Heat Wave

I try not to smile. “I went to bed early. Turkey coma.”


She seems to buy that and pushes out her belly in a vain effort to be relatable. “I feel you on that. It was awesome though,” she adds quickly. “Your mashed yams are a million times better than my grandma’s mashed potatoes that’s for sure.”

I take the compliment with thanks and hurry back to my room to take a proper shower, all the while my eyes going over the grounds, looking to see if I can spot Logan already. Even though we’ve been apart for, oh, I don’t know, twenty-minutes, I already have that itching need to see him again, like a junkie seeking her high. It’s ridiculous and I don’t even care that it’s ridiculous.

Luckily I have work to distract me and I head into the kitchen earlier than I should, an hour before Johnny is supposed to show up.

Since I started working at Moonwater, I’ve had some creative input in the dishes and a few of them have really taken off. But I haven’t had that kind of urge that used to plague me when I was a struggling chef-to-be. There’s something to be said about the monotony of being a line cook that really gets your mind and heart wandering, dreaming about what kind of dishes you’d be serving and making if the restaurant was yours.

Here, I have the freedom and yet, until today, I haven’t really felt the urge. Maybe because moving here has been such a distraction, maybe because I just haven’t felt that creative push. After all, it’s taken me nearly two months now to really get into the swing of things and know the job and the food and the people.

But with knowledge comes confidence. And with happiness comes creativity. As I stand in the kitchen, taking a look at all our ingredients, glancing over the menu, I can feel everything come together with one jab of inspiration.

I’m thinking about Logan and how hard he’s had to work to get this hotel up and running. I’m thinking about the hardships he’s had to face with Juliet gone. I’m thinking about Juliet and the pride she must have taken in Moonwater, even if she took none in her marriage. I’m thinking about the way Logan looked at me last night, the way he looked at me this morning, the way it felt to have him inside me, wanting me in every single way. I’m thinking about my family here, how people have my back for maybe the first time ever.

All of those feelings are boiling to the surface and there’s only one way for me to express it. I need to create something that would please everyone, that would be bring us all together. I need to make Moonwater’s signature dish, something a bit salty, spicy, sweet. Something that tickles all the senses and makes eating the pleasure that it should be.

I get to work. I don’t even think, I just run off of this creative juice that’s replaced my blood. I think of plumeria flowers and creamy sand beaches and salty-breezes and the freshest fish. I think of eating fruit; fresh mango from the stands in Hanalei, the juices running down my arms and pulling over in Charlie’s truck to buy green coconuts that you drink from the shell. I think of humpback whales frolicking off shore, happy to be alive in these warm waters, thriving under the sun.

By the time Johnny comes in for his shift, I’m done and staring at the plate with a discerning eye, not sure if what I created is total garbage or not.

“Aye, Ronnie,” Johnny says, grabbing his apron off the wall. “You’re here early. What are you doing?”

“Honestly I don’t know,” I answer absently, still searching the dish for some sign that it’s edible.

“Is that Mahi Mahi?” he asks, bending down to sniff it. “My god, that smells amazing. What did you do?” He’s practically salivating.

“Try it,” I tell him.

He purses his lips together, frowning. “Is it laced with arsenic?”

“Just do it. I haven’t tried it yet. I have no idea if any of it works.”

He shrugs. “Well if it tastes even a fraction as good as it smells,” he says, grabbing a fork. He eats like a tasting judge would, getting a little bit of the fish, a little bit of the rice and a little bit of the sauce and flowers.

I hold my breath as he puts it in his mouth and after one chew, his eyes are shutting and the most orgasmic noise comes out of him. I never thought I’d see Big J’s O-face and it’s mildly disconcerting.

“What the hell is this?” he asks incredulously and when he opens his eyes, they’re dancing.

I try not to get giddy. “I wanted to create Ohana Lounge’s signature dish. So this is it, the aptly named, Ohana Mahi Mahi.”