Page 8 of Hula Girl

By the time I make it to the Kapalua Coastal Trail, the sun has risen enough to ensure my run along the volcanic rock path is safe. The air smells sweet, and the water is the deepest blue. When the waves crash against the cliffside, the whitewash splashes up and glitters in the morning light. Even though I’d still rather be back at work, I do appreciate the beauty and tranquility of this spot.

After I’ve run the entire route, about four miles round trip, I stop and take advantage of a natural formation that works as a chair. I sit and stare out at the ocean for a long while. The regret I have for how impulsively I broke up with Bryce is something I can live with. I don’t want him back. I just wish I had dealt with it better. It’s the mistake I made at work that bothers me more. My instinct is to redouble my efforts, to work even harder. But there’s a part of me that isn’t sure that will get me what I need. Because I’m starting to understand that I need some kind of change in my life. I’ve finally begun to think I need areallife. One that is about more than work.

I just don’t know if I’m even capable of opening myself up to that.

* * *

After showeringand grabbing a quick breakfast of local fruits and coffee, it’s still only seven o’clock. That means another long day stretches out in front of me.

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I call for my rental car at the valet and set off in search of a store to buy a laptop, not even thinking of the fact that such stores wouldn’t be open at this hour.

A working vacation is better than nothing, I rationalize as I fiddle with the GPS. I’m not all that far from the hotel when I realize I’ve started in the wrong direction. I have to go several miles more before I can find a spot to make a U-turn. Just as I get going on the road that will lead me to some kind of civilization, a chicken appears in front of me.

Yes, a chicken.

Tons of wild chickens roam all over the island, and everyone just lets them be. It’s a little weird.

This particular chicken startles me so much that I slam on the brakes and swerve onto a dirt road, not wanting to hit it. Coming to a stop, I try to catch my breath. My adrenaline is pumping.

Over a chicken.

Laughing, I shake my head.

Once more, however, I need to find a spot to turn around. I slowly continue down the rust-colored dirt path. The road isn’t wide enough to make an easy turn, so I keep going, hoping it will open up. On either side of the road, tall green grass cast golden by the morning sunlight, waves in the breeze. It feels like it’s just me out here, and for a moment, I don’t mind. I don’t think about my mission to go find a laptop. I don’t think about how much longer Ihaveto stay on vacation. I don’t think about the mistakes I made. Instead, I roll down my window and put my arm out, letting my fingers graze the tips of the grass as I go unhurriedly by.

It’s a fleeting moment of peace because soon I’ve come to the end of the path. It overlooks the ocean from at least two stories above and is a breathtaking vista. I drag my eyes away from the expansive blue water and realize the area has opened up with plenty of room to make a U-turn, even with the handful of other cars parked here.

Deciding I’d better use this opportunity to get a better sense of where I’m going, I park the car, grab my cell phone, and step out. The salty air is humid as I watch the scattering of surfers down below. A few of them catch a long, rolling wave, but most hold back. It’s hard to tell from here whether the waves would be considered “good.” What I can see is that there are a lot of rocks, even a large outcropping, that must be avoided. It looks dangerous, leading me to think that the surfers must be well experienced if they’re out there.

Turning to my phone, I quickly find that I have absolutely no service. I fiddle with it anyway, hoping that if I angle it one way or the other, I’ll get a couple bars. Nothing. Desperate, I hold it up over my head and wave it around a little.

“If you add a little hula dance, it just might work.”

I gasp at the suggestive words directed at me, turning to find a grinning man to my left. It takes me a second to realize how foolish I had probably looked as I contorted to try to find a signal on my phone and that this stranger is teasing me over it.

Check that.

Thisgorgeousstranger.

The man is tall with lean, sculpted muscles straining against his thin T-shirt, a chiseled jaw lightly covered by the scruff of a beard, and defined cheekbones. His skin is tan, his eyes are pale brown with gold flecks, and his medium-brown hair is on the shorter side and untamed. But it’s his playful smile that does me in. And it’s the upturn at one corner of his mouth that has me wanting to taste his lips.

There’s an expression in Spanish that perfectly captures how positively delicious someone like him is:Es un mango.

He’s a mango. A sweet,juicyfruit.

“I was just playing,” he says, thankfully pulling me from my completely inappropriate thoughts. “Odds are good you won’t be able to use that thing out here, though. You need help with something?”

Uh, yeah, I need help. I need help pulling my tongue up off the dirt and back into my mouth. Figuratively, at least. He is objectively one of the finest men I’ve ever seen. And he’s left me speechless. I realize I must look like one of those hyper-dramatic actresses in a telenovela, at a loss for words when faced with a handsome stranger. I remind myself that I’m a thirty-year-old attorney and that I need to snap out of it.

“No, no thank you,” I say, standing taller. “I’m fine.”

“You sure about that? You really seemed to want to get that phone to work.”

God, even his voice is sexy. It’s deep, but with a hint of raspiness.

I can’t remember the last time I was so intensely attracted to someone. It sure wasn’t like this with Bryce. I mean, he checked all the boxes: handsome, smart, in great shape. But there was no realheatbetween us.

And even though this stranger is still eyeing me with amusement, waiting for me to answer and probably thinking I’m some sort of flaky weirdo,heatis exactly what I feel between us.

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