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I shake my head. “They live in Arvada.”
She lowers her brow as she studies my face. “That’s not far away at all. Is it because you’ve been so busy with GlobeTrotter?”
“That, and things are … tenuous.” This is all I’m up for offering her right now. To divulge everything would mean to tell her my company—the one she works for—is hanging by a very thin string.
“Okay. What about your brother?”
We pause the conversation as the server drops off our drinks. Mine is unsurprisingly blue with a small wedge of pineapple sitting on the rim as a garnish, and Mila’s is an orange frozen thing with a real flower on it.
She pulls out the pink-and-white flower, and, wiping the toothpick it’s hooked on with her cocktail napkin, she slides it behind her ear.
“Hawaii looks good on you,” I tell her. In that pink dress, with her dark hair and her sun-kissed skin, she looks better than good.
“It looks good on you too,” she says. She picks up her drink and takes a sip out of the straw. “Oh, wow, that’s good.” She licks her lips, and it takes everything in me to look away.
Dave. Dave. Dave.
I take a drink of mine as a distraction. “Not bad,” I say.
She sets her drink down. “Don’t think I forgot about my question,” she says.
“About my brother?”
“Yes.”
“He hasn’t talked to me in three years.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised. “Why is he not speaking to you?”
I take another drink to give myself time to figure out how to answer that one. “He’s mad at me.”
“That’s too bad,” she says. It’s clear she wants to dig deeper, but I appreciate her letting me say as much, or as little, as I want to.
“What about your family?” I ask, ready to move on from me and my familial issues. The ones that are basically my fault.
“We’re close,” she says. “I’m annoyed my parents moved to Florida, and I’ve been trying to give them the silent treatment. You know, as punishment.”
“How’s that going?” I ask, but I think I already know the answer.
“I talked to them yesterday before our flight.”
I chuckle. “I could give you some tips,” I say, and then cringe. “Sorry, that was a bad joke.”
The MC for the night saves me from myself when he announces the buffet is now open, and Mila and I make our way toward the back and get in line.
The conversation is light after we get our food—which is excellent. The buffet was full of traditional food, kalua pork, and a variety of fish. Mila and I both try poi, which wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.
Then the show begins with someone blowing into a conch shell and the beating of drums. We watch different dances from many of the Polynesian islands, each telling different stories of their history. The music varies from island to island, some with beautiful melodies and others more like chants. The show ends with some amazing fire dancers who both eat and breathe fire, which is impressive.
I keep my attention focused on the show and try not to look at Mila. But every once in a while, I take a quick peek at her, so many feelings moving through my body as I see the soft, contented smile on her lips and the way the fire from the tiki torches reflects in her blue eyes.
I want to hold her hand again, like we did when we were snorkeling. Or lean into her, anything to touch her. As it stands, she’s only a few inches away, but it feels more like a yard to me. I remind myself she has a boyfriend, keep my hands to myself, and focus on the show.
“That was so amazing,” Mila says, after the luau is over and we are walking along the lit pathway that runs along the back side of the string of hotels on this side of the island. Each hotel has its own man-made marina, and when I stood out on the deck of the hotel room earlier this morning, the water looked crystal clear.
It’s a beautiful night with the sound of waves crashing, and an incredible woman walking next to me makes for a great ending to a pretty perfect day. I can’t say I’ve had one of those in a long time.
“Yeah, it was great,” I say.
