Getting Lei'd (3 page)

I feel like curling up in a ball and hiding for a while, but that isn't an option on the plane. The best I can do is swivel my legs onto the empty aisle seat beside me. Looking at the vacant seat, which should have been Gary's, serves as another reminder of my fiasco of a wedding.

When my seatmate gently pats my arm, I erupt into an odd hiccupping-sobbing combination and lean my head on her shoulder. I spend the rest of the flight alternating between crying and sleeping on this kind stranger.

After landing, I give a goodbye hug to the caring woman who had comforted me during most of the flight. If she thinks I'm a crazy person, she hides it well as she promises me that it will all work out for the best.

It doesn't take long to realize that the mai tais must have been free-flowing in first class because when I deplane and rejoin Baggy and Ruthie, they are both pretty snockered. They valiantly attempt to hide their tipsiness, but they are even more silly and giggly than normal. Baggy wavers unsteadily as we walk to claim my checked bag.

Once we get my suitcase, we turn in unison for the door. Suddenly, I realize the fatal flaw in Baggy and Ruthie’s plan: Gary made all of the arrangements for our trip. I don’t even know where we have reservations. I gaze at the plethora of chauffeurs holding name signs, along with the taxis and hotel shuttles outside, and realize we have no idea which hotel is ours.

By the wide-eyed looks Baggy and Ruthie give me, I can tell they have figured out our predicament. Baggy is the first to come up with the obvious solution. “We could . . .”

“I’m NOT calling Gary,” I interrupt her, speaking with vehemence.

“Well, I’m sure there are some hotels that aren’t fully booked.” Ruthie tries to take the edge off our situation, even as we all look around the packed baggage claim area and wonder how we’ll find a decent hotel with vacancy.

“That hot hunk of beefcake might be the answer to our prayers.” Baggy lifts her gnarled pointer finger.

I want to chastise her that it’s no time to be on the prowl for a man, but I look in the direction she indicated and realize why she is hopeful. The large Hawaiian man, whom Baggy has accurately described, is holding a sign that reads Knox.

Inwardly, I cringe a little at the sight of it. Had I really been willing to change my name to Roxy Knox? It sounds like a children’s cartoon character. I should have never considered giving up a fab name like Roxy Rose to become Roxy Knox. What in the world had I been thinking?

The three of us head in the direction of the sign-bearing, handsome Hawaiian. He looks even bigger and sexier up close. His jet-black hair, soft chocolate eyes, and dark mocha skin make for an intriguing combination. He has thick dark lashes, but his large, straight nose gives his face some character and keeps him from being too pretty.

Baggy and Ruthie openly stare at him in silence, so I attempt to speak. “We’re the Knoxes . . . I mean, our name isn’t Knox . . . Our name is Rose . . . well, mine is . . . and hers.” I indicate Ruthie. “I think we are the people you are looking for,” I stammer.

He gazes down at me and says, “I was expecting honeymooners.” He is more than a head taller than me, which forces me to crane my neck upward to make eye contact with him. Having been well above average height my entire life, I am not used to having to look so far up to see anyone. I don’t think I like it. This must be how my diminutive sister and grandma feel all the time.

“Oh, we’re on our honeymoon,” tipsy Baggy responds. At his perplexed look, she clarifies, “Well, her honeymoon.” She angles her head in my direction.

I don’t want to get into the drawn-out explanation of today’s embarrassing fiasco, so I inform him a little more brusquely than I intend, “We’re the people you’re looking for, and we are ready to go to our hotel. Can you please take us?”

“Certainly,” he responds before placing brightly colored hibiscus leis around Baggy’s and Ruthie’s necks, who titter in response to his attention. “I was only expecting two people,” he explains before turning to me, lowering his lids and adding, “I’ll make it up to you later.” He tweaks the end of my nose before picking up my suitcase and heading toward the automatic doors.

My nose still tingles from his touch. Baggy and Ruthie sniff their beautiful flower necklaces, and we all watch his tight, perfectly grabbable backside as he saunters out of the airport. Somehow, he has managed to dazzle us all in a matter of moments.

