Dancing in Lake Mistletoe (Lake Mistletoe #4)

Chapter Two

W e land at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport and disembark. After claiming our baggage, we are greeted by a couple from the car service Conrad hired, receiving one of the warmest welcomes I’ve ever encountered. The two are waiting with a sign that reads Mr. Sullivan and Miss Carrigan .

I inform them that Conrad was unable to make the trip and introduce them to Amiya.

“Aloha! I am Kiana, and this is my husband, Makoa. We are happy to welcome you to our island,” Kiana says as she presents us with colorful necklaces full of blooms, which she places around each of our necks. “This is a fresh flower lei, which is a Hawaiian symbol of aloha, welcome, and love,” she explains.

I inhale the fragrance of the beautiful flowers and smile. “Thank you.”

Makoa takes our bags and loads them into the back of the car, and then they whisk us away to the private luxury resort.

When we walk through the sliding glass doors, a hotel employee presents us with a tray filled with pink cocktails in fancy glass flutes.

“Aloha,” she says as she smiles brightly.

“Aloha to you too,” Amiya says as she takes two of the offered glasses.

She follows me as I make my way to the reception desk to check us in.

“Aloha, Miss Carrigan, and welcome to The Stanhope Grand Resort. We have you booked in one of our seaside bungalows for seven nights,” the front-desk attendant states.

“That’s correct.”

“Excellent. I have a key card for you in addition to your mobile access. Please allow Nalani to guide you to your home away from home. A member of our staff will deliver your luggage to you shortly.”

She hands me the card, and Amiya and I accompany the young lady who explains the layout of the resort as she walks us down a lit path to the breathtaking bungalow. It has a wall that opens to the beach, allowing us to sleep while exposed to the Pacific breeze and the sound of the crashing waves.

“Wow,” Amiya says as we make our way onto the teak deck that leads to the large king-size bed with rose petals sprinkled on top.

A bottle of champagne is chilling in a silver bucket on a tray by the pillows.

She turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “So romantic.”

I laugh. “Right?”

Nalani gives us a brief tour of the bungalow and explains how all the gadgets work. There is a remote that lowers the wall and draws the shades and a telephone that can reach our butler directly.

There is an outdoor shower on the deck and a small sauna room off the bath.

“This place is amazing. I might never want to leave,” Amiya declares as she plops onto the bed and lies back.

“If only we were independently wealthy,” I quip.

Before excusing herself, Nalani informs us that Wednesday’s luau begins at six and we can follow the signage on the footpath to the left of our deck to find it.

“What is a luau exactly?” Amiya asks.

“It’s a celebration where we feast and drink on the bountiful offerings of the unique crops from this tropical paradise. It is a cuisine you won’t find anywhere else in the world. There will be music and dancing, joy and laughter in abundance,” she tells us.

“We look forward to it,” I declare.

A young boy arrives with our bags ten minutes later. Amiya tips him generously, and he beams as he runs off back to the resort.

We quickly unpack and change into our bikinis before calling the butler, Pika, to arrange our afternoon of sunbathing on the pristine Waikiki Beach, which is steps from our terrace.

When we arrive, our umbrella-covered loungers are prepared just out of reach of the flowing shoreline. Two luxurious, large towels are folded on each one, and sitting atop a table between the two is a plate of fruits and cheeses, along with two cocktails served in coconut shells, adorned with small paper umbrellas.

Pika greets us and asks if there is anything else we need.

“If you keep these yummy coconut concoctions coming, you won’t hear another peep from us today,” I assure him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he promises with a smile before excusing himself.

I lather my body with sunscreen before parking it in the lounger and grabbing my drink.

“So, other than the luau, what’s on the agenda for the week?” Amiya asks.

“Tomorrow is the Pearl Harbor tour,” I begin.

“Pass,” she interrupts.

“What? Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know Conrad liked all that history stuff, but I’m on vacation. In Hawaii. I can learn about World War II from a book.”

I sigh. “Fine. Tuesday, we’re taking the Dole Plantation Tour, and don’t you dare say pass,” I say as I point at her.

She shrugs. “I’m down with the pineapples.”

“Wednesday, we are going snorkeling before the luau. Thursday, we have the island circle bus tour that takes us out to Waimea Valley to see the waterfall, and Friday is the glass-bottom-boat dinner cruise,” I continue.

“That’s cool,” she replies.

“So, we’re good for everything, except Pearl Harbor?”

“I’d prefer to lie on the beach all day, every day, working on my tan, and enjoy doing nothing at all but napping, eating, and drinking, but I am here for you, so we’ll do all the nerdy, touristy shit that you’re excited about too.”

I shake my head. “Thanks.”

She slides her sunglasses from the top of her head onto her nose. “You’re welcome. I’m such an awesome friend.”

I laugh. “Yes, you are,” I agree.

We both fall silent for about an hour while we soak up the sunshine.

Pika checks in with fresh cocktails in hand.

I take the shells and thank him.

“I could get used to this,” I murmur as I pass one of the drinks to Amiya.

“Girl, I could get used to that view,” she utters, tilting her head toward the water.

My gaze follows hers to the sight where three men with washboard abs, sun-kissed skin, and long, dark hair are sitting astride colorful surfboards.

Oh my.

“You and me both,” I mumble.

“Perhaps the best way to get over Conrad is to get under one of them,” she suggests.

“Amiya!” I gasp.

“What?” she says with a shrug. “You’re young, beautiful, and single. I think a hot Hawaiian fling is exactly what you need.”

“They’re strangers.”

“Precisely. We don’t know them; they don’t know us. We’re like ships passing in the night. No commitment. No expectations.” She cuts her eyes to me. “No shared apartment leases. Just temporary adult fun.”

That does sound tempting.

“For all we know, they could be here with their wives or girlfriends or boyfriends,” I say.

She sets her cocktail aside and stands.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”

“You’re going to ask them if they’re single?”

She nods.

“Don’t do that. Please,” I say as I reach up and grab her wrist, tugging her back to the lounger.

She falls back. “Fine, I won’t, but I’m serious. I think a hot and heavy summer fling is just what the doctor ordered,” she insists.

“I’ve never had casual sex before,” I confess.

“Never? No one-night stand or quickie in the bathroom at a college frat party?”

“No,” I say, feeling the blush hit my cheeks.

“Maybe it’s time you did.”

“Maybe,” I whisper.

She grins, and we bring our straws to our lips as we watch the beautiful boys ride the large waves to the shore.