Page 11 of Hula Girl

Before she can turn on her heel, I stand.

“Chickens stay out of your way this time?” I ask with a grin.

There’s a moment of hesitation before she seems to decide to give me a chance. It’s what I’d hoped would happen by bringing that up. When she smiles, I have final confirmation of what I’d suspected earlier: There is something irresistible about this girl. I know it by the way I’m suddenly desperate for her to stay, by the way I want her to get close enough to me so that I can tell whether she’s wearing perfume, by the way I’ve lost sight of anyone else in this place. It’s a strong reaction. I don’t usually respond to women like this. I’m usually a take ’em or leave ’em kind of guy. I just don’t tend to get invested in women, as some of my ex-girlfriends would likely say in a more accusatory way. But this thing with Hula Girl feels different.

“Glad you came,” I tell her when she joins me at my table. “What’s your drink? Me, I’m having tequila. It’s the sipping kind. Good stuff. Not that trash you have to throw back in a hurry.”

She eyes me for a minute. “I do like good tequila.”

I gesture for her to take the chair I’d offered Makai. When she sits, I push my shot glass in front of her and ask Makai for another. He grumbles and waves at me dismissively but ambles over to fill my order once more.

“So,” I say, “mission accomplished?”

She gives me a blank stare. “What?”

“You said this morning you were on a mission. To buy a laptop?”

“Oh, right.” She shakes her head. “I decided that the chicken running me off the road was a sign reminding me to, you know,beon vacation, not work. So, I didn’t end up going to town after all.”

“I have the feeling that was the right decision.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Nobody should be as wound tight as you were this morning.”

When she laughs this time, it’s more out of disbelief than humor. Like I said, I should probably know better when to hold back. It’s just not in my nature, I guess.

“Well, that’s an interesting way to welcome a girl. Call her uptight?”

Thankfully, she seems more amused than angry. And better yet, Makai interrupts the moment by setting down another shot of tequila.

“Poke?” he asks gruffly.

Hula Girl looks confused.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“I, um—” she starts before Makai interrupts.

“I’ll bring two.”

She watches as he shuffles away.

“Don’t worry about him,” I say. “What he lacks in charm, he makes up for in poke.”

Laughing, she asks, “Whatispoke?”

“Oh, my dear Hula Girl. Are you ever in for a treat if you’ve never had poke before. Makai’s version will knock your”—I pause to look at her feet under the table—“sandals off. You’ll be ruined for any other poke after this.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Surfer Boy.”

I like that she’s given me a nickname in return. Makes me think we’re off to a nice start. “It’s fish. Some of the freshest tuna you’ll ever have. It comes with rice and vegetables and an umami sauce that you’ll crave for weeks afterward.”

“You certainly know how to talk things up. First the tequila, now this?”

I shrug. “It’s just about appreciating the simple things.”

“Next, you’ll tell me you’re just living ‘one wave at a time,’ right?”

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