Page 196 of Banter & Blushes

Briella loads up her plate with pineapple and pancakes and adds a cinnamon pastry for good measure. I’m not even pretending to make healthy choices. I grab three pancakes, a scoop of scrambled eggs, and double bacon.

Back at the table, she cuts into her pancake and hums after the first bite, doing a little happy dance. “Okay, this is magic. Like, actually. They might put lava in the batter.”

I raise a brow. “Molten flapjacks? Sounds dangerous.”

“Worth it,” she says, nudging me with her foot under the table.

She doesn’t pull it away right away.

My heart does that thing it’s been doing all morning—fluttering somewhere betweendon’t ruin thisandtake the risk already.

“So,” I say, spearing a piece of pineapple. “Do you think you could live somewhere like this?”

She tilts her head, thinking. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s paradise. But I think part of what makes it so special is that it’s not everyday life, you know?”

“You don’t think you’d get used to morning lava views and perfect weather?”

She laughs. “I think I’d start taking it for granted.”

I nod slowly. “That’s fair. I think I just want to bottle this up and keep it.”

She looks at me. “Me too.”

For a moment, we just sit in the glow of it all. The lava, the morning light, the fullness that has nothing to do with breakfast.

Then she leans back, wiping her hands with her napkin. “Okay. I’m officially fueled up. Want to chase a waterfall?”

“Always,” I say, standing to grab our brochure from the corner of the table. “Rainbow Falls, here we come.”

The drive upthe coast is quiet. She plays music from her phone—a mix of indie pop and soft acoustic stuff that sounds exactly like her—and I let the scenery pass in silence, stealing glances at her when I think she’s not looking.

Rainbow Falls looks like a picture from a novel. The water pours over a wide cliff and crashes into a deep pool below. Thick green vines trail over the rocks, and a tangle of banyan roots curves like sculpture in the background. We take photos. Walk the path. Read the legend about Maui and his mother and how the falls were named.

She takes it all in like she wants to remember every second. And so do I.

“Want to see what other trails we can find?” I ask after we’ve soaked up the falls.

She nods. “How could I say no to that?”

We find a smaller trail nearby that winds toward another pool. It’s only a two-mile loop, the sign says. Easy. We hike in comfortable silence, the sun filtering through thick branches above us. The air smells like wet earth and flowers. Somewhere ahead, I can hear water moving.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

She glances sideways. “Just how beautiful it is here. And how I don’t want to forget any of this.”

I want to tell her I won’t let her. That I’ll remember it for both of us.

But instead, I just say, “Me either.”

The path dips suddenly, turning muddy beneath our feet. I’m about to warn her when I hear the yelp.

I spin around just in time to see her feet slip out from under her. She lands in a patch of reddish-brown clay, arms flailing, a shriek of surprise turning into laughter.

“Whoa—”

I hurry back to her. “You okay?”

She blinks up at me from the mud, then breaks into a full-body laugh. “Oh my gosh. I look like a swamp creature.”

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