Heat Wave

To be honest, I was kind of grateful for it. My body really did hurt from the accident and my mind was having a hard time slipping back into reality. But it wasn’t the trauma of nearly being swept away that had my brain all up in knots, it was what happened with Logan.

What could have happened. Kate told me to open my eyes, and now I was looking back on everything, dissecting every word, every touch, every gaze. Could Logan have feelings for me in the ways I never let myself imagine? How different are our interactions now compared to that moment we first met?

And like clockwork I would remind myself that nothing good could come of this. And in turn it made me want to think about him even more.

Tonight, though, it’s the luau. I finally got back to work yesterday and spent the whole day with Johnny and Charlie preparing the feast. We’ve got eleven guests signed up, way smaller than your average luau, but at least it’s something we can handle. All the side dishes are ready to go with only some reheating at the time of the feast, and of course there’s the whole kalua pig that we’re going to cook underground.

That’s all Johnny’s job. I’m watching and learning but he’s the pro here. My contribution was making traditional poi, which is basically mashed up taro root until it has a pudding consistency. I wanted so badly to sweeten the goop up, even with something like agave syrup, but Johnny chastised me for the thought. The purple white goop must be eaten as it—bland and tasteless.

There’s an electricity crackling in the air tonight, and it’s not just the dark clouds that have gathered at the Na Pali Coast, burying the sunset and reducing it to streams of orange and red. All of us are helping out and a few of our on-call waitresses are on duty.

The grassy area beside the restaurant has been transformed into a tiki-styled paradise, with lit torches around the tables. There’s even a small band and a hula dancer.

Johnny, Charlie and I dish out the food, Big J cutting into the roasted pig with a pride I’d never seen before, and Daniel’s special Mai Tai punch starts making the rounds. The live music starts, giving us a moment to relax in the background, the three of us taking a seat at a small fold-out table behind the food as we watch.

It’s pretty magical. Not just because it’s my first luau, but because I finally feel at home. Daniel comes by and gives me a glass of the punch as the band plays a quiet number (oh who am I kidding, they’re all quiet numbers) and the hula dancer sways to the music. One of the members reads out the interpretation of the dance and I’m lost in the girl’s movement and grace.

“Do you know what the band is called?” Charlie whispers in my ear. “Three men and a Ukulele.” He pauses. “Wait, you’re old enough to remember that Tom Selleck film, right?”

I laugh. “Are you?”

“I thought it was Ted Danson,” Johnny says as Daniel hands him his glass. “Hey Danny Boy, you ever watch Cheers? Did Sam Malone make you want to be a bartender?”

“Are you kidding me?” Daniel says, thumbing the collar of his ever-present Hawaiian shirt, “I’m the tropical version of him.”

“Pretty sure the tropical version of Sam Malone is Tom Cruise in Cocktail,” Charlie says, taking a sip of the drink. He coughs, his face going red. “Jesus, Dan. What the hell did you put in here?”

Dan shrugs. “Figured the drunker the guests got, the more they’d think the night was a success. You know, in case things went to shit.” He looks over his shoulder at one of the tables where Logan is standing, glass in hand, and talking to the guests. “And I may have given Logan an extra lethal dose or two. Figured the habut could loosen up a bit.”

Charlie and Johnny burst out into gleeful laughter, like wicked schoolchildren, while my eyes are still focused solely on Logan.

He looks nothing short of amazing, actually. I wish I could say otherwise, but at this point I’m starting to realize that he could wear a potato sack and look as hot as fuck. And hell, I’m imagining that potato sack right now, the way it would show off his muscular thighs, and I’m practically squirming in my seat.

Fuck it. I’m owning this feeling. I have an even bigger sip of my drink, enjoying the fruity burn as it goes down, and commit myself to not giving a shit tonight. For once I just want to feel everything but the shame.

Logan isn’t wearing a potato sack of course, but a white short-sleeved shirt that’s unbuttoned enough to show a hint of his chest, and knee-length black shorts. His hair is pushed off his forehead, his beard trimmed, his skin a golden tan. I should be looking anywhere else, but I can’t tear my eyes off of him.

He looks up, his gaze meeting mine for the first time tonight. I can only stare right back as seconds pass between us, the connection a livewire, palpable. Even with the distance and the people between us, his eyes seem to crackle and flame like the torches in the background.

“Aloha kaua,” Johnny says, his voice making me jump.