Page 188 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Raz pulled her in a little closer. “Yes, they’re used for making leis. The text from Briggs mentioned that Milo’s family owned an agricultural business on the island.”
“We’re on one of the Hawaiian Islands?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“We are.”
Her heart jumped into her throat as the rows of flowering trees disappeared, and an expanse of shoreline shimmered in the early morning light. It was like something one would see on a postcard…or a television program.
Television.
A lightness took over as a thrumming euphoria expanded in her chest. The energy ebbed and flowed within her, gently, like the soothing rhythm of the sea.
Milo pulled over and cut the engine. “This is where I leave you. There are no roads from here. Follow the path. The rock stacks will let you know you’re on the main trail. You can’t miss the bungalow. It’s bright green, and it’s stocked with tons of food. I delivered the groceries myself. And there are a bunch of different flavors of ice cream and everything you could want to make hot fudge sundaes.”
Hot fudge sundaes?
Her mother used to make those for her.
“And the other thing?” Raz asked.
The teen flashed a knowing grin. “You can’t miss that either. You’re expected.”
Raz and Milo continued talking about boxing, but she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. As if in a trance, she stared ahead at the water. It glistened a glorious blue-green in the early morning light, matching Sebastian’s eyes and the aquamarine stone Ida had given her. The color greeted her like an old friend. But the color wasn’t the only familiar sight. She slid her gaze from the water to the shore, and a wave of energy sent a tingle through her body. This wasn’t just any beach. A tree spread its limbs into the air near the water’s edge—a tree with a rope swing hanging from a knotty limb.
She stared ahead, expecting the mirage to disappear, but it didn’t. The swing swayed in the breeze, a testament to its permanency.
She pressed her hand to her heart as gratitude flowed through her veins.
There was no doubt about where Raz had taken her—not anymore.
Twenty-Eight
Libby
Moloka’i.
Her beefcake had brought her to the Hawaiian Island of Moloka’i—the same place where Shandra had filmed her yoga program years ago.
Raz helped her out of the Jeep, and she stared at the stack of rocks at the entrance to the trail.
“Just like at home, yeah?” he said, following her line of sight.
Home.
She couldn’t speak. She could only nod as he took her hand, scanning the landscape, waiting to wake from this dream.
But it wasn’t a dream.
They followed the path, and the leaves of the dense, fragrant shrubs lining the trail brushed against her arm in a hypnoticswoosh. She allowed her fingertips to slip across the smooth surface as the dirt trail changed to one of sand.
It was almost too much for her to take in. She surveyed the beach then stilled when a woman came into view—a woman she’d watched over and over again on television.
Shandra.
She observed the graceful yogi, her hair blowing in the ocean breeze as she moved from posture to posture. With her yoga mat spread out on the sand next to the tree with a weathered rope swing, Shandra raised her arms into the air as she flowed into tree pose.
“Are you okay, plum?”
She shifted her attention from the woman to Erasmus. “How?” It was all she could get out.