Suddenly, we realize that we are being left behind, so we scurry after him. The heat of the intense Hawaiian sunshine hits us the moment we step outside, but we barely even notice as we watch our gorgeous driver open the door to a dated limousine and give us a grand welcoming gesture by clicking his heels together and holding a hand out to help us. To our credit, we stand there mesmerized for only a moment before practically knocking one another down in an attempt to be the first to accept his outstretched hand.

Proving that she’s as spry and full-of-life as ever, even when she has overindulged on alcohol, Baggy gets to our handsome limo driver first and accepts his helping hand. Ruthie shows us that she is wilier than she looks by lunging around us to grab the front passenger-side door. She grins at me slyly, saying, “I think I’ll sit up front with the driver. We don’t want my motion sickness to kick in.” She pats her tummy for added emphasis.

I roll my eyes because I know that, unlike me, she has never suffered from any kind of movement-related nausea, but I refrain from pointing it out. Besides, my attention is diverted when our studly driver takes my hand to help me climb into the backseat of the limo beside Baggy.

I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but it seems like he gives my hand a tender squeeze and allows his hand to linger on mine longer than necessary, or even socially acceptable. When I make eye contact with him, wondering why he hasn’t let go of my hand, I think he winks at me. It happens so fast I can’t be certain, though.

In any case, my palm is still tingling from his touch, my heart is racing, and I feel more alive than I have in years. I don’t think this is the appropriate reaction to a handsome stranger for a woman who was meant marry someone else only a few short hours ago.

Maybe I should send Gary a text to thank him for stopping me from making a colossal mistake—likely the biggest of my life. Nah, I’m not ready to let him off the hook just yet.

Speaking of texts, my phone and Baggy’s both buzz at the same time with an incoming text. The message is from Ruthie in the front seat of the car and it reads, “
He looks like Jason Momoa!!
” Our phones buzz again.
“Without the scary eyebrows, of course.
”

I have figured out that she is talking about our driver, since she feels she can’t share her thoughts aloud, but I have no idea who Jason Momoa is. “
Who?
” is my simple response.

Ruthie shakes her head in disbelief as if I am the most sheltered person on the planet before responding.
“Google him.”

Before I can get the Internet browser pulled up on my phone, Ruthie sends us several pictures of our driver’s gorgeous, apparently famous doppelganger.

“Ooh-we, he is a handsome devil,” Baggy blurts out upon receiving the text with the photos.

Baggy’s words are the first that have been spoken aloud since we left the airport. I make eye contact in the rearview mirror with our chauffeur, and I can feel my cheeks blushing pink. He has to know from the buzzing of our phones that we are talking about him. Why else wouldn’t we just speak like normal people? His bemused expression hints that he’s not offended, but I still feel ashamed to have been caught in the act of admiring him (and his lookalike) by text.

Rather than calling us out on it, he takes the high road and begins pointing out various attractions and little-known, tucked-away gems along our drive to the hotel.

As we pull into the parking lot of our resort, I realize that it is not at all what I had expected. It is so much more me than Gary. Gary probably would have been sorely disappointed and referred to it as a shabby dump, but I am completely enchanted from the moment I set foot on the property.

Our rustic thatch-roofed hutlike villa is romantic and has an island feel that a standard hotel room couldn’t accomplish, no matter how much Hawaiian-themed artwork is displayed. The hut is warm, but a breeze blows in the open windows from the ocean. The scent of bougainvillea or hibiscus or some other beautiful, exotic flower fills the air in our room as the rhythmic sound of waves crashing into shore lulls me into relaxation.

This place is truly paradise. It is the Hawaii of a childhood dream, so perfect that it can’t possibly be real, yet here I am.

Baggy and Ruthie head down to the gift shop to see about getting some clothes. I unpack, change into a sundress, and scoot the small desk over by the sliding glass door before inspecting and setting out my art supplies. They all seem to have survived the trip unscathed.

As I inhale a deep breath of salty, fragrant air, I look out at the unfathomable beauty surrounding me. If I can’t create a terrific piece of art in this stunning location, then my mother is right, and I really should stay a responsible (if slightly boring) accountant.

Before long Baggy and Ruthie return to the room wearing brightly colored, slightly skimpy island attire. They are carrying several bags, so I can only hope that some of their purchases provide a little more skin coverage.

