He kissed my temple. “You had food poisoning the whole next day.”
“And I’ll get through this too.”
Suddenly a sharp squawk made me and Cal both jump. A rooster strutted out of a patch of hibiscus, puffing up like he owned the deed to the island.
“Is that…?” I pointed.
“Doug,” Leilani sighed. “Yeah, he’s here too.”
The rooster stared us down, let out one defiantbok, then pecked his way back under the foliage.
“Don’t worry, his cluck is worse than his bite.”
“Is that true?”
“Not really,” Leilani smiled uneasily. “I just don’t want to scare you off before you’ve even got through the front door.”
Warily we followed her up to the house.
We stepped up onto the lanai just as a young man’s voice rang out from inside the house—“Is that the future parents? Or the delivery guy with the malasadas?”
“Future parents,” Leilani called back.
“Damn. I was really hoping for donuts.”
And then he appeared. A barefoot, shirtless Hawaiian god in all his sun-kissed glory, wearing nothing but boardshorts and four shell necklaces.
Cal elbowed me and muttered, “If we have a son andthat’sin the gene pool, he’s going to have every straight girl and gay guy in Manhattan falling all over him.”
Then the young man opened his mouth. “Sup, dudes! Whoa, your aura’s like a rainbow, bro,” he said, pointing at Cal. Then he turned to me. “And yours is shaped like… a duck. That’s unfortunate.”
“I… thank you?”
“I’m Kimo. Leilani’s cousin, paddleboard instructor, spiritual guide and occasional prophet when the pineapples align.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I already know we’re going to be best friends.”
“Oh?” I said.
He patted me on the cheek with a hand almost as big as my head. “I’ll even help you with that duck of yours. We’ll have your aura shining like a supernova in no time, bro.”
From inside the house, another voice called—not loud, just certain. “Let them in, Kimo. And put on a shirt.”
A moment later, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out onto the lanai. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a calm intensity, and the kind of presence that made me instinctively want to be a better person. He wore a half-buttoned linen shirt and a carved wood pendant around his neck.
He looked at us like he was taking our measurements—slowly, carefully—and I had a sudden urge to hide behind Cal or the nearest palm tree.
“You must be Calvin and Matthew,” he said, shaking our hands in turn. His grip was firm. His expression was unreadable.
Leilani stepped beside him, smiling. “Cal, Matt… this is my dad. Nakoa.”
“Thank you for welcoming us,” Cal said.
Nakoa gave a single nod. “This is not a small thing we are considering here. My daughter is the love of my life. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Cal said quickly. “We understand.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he replied, voice calm as still water. Then—finally—a faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Come inside. Sit.”
We followed him through the front door and into a wide, open room that smelled of smoked banana leaves and old wood. The floorboards were smooth and worn, the kind that told stories with every creak. Framed photos lined the walls—black-and-white portraits dating back generations, sun-faded snapshots, school certificates with curled edges. Somewhere deeper in the house, a ceiling fan hummed quietly, and from the kitchen drifted the warm, buttery scent of something baking.
