could make him forget his own name.
It skimmed over her body like a glove, flaring out just above her knees, the V-neck tempting his eyes to travel where he could get into big trouble. She wore heels, accentuating her beautiful legs, and with her hair piled on top of her head, blonde curls dripping down around her face, she looked nothing like the woman he’d spent the last two weeks with, covered head to toe in her white chef’s apparel.
The moment the elevator doors opened, his breath had squeezed from his lungs, the band around his chest cutting off even his heartbeat. Images from their practice sessions over the past week flashed before him —flour on her chin that he longed to nudge off with his thumb, the way she laughed at his hockey stories while perfecting her poke, even her teasing towel whips as she shooed him away from her manapua dough.
He could nearly hear the walls crumbling, a gritty, brutal crash that left him weak as she floated off the elevator, turning his world to Technicolor. He hadn’t realized he’d been living in black and white and muted grays until that moment.
He smiled . . . or thought he did —he couldn’t remember. And he’d tried to compliment her but had only a vague recollection of something terse emerging from his mouth.
However, whatever he’d offered wasn’t enough because he’d hurt her —he got that when she looked at him in the car, her blue eyes holding back pain.
Right then he’d wanted to pull off to the side of the road, turn to her, and . . .
And . . .
And this was why he agreed to escape the reception. Because if Keoni looked at her again like he’d seen a wave at Mavericks, Max just might toss the surfer chef into the drink. He hadn’t missed her conversation with Chef Michael Rogers on the lanai either. The man had stepped inside the door and gulped the rest of his wine like a shooter of tequila.
Well, Grace did that to a guy. Appeared in his life and knocked the wind right out of him. Max could use his own stiff drink. Or maybe a run down the sand into the cool breeze, the darkness, to clear his head instead of thinking about . . .
“Are you mad at me?”
Grace sat beside him in the convertible, clasping her scarf in front of her. The wind played with her hair, tugging at it, twining long golden strands into the breeze.
“No,” he said but conceded that yes, he sounded angry. Or maybe just focused, although she might not know the difference. He schooled his voice. “No, I’m not angry. I’m . . . I wanted to get into the competition.”
Actually, that wasn’t remotely the truth. He couldn’t care less about this competition, other than its giving poor, desperate him a reason to spend more time with her. As if he could truly teach her something.
Grace could cook circles around him —he’d figured that out on day three when she’d rescued his haupia. He might have taught her how to make a few Hawaiian dishes, but she knew exactly what to add to enhance flavor. She’d even suggested a few substitutions, thinking on her feet. Two days ago she’d created a mouthwatering chicken curry variation to manapua. Yesterday she made mahimahi tacos with fresh cilantro slaw that could make a man follow her to the mainland.
Not that he would, because they were only vacation friends. Just here for another week.
He couldn’t think about that either. Because in a week, it would all be over, every glorious minute where he’d duped himself into believing this would be enough.
Except if she dropped out of the competition, she might also drop out of class. Even get on an airplane.
He couldn’t move, his hands white-gripped on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to be in it also,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what came over me. I just . . .”
He glanced at her, and —oh no, was she crying? Max grimaced and pulled into the nearest parking lot, one stretching along Waikiki Beach, and turned off the car.
For a long moment, he said nothing, only listened to the waves wash to shore, back out again. How had he turned into such a jerk? “I’m sorry. I know I sounded mad and probably even overly competitive —”
“It’s my fault. I saw those cameras and . . . and your friend Tonie and . . .” She looked away, wiped her cheek.
His friend Tonie? “C’mon. Let’s take a walk.” He leaned over, locked his cell phone in the glove compartment, then got out, circled the car, and caught up to her as she opened her door.
“Wait.” He knelt before her, took her slim ankle in his hand, and silently unbuckled her shoe. He did the same with the other, then picked up her spiky heels. In them, she’d stood nearly to his nose, her beautiful eyes so accessible, her lips only —
Yes, this was much better. Now she stood to his shoulder, her power over him diluted.
Until she reached up and pulled her hair out of its twist. When it trickled into the wind, he turned away, letting her shoes dangle from two fingers. He toed off his own shoes as they reached the sand, shoved his socks in them, and took them in his other hand.
His feet sank into the cool, creamy mortar as he led them along the shoreline. A full moon hung over them, turning the waves to an icy shimmer, the water frothy as the surf thundered to shore. He could make out a group of night surfers hot-dogging.
Grace walked beside him wordlessly.
