They had reached a set of sliding doors that led to a flower-filled, glass-walled sunroom dominated by a towering Christmas tree covered with poinsettias and yet more white lights. At their arrival, an enormous orange cat sleeping on a bamboo chair lifted her head. Obviously deciding they weren’t worth the effort it would take to wake up, she closed her amber eyes and dismissed them by flicking her striped tail over her nose.
“Lani!” A tall, silver-haired man—who gave Donovan the idea of what Nate would look like when he was older—rose from a wicker throne chair and came toward them, his tanned face wreathed in a welcoming smile. Backing up his daughter’s claim about casual dress being appropriate dinner attire, he was wearing a pair of drawstring white cotton pants, flip-flops, and a purple shirt printed with palm trees and coconuts.
“You’re a vision of loveliness tonight,” Thomas Breslin said as he wrapped his arms around Lani in a bear hug, as if it had been months since he’d seen her. Lani had often thought that while she’d inherited her looks from her mother, her natural exuberance—which her last year in L.A. had nearly knocked out of her—had come from this man’s DNA.
After he’d released her, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I do believe I’ll paint you, my dear, wearing that very dress.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll want the correct light, of course. Sunrise, I should think.” He nodded with satisfaction. “Definitely sunrise. It’ll bring out the fire in your hair.”
“You know how much I adore you, Daddy,” Lani said, “but if you expect me to pose for you before noon, you’re crazy.”
“Humph.” He turned his attention to Donovan. “What do you think?” he demanded. “Aren’t I right? She should be painted with the first fingers of dawn rising over her shoulder.”
“And her titian hair blowing free in the wind, like a wayward sea sprite,” Donovan agreed.
“Exactly.” Lani’s father leaned forward, lifting her hair in soft clouds that drifted over her bare shoulders.
“Father,” she said sternly as she backed away, “that’s enough for now.” Lani was uncomfortable having the two men discuss her as if she were nothing more than some inanimate object he intended to paint. She’d seen her father look that same way at a pear. Or a tree. Or a fish, during his island marine life stage.
“It’s good to see you again, Dr. Breslin,” Donovan said.
“And you, my boy.” Having always been a toucher, Thomas ignored the outstretched hand, giving Donovan an effusive, one-arm guy lean-in hug that ended with three manly pats on the back. “You’ve stayed away too long.”
“It’s been awhile,” Donovan agreed. “I’m afraid time got away from me while I found myself caught up in life.”
“He’s become a workaholic,” Lani divulged.
“Nate suggested that was the case when he and the lovely Tess were here for Thanksgiving,” Thomas said. “Well, we’ll just have to break you of unfortunate habits.” Lani watched a line etch its way across Donovan’s forehead and suspected he was getting tired of people criticizing his work.
“Did you paint the woman in the airport?” he asked in a less-than-subtle attempt to shift the topic away from himself.
“Saw the painting, did you?” Thomas said with obvious pride. “What did you think?”
“I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Lani hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled a sigh of relief and gave Donovan an appreciative smile.
“I like this one,” Thomas announced. “Where have you been hiding him, Lani?”
“Portland,” she answered absently, her eyes moving toward the draped easel in the corner. It was so big. Why couldn’t her father take up painting miniatures? “Nate sent him to me for Christmas.”
Thomas nodded in much the same manner his wife had, on hearing the news. “Your brother always did have good taste in gifts… No peeking!”
Thomas’s deep voice boomed suddenly, causing Lani to jerk her fingers away from the edge of the white sheet. “We’ll have the unveiling in due course. After dinner. A little suspense will heighten the appreciation. In the meantime, after you call your friend, why don’t you help your mother in the kitchen, my dear, while your young man and I discuss the merits of early morning light.”
He put his arm around Donovan’s shoulder, leading him over to the pair of chairs. “Tallulah, it’s time for you to join the ladies in the kitchen,” he instructed firmly.
The orange tabby opened one yellow eye and looked up at him, apparently unmoved by his request.
“Come along, dear,” Kalena coaxed, “we’re having opakapaka baked in banana leaves tonight, and I saved back a bit of the fish fillet just for you.”
She’d apparently said the magic word. The cat stretched in a slow, fluid movement, then jumped lightly onto the floor and followed the two women out of the room.