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She glanced my way before turning her eyes forward once more, maintaining her quick pace. “You really don’t have to. I can manage.”
“I don’t doubt that. Just humor me. Visitors to this island tend to lower their guard and think nothing bad can happen. Believe me. Tragedy can still strike, even in paradise.”
She studied me for a beat, as if sensing I spoke from experience. Thankfully, she didn’t press the issue. “Why do I get the feeling that no matter what I say to convince you I’ll be fine, it will go in one ear and out the other?”
“It won’t,” I argued. “I absolutely hear what you’re saying. If you really feel strongly about walking alone, fine. I’ll fall back. I’m not letting you out of my sight, though. Not until I know you got home safely. Maybe it’s chauvinistic, but I consider walking a woman home to be more an act of decency, especially one whose company I thoroughly enjoyed this evening.” I flashed her a smile. “Plus, Eme would kick my arse if she found out I let a woman walk home alone.”
She stole a glance at me, a hint of hesitancy in her expression. Then she nodded, slowing her steps to a casual stroll.
“Who’s Eme?” she asked after a beat.
“My cousins’ mother. They call her Eme.” I shoved a hand through my hair. “Since she’s always been like a mother to me, I do, too.” I smiled sadly. She nearly was my mother-in-law.
“And your cousins aren’t actually your cousins, right?”
I blew out a small laugh under my breath, shaking my head. “No. But here, everyone calls each other cousin. I think it goes back to the Hawaiian culture of treating everyone like family. You don’t have to be related by blood to be considered ohana.”
“And here I thought you were a tourist, like me. A ha’ole, if I remember correctly. But I guess you wouldn’t technically fit the definition of that, either, since you’re Australian and not from the mainland.”
“Do you know the actual meaning of ha’ole? What it translates to?”
“Doesn’t it mean mainlander?”
“That’s a fairly basic definition. Over the years, I suppose it’s been widely accepted that a lot of ha’olesare mainlanders. But not all mainlanders are ha’oles. At least not in my circle.”
She stopped walking, facing me, confusion on her face. “I don’t follow. I thought—”
“These days, it’s used to refer to anyone not from the islands, especially those who don’t show respect for the Hawaiian traditions and culture. But originally, the term had a different meaning.”
“What’s that?” She leaned toward me. It was a barely perceptible movement, but I noticed it, felt that electric current spark once more.
I peered into her eyes, doing my best to maintain my composure when I wanted nothing more than to press my mouth against hers, lose myself in her in the hopes of forgetting everything, even if for only a moment.
“The technical translation of ha’ole is without breath. It refers to those non-Hawaiians unfamiliar with the honi.”
“Honi?”
With a slow nod, I stepped toward her, my body only a breath away from hers. Her lips parted, chest rising and falling in a faster rhythm as her eyes remained locked with mine. I didn’t have to ask whether she also felt this insane connection, like a live wire waiting to be tripped, setting both of us ablaze in the blink of an eye. She did. I saw it in the way her gaze drilled into mine, questioning and wanting.
“The honi is a Hawaiian greeting,” I continued, my voice low and deep. “You’ve probably seen it but didn’t realize what it was. It involves two people touching alo to alo.”
“What’s that?”
“It means bone to bone. Hawaiians believe our ancestral DNA is contained in our bones, so when we touch our foreheads together, we’re connecting on a deeper level. That’s when you release a ha, a divine breath we believe is held within each of us. Then you breathe in the other person’s breath to finish the greeting. So the term ha’ole literally translates to without breath. It implies that someone not only has no spirit, but is also ignorant of the Hawaiian culture we respect and honor every day of our lives.”
“I like the idea of that. Honi.”
She rolled the word around her mouth as she processed one of the many Hawaiian traditions my mother ensured she passed down to us, even though we lived in Australia. That didn’t matter. Her roots were still deeply entrenched in this island.
Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine not being brought up with these traditions. It was probably why, even though I spent the first thirteen years of my life in Australia, Hawaii always felt more like home.
Erasing what little space remained between us, Belle tilted her head toward mine.
“Will you show me?”
