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He smirks. “It really is.” He motions toward the buffet. “This way. They’ll bring around the pig later, during the show.”
We fill our plates, then sit and eat, watching as men dance with fire and batons. A woman brings leaflets with meat atop them to each partygoer. Despite the BBQ’d pig looking back at us and making me slightly uncomfortable, I try the succulent meat and quietly groan with delight.
Kal leans close once more. “Do you know the meaning of a luau?”
I turn to meet him eye to eye and shake my head. “I don’t.”
“It’s often how we celebrate different occasions. The birth of a baby, victory in war, even a beautiful harvest. It’s how we thank the gods and rejoice with family and friends.”
I swallow, engrossed in the warmth of his breath, body, and words. “What are we celebrating?”
“You and me?”
I nod.
“A new friendship, new experiences. Discovering things we never thought we would,” he says, his eyes roving over my face.
The tiki light behind us comes to life, and I breathe for the first time since Kal started to speak.
The sun is setting on the ocean in front of us, and more tiki lights fire up all around the circle as the sky grows dim.
Women circle the group, each in matching green leafy skirts and strapless tops that show off their belly buttons. They dance to the live music playing at the head of our group, and I watch them, feeling light and free, all while absorbing the heat of Kal watching me.
I’m not sure what’s happening. He almost kissed me. I almost let him. I swivel my neck, facing him, feeling the warmth of the fire, of him, of this entire night. His eyes bore into me, making me wonder if the man can read thoughts.
“You try,” a female voice invades my mind. I peer up to a local woman, her leafy skirt swaying at the hips. “Your turn,” she says. She waves out her palm, motioning to others in our group who stand next to dancing women, who give them hula instruction.
“Oh, me? I don’t—I don’t really—”
“This is exactly something Spontaneous Meg would try.”
My chest flutters. I have no desire to make a fool of myself. But then—haven’t I already done that? I tripped up the mountain today. I lost my literal dress last night. I have made a fool of myself. And I’ve survived.
I set my empty plate down and get to my feet, but not before peering down at Kal and reaching out my hand. “Not without my trusty guide.”
He nods, a grin blooming across his lips and cheeks. “Of course.”
The woman who prodded me up leaves me to Kal—apparently, it’s clear that he’s a local and I am not. He can handle this hula lesson.
He stands behind me, and while we’ve spent almost the entire day together, his nearness sends my heart into sporadic thundering. His hands crest my shoulders, and he leans in, keeping his tone low and his mouth close to my ear. “Feet slightly apart,” he says, and I follow his instruction. His hands whisper down my back and lightly land at my waist. “Hands on your hips.”
I slide my fingers up, brushing his in the process. My heart pounds with the touch.
“Knees slightly bent.” He applies the smallest bit of pressure, instructing me again, this time without words.
My back bumps into his chest with the movement, but he doesn’t back away, he doesn’t let go. If anything, he inches closer.
A shaky breath audibly falls from my lips.
Again, his fingers press at my hips. His head falls near mine and he whispers, “Sway right. Now left.”
I do, feeling him sway along with me, his movements so much more precise than my own. Still, he silently guides me, the warmth of his body against mine, and I silently follow.
“Good,” he says, his sweet breath on my temple.
My head falls back to his chest, though my hips continue to sway. “You smell like coconut,” I say.
Kal’s swaying falters, and for a second I squander—Holy smokes. Those words came out of my mouth. I need a muzzle.
