Page 13 of Hula Girl

“Such as?”

“Well, if you went to one that truly focused on the tradition behind it, you’d see that it’s a celebration of music and food. The authentic food is amazing. Like kalua pork that’s been buried and roasted overnight in the beach, fresh poi—that’s taro root—local purple sweet potatoes, and even poke. Most kids have one for their first birthday and then it keeps on going for other milestones. It’s a really cool way to share stories and catch up with the community.”

There’s a new sense of appreciation in her eyes. I’m glad to have enlightened her. Hawai‘i has become such a cliché for so many people that they lose sight of the basis for all those tourist things they’ve come to roll their eyes at.

“And I suppose you can enlighten me on what hula is really about, too?”

“Besides being hella sexy, you mean?”

She laughs. “Yes, besides your peculiar fixation on that point.”

I laugh. “Well, it’s definitely more than all the cheesy tourist versions would have you believe. There’s Hula Kahiko, the ancient style, and Hula Auana, the modern style, that would be more familiar to you now. The first one was an homage to the gods and tells the stories of Hawai‘i. But they say it was only danced by men. So, you can guess that I’m a bigger fan of the second one.”

She laughs. “Somehow not surprised.”

I give her a wink. “Exactly. So this modern version is less religious but still tells stories about Hawai‘i. And it’s got more westernized music and singing. And it’s a bit more … sensual. At least by my take.”

She raises her eyebrows at this last bit but holds back any comment. I get lost in her sparkling brown eyes for a moment. There’s a tease in her gaze. And something more alluring. I like it.

“So, are you vacationing on your own? No boyfriend?” I ask.

“Um, no. Not at the moment.”

“I bet you won’t be single for long.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re fun. I bet you get hit on all the time.”

“No, not really.”

“Because you close yourself off?” I ask, examining her. “Yeah, I could see that. Some guys don’t like to put in the effort to get past the don’t-fuck-with-me vibe some girls project.”

“I don’t think I—”

“Doesn’t bother me, Hula Girl. Shouldn’t keep any real man from wanting to get past it.”

“And you’re arealman, I suppose?”

I know how to take an opening when I see one. I lean forward, level my eyes on her, and put on the intense expression I know women usually fall for. “You better believe it, honey.”

She takes that in and smiles appreciatively at me. We stew for a minute in this magnetic thing we’ve got going until Makai interrupts to offer us a refill on our drinks and I readily accept. She doesn’t seem to mind as we then drink quietly for a time, content to just be while we take sips. Eventually, her eyes drop from mine and she turns contemplative.

She murmurs something but I can’t quite catch what she’s saying.

“What’s that?”

She looks startled by my query as if she hadn’t meant to say anything out loud just now. “Oh. Um, my father. I was just thinking he would have appreciated this.”

“Would have?”

Taking a deep breath, she nods. Her expression has morphed into something different. It’s gone sad, regretful. “He’s passed away.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to say that.”

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