He dug deep, hoping for the right words. “After my dad died, I quit hockey.”
She glanced at him, frowned.
“I couldn’t play anymore. All the joy had gone out of it for me, and it seemed pointless. After all, if he wasn’t there watching my games, why bother?”
They passed the beach area of one resort, moving toward the light of the next. “And then about halfway through the season, my uncle Norm woke me up early one morning, and he and my mom all but wrestled me into the car and drove me to the arena. My old team had a tournament, and they forced me to sit in the stands, watching.”
She had turned to watch him speak —he saw it out of his peripheral vision. But he continued to stare ahead at the glimmering darkness of the ocean, the memory an ache so ripe he could feel it tightening his throat.
“I longed to be on the ice. To hear the roar of the crowd, but also to feel my own power as I skated toward the goal, juking out the goaltender, slapping in the puck. I love the ice. I love playing. I knew that if I gave it up, I wouldn’t be honoring my dad. I’d be turning my back on what he wanted for me. What I wanted for myself.”
She had caught her lip between her teeth and now stared at the ocean too.
“I couldn’t stay in the stands, so at the end of the first period, I went into the locker room and talked to Coach. He let me sit on the bench with the team, and the next day at 5 a.m. I showed up for practice. I haven’t walked off the ice since.”
Grace seemed to be watching her feet kick through the sand. They had passed the second resort. He recognized the boardwalk, the deck, and the palm-edged walkways of their lodgings ahead.
“I don’t know why you’re abandoning the ice, but after these two weeks, I see more in you, Grace, than someone who sits in the stands. You are an amazing chef. You can do this if you want it.”
She looked at him then, and her mouth twitched as if trying to smile. Her eyes glistened, shiny in the moonlight.
He wanted to stop. To take her face in his hands, to run his thumb down her cheek, maybe chase away a tear. Instead he put it all into his voice, softening it, adding the urgency that churned inside him. “And you’re not alone. We make a great team, and I’m in it to win it if you are.”
Something in her eyes shifted as if his words had filtered through the layers of fear or frustration or even disappointment to latch on and pull her out of herself.
“I do want to do it. It’s just . . . I’m in way over my head here.”
Yeah, well, him too, but . . . “I have an idea. C’mon.” He angled across the boardwalk toward the lobby of their hotel.
She trotted after him to keep up. “What are we doing?”
He punched the elevator button and got on with her. At her floor, he handed over her shoes. “Change into your swimsuit and meet me here in ten minutes.”
She frowned, but he answered with a grin, something birthed from the idea swirling inside. “Trust me.”
When she nodded, it was all he needed to head upstairs, change into his doggers and surf shirt, and race back down, towel around his neck. He slipped a tip to the concierge, who let him into the surf shack. He picked out a board and a long-sleeved rash guard and returned to find Grace in the lobby.
She wore a pair of swim shorts and a tankini top, her towel draped around her neck.
He handed her the rash guard as she eyed the board. “Put this on.”
“Max . . .” She glanced beyond him at the board leaning against the arched door. “You do know it’s night.”
“Yep.” Grabbing the board, he jogged off the deck, down the boardwalk, toward the beach. He glanced over his shoulder, just to confirm that she’d followed him.
“Max?”
“Trust me!”
He headed down to the water, stopping where the waves creased the shore, the sand thick and swampy. Foam lapped at his feet, tugging at him, urging him into the cool mystery of the dark Pacific.
Grace caught up. He turned, grabbed her towel and his, and tossed them back onshore.
She was staring at him not unlike that first day, when she realized he meant it when he said he’d take her sightseeing. The words came easily. “I’m your swim buddy, remember?”
She nodded, not a hint of confidence in her face.
“It’s time for you to swim.”
He held out his hand and imagined it took everything inside her to grab it. But she did, and he walked her out into the surf. He reached waist level and stopped. “Get on the board.”
“Really?”
“I want you to feel the water under you, to catch the rhythm of the wave.”
She climbed aboard and he affixed the surf leash to her ankle.
“Stretch out on it, your chest in the middle, and start paddling. I’m right here with you.”
She began to dog-paddle, and he kept one hand on the board as they ventured out. The beach sloped slowly, shallow long into the ocean, so he touched bottom even as they paddled out past the break zone to deeper water. He finally started treading but kept the board in reach with Grace angled out toward the ocean.
“Sit up and balance. Feel the water move under you.”
She sat up, dangling her feet. The moon trailed an iridescent finger along the water, and she sat in a puddle of brilliance, her skin glistening. She had the power of a mermaid, the ability to bewitch him, pull him under.
