Page 4 of The Seashell of ’Ohana

Ian’s warm body was firm against mine, and his stubble lightly grazed my skin. I sucked in a breath, surprised as those touches traveled to places they shouldn’t, caressing me like a gentle ocean wave. It happened so fast—it almost felt like it hadn’t happened at all.

Scorching heat rose up my neck, and my tongue knotted. He walked away like a surfer riding the wave to the perfect sunset, leaving me pining for another glimpse. Even the refrigerated air of the dairy section couldn’t douse the flame burning inside me.

I shivered and came back to myself, but just as I turned, Ian looked back with a heartfelt grin, lightly swinging his basket, and then winked. He walked backward, one step at a time, and grabbed a container of eggs, never taking his eyes off me. Our eyes stayed locked, and my smile might have stretched too wide.

The universe seemed to have stopped rotating. Gone were the sounds of the wheels on the carts rolling by, shoes scuffing against the tile floor, the beep and hum of the cash registers, and the butcher talking to the impatient customers nearby.

“Mom. Mom. Yo ho ho.” Someone tugged my shirt. “Can we please go now?”

Oh, right. My son.

“Ty. I’m so sorry.” I stroked his hair. “Yes, sweetheart. I need to get the butter lettuce, and then we’re done.”

I didn’t look back to see if Ian was still there, but how badly I wanted to. Guilt hit me hard in the pit of my stomach. Guilt for forgetting my dead husband long enough to notice Ian, even only for a few seconds. And Tyler was my focus and would stay that way.

No time for a man in my life. Tyler was my love, my world.

Chapter Two — Welcome Home

The doorbell chimed, and I leaned over to peer out the kitchen window. Korean barbecue sauce’s sweet and spicy aroma filled the house, overpowering the scent of ripe peaches from the plumeria blossoms floating inside the glass bowl on the entry table.

My seashell collection—Puka, cowry, cone, and sunrise shells in delicate colors and patterns—was scattered on the table around the bowl. Tyler and I had collected them from local beaches over the years.

“They’re here,” Tyler exclaimed.

He bumped the corner of the end table on his way to the door, his bare feet pounding across the wooden floor. A photo of Tyler, Steve, and I rattled and nearly fell over.

“Ty, slow down.” I shook my head. That boy had too much energy and not enough caution.

“Ahoy, matey.” Tyler and Bridget greeted each other.

I’d misjudged the Friday traffic, so it was a good thing I’d left work early to have ample time to cook. After turning off the oven, I rushed out to usher the guests into my cozy, single-story home.

My sister Kate, her boyfriend Leonardo—Lee to his close friends—and his niece Bridget, who also recently turned eight, wrapped their arms around me in a tight squeeze, one at a time. Kate and Lee had just returned from a vacation while Bridget’s nanny had looked after her.

It had only been two weeks, but I was used to seeing my sister every day at the gallery, where we painted side by side. It had kind of gotten lonely without her.

Unlike some sisters, Kate and I were the best of friends. We’d each had friends of our own, but when it came down to it, I trusted no one but her with my secrets and dreams. We’d even gone to the same university and gotten degrees in illustration.

Kate and Lee looked refreshed, their eyes bright and their skin sun-kissed. Bridget went to the living room area with Tyler to play Buccaneers versus Skeletons on their tablets. Her braided blonde hair bounced with every step. Lee had adopted Bridget after her mom, his younger sister, had passed away with cancer.

Lee handed me a white box from the local bakery. Swirls of frosting enticed me through the clear plastic lid. “You know I love their desserts.”

Lee’s dark hair, sleeked back, reminded me of Ian. I blinked to clear the memory of Ian walking away with that understated swagger at the market.

“I’ll take that for you.” Kate grabbed the dessert box and carried it to the kitchen. She smelled of lilies. It must be a new perfume.

“What are you cooking? It smells good.” Lee took off his sneakers and set them on the shoe rack.

“One of your favorites, Lee,” I sang.

“Korean beef short ribs?” His brown eyes lit up. Then he tilted his head at my large crystal bowl. “I don’t know what smells better—the plumerias or the ribs.”

I smiled and patted the back of the sofa. “Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable. I’m almost done cooking.” I rushed back to the kitchen.

Kate had nestled the dessert box on the white granite counter by my cell phone and grabbed a pair of red silicone mitts out of the drawer.

“Let me help you.” She walked over to the oven. “Are these done?”