Even though our bodies tell us it is late at night, the bright sunshine indicates otherwise, so we decide to head outside and check out the pool, beach, and (perhaps most importantly) the bar. It’s time for me to relax a little and release some of the stress of this incredibly long, unexpectedly horrible day.

Our resort is on the small side, but it is stunningly beautiful. As my eyes scan around, they land on either huge bushes bursting with enormous, colorful blooms or crystal-clear water in every direction. I have traveled to Florida and several islands in the Caribbean, but this place takes the cake for both natural and man-made visual delights.

The tropical bar, which features both a swim-up section for service from the infinity pool as well as a more traditional land-based side with comfy-looking bar stools, catches the attention of all three of us. I am surprised to find as we belly-up to the bar that our chauffeur is now playing the role of bartender.

He hands each of us a tall glass garnished with pineapple and filled with a fruity, frozen beverage that smells of rum before giving us an enthusiastic “Aloha!” and a dashing, white smile. I am pleasantly surprised to see a tiny gap between his two front teeth. Somehow, it makes him even more attractive. I consider mentioning that we didn’t order these drinks, but after taking a sip, decide to just twirl the tiny umbrella and smile back at him.

“Mmm, delicious.” Ruthie licks her lips, thrusts her small but perky boobs onto the bar, and gives him her best flirtatious ‘come hither’ look. Most men would jump the bar to be at her beck and call, but our driver/bartender doesn’t seem to take notice.

Giving a slight pout, but clearly undeterred, Ruthie twirls her hair and says to him, “You have been driving us around and now you are plying us with drinks, and we don’t even know your name.”

He looks directly at me when he answers her question. “My name is Kai.” His name sounds Hawaiian and exotic. It suits him perfectly, and I try not to make it obvious that I am repeating it silently in my mind, practicing to say it sexily.
“Kai. Kai. Oh yes, Kai . . . Nope, I just don’t have it in me—not even in my imagination.”

Kai has already fixed drinks for two other patrons and is now focusing on something below the bar. He apparently doesn’t share the island-time attitude that allows many workers in tropical locales to move in extra-slow motion.

Baggy, Ruthie, and I sit in silence, which is a rarity with these two. Our breathtaking surroundings, along with lengthy flight and six-hour time zone change, seem to be finally catching up with us.

Kai finishes what he has been working on and comes to stand in front of me. He gently places the most gorgeous, brightly hued flower necklace I have ever seen around my neck. He leans over the bar to kiss my cheek before saying, “You can’t arrive in Hawaii without getting properly lei’d.”

Ruthie snorts at the double entendre; and call me crazy, but I could swear that Kai blushes a little. He has such a dark complexion that it’s hard to tell, but I’m pretty sure I see a pink flush rise on his cheeks before he turns away to take another patron’s drink order.

The blushing must have been my imagination. I’m sure he uses that tired line multiple times every day. It sure felt good when his lips pressed gently against my cheek though, and my skin still feels tingly where his fingers brushed against my neck when he was adjusting the lei.

Ruthie looks a little perplexed by the attention he is giving me, but she doesn’t comment on it. Baggy’s eyes are glassy as she stares off in the distance. I mention what a long day it has been and suggest returning to our room. Surprisingly, neither of them pose an argument.

As we shuffle back to our room, Kai dominates my thoughts. I don’t care if he makes a habit of flirting with guests at the resort. I like it, and I want more of it. I gingerly touch my kissed cheek, not wanting to rub off any of the lingering effects. I feel enveloped by the tantalizing aroma of the fresh flowers that Kai has hand-strung for my lei. Even though this has been one hell of a day, I can’t seem to stop smiling.

The three of us sleep like the dead. When I finally open the light-blocking curtains, it’s obvious that the sun is high in the sky. Baggy and Ruthie screech at me and squint like moles coming out of a cave, but I feel fantastic and insist to them that it is time to rise and shine. They both eventually rise, but are too grouchy to shine before having an infusion of caffeine.

We head down to the resort’s restaurant in search of bacon. I scan the large open-air-concept room, attempting to look casual, so it won’t be obvious that I’m looking for Kai. “I don’t think he’s here.” Ruthie whispers the words near my ear, proving that I wasn’t nearly as stealthy with my search as I had thought.