He shook free and turned, one hand on the board, as he watched the waves. “Look for lumps on the horizon. Those are called sets, and in them are the waves that you might catch. If you ride over the swell, they’ll surge by you, then peak and break. Beginning surfers have to learn how to read a wave and find the right one. Sure, you’ll choose the wrong wave, but you just paddle back out and try again.”
She was watching the horizon, her hands circling in the water.
“Now, when you find the right wave, you’re going to turn around and paddle hard to get under it. You’ll have to start paddling before it gets to you, and if it goes past you, then you’ve lost it.”
“And I have to try again.”
“Right. But tonight I’ll get you in position.”
“You want me to actually surf?”
More challenge than panic in her voice, and that’s why he loved her.
No . . . liked. Enjoyed.
“Once I catch the wave, what do I do?”
“You have to get up. You get your knees under you, then push with your arms and pop up, balancing with one foot in front, the other in back. But tonight, I just want you to ride the wave in. We’ll work on getting up later —”
“I wanna try.”
He looked at her.
“I’m going to try.” She’d set her jaw, tight, almost angry.
Okay, then. Max stared out into the horizon. The night cast an eerie quietness over the dark waters, and for a second he feared what might be below, unseen. Strange because he’d always loved the bite of danger, the sense of skirting death, the adrenaline of living recklessly.
Now, the fear came quickly, settled in his gut, tingled through him. As if for the first time it might actually take root.
“Now?”
A set of swells came toward them, but he shook his head. “Not yet.”
They bobbed in the water, letting them ride by. Then another set. Finally, “Okay, I think these are the ones. Let’s get you turned around, and when I tell you to, paddle hard. When you feel the wave begin to take you, get your knees under you and pop up on the board. Or . . . you can just stay on your knees.”
“Just tell me when.”
He turned her around as she stretched out on the board. Read the sets and —“Now. Paddle hard.” He pushed her out at an angle, then paddled with her, just to get her going.
But she was windmilling hard in the water and he could see the wave lift her. “Stand up!”
Grace pushed up to her knees and stayed there for a second —so long that he thought she might just . . . Suddenly she popped to her feet. She balanced there, a perfect silhouette against the light of the moon, the sparkling water.
The wave carried her in. It wasn’t pretty, or even remotely correct, but she stayed on, almost all the way to shore before the board slowed. Then she paddled air, losing her balance, splashing into the water.
Max swam hard toward her.
Ten feet from him, Grace sprang up, laughing, water streaming from her mane of gold hair. “Wow —I did it! I did it!”
Before he knew it, she’d launched herself at him, diving into his arms, hers curling around his neck.
The warmth of her body jolted him, but he reacted fast. He caught her at the waist, stood in the water and swung her around, feeling how small and perfect and —
Oh, boy. He wanted to stay right here, holding her, molding her to himself in the darkness, the vastness of the ocean around them.
Safe from time and life and especially incurable diseases that would steal the magic away.
How he hated his life sometimes, the part that stole his tomorrows.
She leaned back, met his eyes. “I did it.”
His gaze caught on the shimmer of water on her eyelashes. If he angled his head down, he could just brush her lips —
Max found a smile, praying that his heart didn’t actually explode from his chest. “Yeah, you did. You’re a regular surfing Betty!” He heard his own too-exuberant enthusiasm. But maybe it would hide the tightening of his throat, the desire that thrummed through him.
“A what?”
“Nothing. You were fabulous.” Yeah, that sounded nearly normal. He put her down, let her back away. Cleared his throat. “Wanna go again?”
“No.” She stood in the water, hands on her hips. “I shouldn’t have let a few fancy appetizers, wandering cameras, and a hot blonde scare me away from the goal line.”
“Is that a football reference? Because I don’t do football —”
“But you do cook. We cook. And we’ll be an amazing team if we can just get a chance to compete. I wanna call Keoni and tell him that we want our interview. I’ll beg him if I have to.”
“What are you talking about? We had our interview. You talked with Chef Rogers on the lanai, and Tonie already knows I can cook. Not to mention Keoni was the one who pushed us into this in the first place.”
She stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“Those are the judges, Grace. And if they like us, we’re in.”
Her eyes went big. “I hope they like us.”
“They will,” he said. “They’ll love us.”
She smiled, something soft and perfect and brilliant in the moonlight, and he wished for a wave to knock him over and sweep him out to sea.
Or maybe he’d already been swept away.