Heat Wave (5 page)

I slide on my flip-flops and step out into the unit.

Logan is standing at the balcony, hands folded behind his back, staring at the ocean through the screen door.

I allow myself a quick moment to take him all in. Seeing him earlier at the pool was so jarring, I was barely in the moment.

He looks good. Really good. It physically pains me to admit it but it's the truth and my body often reacts to the sight of him before my conscience can. If anything, he's gotten better with age, like a very fine wine, the kind you can’t wait to get drunk on.

His body is still built like he surfs and swims all day, and I have to wonder if that's true and if so, how he finds the time. His hair is dark, longer on the top, shorter on the sides, with just a peppering of grey in his sideburns and along his scruffy beard.

He might have a few more lines around his eyes, and a definite crevice between his brows, no doubt a result of frowning all the time, but his skin looks taught—tanned and smooth.

And unlike the times I saw him in Chicago, where he was trapped in layers to fight the cold—hell, he even looked uncomfortable at his wedding, having to wear a tux—here he seems more at ease. He's wearing olive green cargo shorts that come to his knees and a plain white tee shirt. Unlike Charlie and so many of the guys I've seen so far, he is wearing shoes, simple sandals.

I know I'm staring for too long but to his credit, he lets me do this and doesn't call me out on it. I know he’d love to. Before Juliet told me the truth about him, we had more of a, well let’s say, jovial relationship. He’d tease me all the time. “Little sis,” he’d call me, before letting loose a one-liner about this and that. Luckily I was pretty good at the comebacks. “Big brother” or “old man,” were my favorites.

I swallow hard and step forward.

“Okay, all ready,” I tell him, my voice sounding terribly weak. I need to stop letting the past sneak into the present.

I also need to stop checking him out.

He finally looks my way and nods. I can't read a thing in his expression, other than the fact that he's frowning, and that could mean anything really.

“Are you happy with the accommodations?” he asks, sounding so formal.

I shrug. “I haven't had a roommate in a long time, but sure.”

He squints at me. “You do realize that the two of you in here means I can't rent this unit out to guests. And we could use that money.”

“So in other words, shut up, right?”

His frown deepens as he eyes me. “I wouldn't think of being so rude, but yes, shut up. If you're going to work here, you're going to have act like everyone else. This isn’t Chicago anymore. This isn’t the big bloody city. This is Hawaii, and if you're going to survive you need to leave your preconceived notions at the door. Got it? What I mean is, there will be no special favors from me to you. You'll be treated like everyone else and that means showing up to your shifts on time, working hard, helping out when we need you to, and learning to live with a roommate again. Are we clear?”

My heart is pounding louder, filling my ears. He doesn't have to be so condescending, I mean I just fucking got off the plane, give me a break.

“Are you a bossy asshole with all of your employees?” I ask him. “Because you just said I’m not getting special treatment and if this is the same way you treat them, then I think you might have a problem.”

He raises his brow in shock. Damn, he gives good eyebrow.

“I’m not being a…” He stops and clears his throat. “Sorry.” The apology sounds painful. “I’m just...finding this weird, that’s all. I haven’t seen you…”

“Since the funeral. I remember.”

He swallows and looks away. “So where do I need to start? Did anyone show you around?”

I sigh loudly and shrug. “I'm not really sure. We met Kate at reception, and for your information, she didn't look too thrilled to be having a roommate either. And that's pretty much it. He mentioned a bunch of names that I can't remember and the fact that everyone has side jobs aside from their main ones.” I pause, wondering for a moment if I should say more. “And he said he liked working here, that you're a good boss.”

Logan grunts dismissively and looks away. “Doesn't sound like he filled you in on anything. Serves me right to send a monkey to do a man's job.”

“Hey, he's been nice,” I say, feeling particularly defensive of Charlie at this moment. “Much better than you're being.”

He eyes me sharply and I know I've pissed him off.

Good.

“Look, Veronica,” he says gruffly, crossing his thick arms across his chest, “I know we have our differences and this situation is less than ideal for both of us. But for the sake of the employees and this hotel, the very same one that was run so lovingly by your own flesh and blood, we'll both have to put it past us. I can be nice if you'll be nice.”

He really doesn't sound like he wants to be nice. Frankly, neither do I. And the fact that he mentioned Juliet, that we have to be nice for her sake, reminds me that the ghost of her really is large and in charge.

It's also a bit of a sucker punch.

“Hey, I'm nice everywhere except in the kitchen,” I tell him, standing up a bit straighter.

“Good,” he says. “That's the kind of thing I want to hear. Johnny, the head cook, he’s a good guy, talented, sweet as sugar. Without him, the restaurant would have floundered. He made it what it is. But he's good friends with Charlie and has a hard time keeping him in check. It will be good to have someone on the team that doesn't mind being a hard-ass. And I know you can be a hard-ass.”

I smirk at that, feeling some strange sense of pride at that compliment.

“Well let's get going,” he says quickly, starting off toward the front door, as if he regrets saying anything remotely complimentary about me. “The grand tour awaits.”

We walk out the door, the rain having eased off. The air smells fresh, like cut-flowers and something earthy, with the ever-present tang of salt in the air. The breeze is warmer now, like a thick cloak as it blankets me, rustling my wet hair.

He points out the buildings, the units where the rest of the staff lives, the pool area, past perfectly groomed lawns, landscaped with palm trees and flowering bushes. There are some families out on the balconies, drinking beer or playing with their kids.

He leads me toward the water, through a short sand path lined with dark-leaved bushes and blooming white flowers. “So, this is the east beach. Perfect for sunrises, or so the brochure says.”

It's beautiful. I mean, I kept seeing glances of it earlier but from this angle I can really get a feel for the entire place.

