Heat Wave

“It was hot,” I tell her, my throat parched.

“You’ll get used to it,” she says, strutting out of the room. She’s wearing the tiniest boy shorts and I find myself both admiring her tiny, peach-shaped ass and envying it. No way I’m walking around like that. I have something called a booty and cellulite.

“But,” she continues, her voice coming from the kitchen, “it’s so hella humid here that everything will be soaked overnight. It will take days for our sheets to feel close to normal again.”

I sit up and run my hands over them. She’s right. They’re almost sticky.

“Sorry,” I tell her, feeling like a total boob. “Won’t happen again.”

“Oh I know. We always learn.”

I sigh, swinging my feet over the edge of the bed.

“Coffee?” Kate asks, appearing back in front of me with a mug in hand. “Wasn’t sure if you drank it or not but then I remember you’re a chef. It’s in your blood.”

I manage a smile and tell her thanks as I take the mug, not bothering to correct her that I’m not quite a chef yet. I hope to god that whatever moaning I was doing in my dream I wasn’t doing in real life. Jesus. What the hell was I doing having a sex dream about Logan anyway? I can practically still feel his breath at my back, the way he made me feel deep down in my soul, like I was finally submitting to something that had been denied to me for so long.

I shake my head.

“Jetlagged?” Kate asks. I look up to see her frowning at me.

“Oh. Well, yeah,” I tell her, busying myself with a sip of my coffee. At least she knows how to make a decent pot. “What time is it?”

“Six thirty,” she says. “Normally I wouldn’t expect you to get up when I get up but I remember the first week I was here, dealing with the time change. My eyes were open like bing! Every morning at four am. It was great actually. Got in some morning surfs. There’s nothing better.”

“You surf?” I ask her, folding my legs under me into a cross-legged position, the damn sheets sticking to my skin.

She gives me a look of disbelief. “Yes. It’s kind of what you do here.”

“Is that why you moved here?”

She seems to think that over, tilting her head until her dark hair falls half across her face. “I thought it was. I honestly just wanted to live in paradise. I thought coming here would make my life a million times better.”

“And did it?”

She gives me a look I can’t read. “Maybe. A job is a job. A home is a home. Why not have both those things in a place like this?” She nods to the ocean.

“And love?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “You are far too deep for this time of day. No one comes to Hawaii looking for love, got it? Love of life, maybe. But men? Nah. I had better luck in San Francisco, believe it or not. It might not seem like it right now but an island is a small place. Just 60,000 people live on this island and there’s no escape. Pretty sure I’ve dated everyone there is.”

Now it’s my turn to let out a snort. “Really?”

She manages a wry grin. “It feels like it, anyway.”

“Anyone from here? Moonwater?”

She shrugs and turns away, walking back to the kitchen. “Maybe.”

Maybe. Right. Well, I’m going to go ahead and assume that Charlie was one of them, just because the two of them are both very attractive young people with a similar approach to the opposite sex.

Then a terrible thought strikes me.

Logan.

Kate is so damn pretty, it would be extremely easy to imagine her and Logan together. Fuck. What if she was the other woman?

I try not to think about it. I have to tell myself that there would be no way that Kate would still be working here if that were the case. She seems to have some decency.

“Not that it’s any of my business,” Kate says from the kitchen. I can hear toast pop up in the toaster. “But what exactly brought you out here? I’ve seen your resume. I can’t imagine that working at Moonwater is a step up for you.”

I’m not sure how truthfully I want to answer. I give her my stock one, which is still the truth. “It’s not easy finding a job in Chicago. The restaurant scene is highly competitive. I had to move back in with my parents and I was pretty much going crazy when this opportunity came up.”

“Right,” she says, coming back into view, munching on a piece of toast with avocado mashed on top. She leans casually against the wall. Still in her underwear. “So is Logan helping you out or are you helping Logan out?”

I swallow down the rest of the coffee. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“Can I give you some advice?” she says. “You’re helping Logan out. That’s all you need to know. Never give him the upper hand.”