Moonwater Inn appears to be built on a curve of land that pushes out into the ocean like the slope of someone’s hip, the beach swooping along the sides. If you look east, where we are now, you can see the land across the bay jutting out, the waves crashing against the shore while the green mountains rise inland. If you turn your head to the left and look north, there's nothing but open water, the swells so high that the horizon line is a wavering blur.

“Can you swim here?” I ask, my sandals sinking into the sand. I reach down and take them off one by one, my toes happy to feel the damp sand beneath them. When I glance back up, Logan quickly looks away. Was he checking out my chest? I look down at my B-cups, wondering what it is about them today that has them so damn captivating.

It's all in your head
, I tell myself.
You're seeing what you want to see.

And that's a problem too.

“Sometimes you can swim,” he says, his face to the east. He's got an incredible profile, the wind swooping the dark hair off his brow. “In the summer. And even then I wouldn't if I were you.” He looks to me, his expression stern. “And when I say that, I mean, don't you dare unless someone is with you, preferably me or Charlie or even Kate.”

“I doubt that would be a problem,” I tell him, looking back to the rough seas. You'd have to be crazy to go in there now, especially as the waves are breaking twice, once at the shore and once at a shallow reef further back.

“I don't mean now,” he says gruffly. “I mean ever. Even when this water looks crystal clear, calm as anything, don't go in alone. I can't tell you the number of times people have drowned in Kauai's waters. Every year, at nearly every beach.”

Now this surprises me. “Have people drowned here, at Moonwater?”

His grim expression tells me all I need to know. “Yes,” he says. “And those days haunt you for the rest of your life. We take the ocean seriously here. It can be your friend, but also your biggest foe. It demands your respect and if you don’t give it, there are rips, and waves and sharks that would love to put you in your place.”

Okay then. He sounds like that damn video that was playing at baggage claim. Suddenly the ocean doesn't look so appealing anymore. And to think that Charlie wanted to teach me to surf. No thank you.

We continue along the beach as it curves around the beachfront buildings. Despite the dangers, it really is beautiful, especially as it opens up to the dramatic cliffs to the west. It looks positively tropical, like the quintessential South Pacific scene, and I half expect Polynesians in a dug-out canoe to wash up on the shore. There are even fucking coconuts littering the sand.

“And there's the restaurant,” he says, gesturing to it. From the front entrance, I knew it was oceanfront but from here you can see it's literally right on the beach, to the point where it looks like the waves could crash against the windows if the storm was big enough. “Unfortunately the kitchen itself doesn't have ocean views.”

“Probably better that way,” I tell him. “Less distracting.”

He gives me a look that borders on impressed. “I've forgotten what it's like to get workers from the mainland. Try and keep the ethic up.”

Again, I'm not sure how to feel about the compliment.

I ignore it as we step inside the restaurant, my new job.

With my new boss by my side.

I can only pray things get a little bit easier.

.

CHAPTER FOUR

“The restaurant is actually called Ohana Lounge,” Logan explains as he opens the heavy doors and we step inside. “
Ohana
means family in Hawaiian, by the way. But most locals call it the last stop.”

The area inside is actually a lot more spacious than it looked from the outside. Skylights adorn the ceiling, and the entire back wall of the restaurant has the amazing ocean views I had noted earlier. Even though the lights are all off, the place looks bright.

There's an empty hostess stand at the podium with a sign that says
please seat yourself
. To the left of us are the washrooms, just off the small waiting area. To the right it looks like the door to the kitchen.

I follow Logan further inside, the decorating similar to my new room, perhaps with more of a Mediterranean or middle-eastern feel. There's a bar to the left of us, small and rounded, with five bamboo barstools along it, and to the right is the kitchen, open slightly to the restaurant.

Charlie is already in there, smiling at me through the open section before he quickly turns away and busies himself once Logan catches his eye.

I turn back to the room and take quick stock of my new workplace, my eyes immediately taking in everything that needs to be improved. I can't help it.

“How many of these tables are used on a given night?” I ask Logan. “How often are you full?”

He leans back on his heels, strokes his hand along the beard on his jaw. My god, he has perfect hands. Wide, powerful—I'd forgotten about that. It was one of the first things I noticed about him, though when the wedding band went on his left hand, I stopped noticing all together.

At least, I should have.

“Not every night. There's never really a wait for a table until we get into the busy seasons . . . Christmas, the winter holidays, summer holidays. Autumn is the shoulder season, which is why Charlie and Johnny have been able to manage with just the two of them. But the closer we get to December, the busier it's going to get.”

“Well, my first thought is that the place is too cramped,” I tell him.

He frowns at me. “Too cramped?” He looks personally insulted. “Look at all this space.”

I shake my head. “It's spacious but the set-up is all wrong. You're crowding too many tables by the window.”

“But people want the view.”

“Then people will have to get here early or make reservations if they want the view,” I tell him. I jerk my chin to two four-seaters by the window. “Get rid of those completely. Stack them in storage for now, put them somewhere more accessible when the busy season comes, but for now they're an eyesore. People might want the view of the windows but they don't want to share it so closely with others. Since you say not many families come here, the four-seaters aren't needed, not there anyway. Kids don't give a shit about the view. I say, push the four-seaters up there in that alcove, and that can become the family area. Couples don't want children causing a fuss over dinner, believe me. And if this means that more people will have to wait to get a table, let them wait. People stay at the hotel, they want to eat here because they're too lazy to go into town or they want to have a few drinks at dinner and don't want to drink and drive. So then you add a couple of more stools to the bar, there's room, and they can wait there. Maybe even serve drinks in the waiting area, or set up some tables outside. There’s a whole beach out there with an even better view; they can relax while they wait.”