Heat Wave Read online

  He leads me toward the water, through a short sand path lined with dark-leaved bushes and blooming white flowers. “So, this is the east beach. Perfect for sunrises, or so the brochure says.”

  It's beautiful. I mean, I kept seeing glances of it earlier but from this angle I can really get a feel for the entire place.

  Moonwater Inn appears to be built on a curve of land that pushes out into the ocean like the slope of someone’s hip, the beach swooping along the sides. If you look east, where we are now, you can see the land across the bay jutting out, the waves crashing against the shore while the green mountains rise inland. If you turn your head to the left and look north, there's nothing but open water, the swells so high that the horizon line is a wavering blur.

  “Can you swim here?” I ask, my sandals sinking into the sand. I reach down and take them off one by one, my toes happy to feel the damp sand beneath them. When I glance back up, Logan quickly looks away. Was he checking out my chest? I look down at my B-cups, wondering what it is about them today that has them so damn captivating.

  It's all in your head, I tell myself. You're seeing what you want to see.

  And that's a problem too.

  “Sometimes you can swim,” he says, his face to the east. He's got an incredible profile, the wind swooping the dark hair off his brow. “In the summer. And even then I wouldn't if I were you.” He looks to me, his expression stern. “And when I say that, I mean, don't you dare unless someone is with you, preferably me or Charlie or even Kate.”

  “I doubt that would be a problem,” I tell him, looking back to the rough seas. You'd have to be crazy to go in there now, especially as the waves are breaking twice, once at the shore and once at a shallow reef further back.

  “I don't mean now,” he says gruffly. “I mean ever. Even when this water looks crystal clear, calm as anything, don't go in alone. I can't tell you the number of times people have drowned in Kauai's waters. Every year, at nearly every beach.”

  Now this surprises me. “Have people drowned here, at Moonwater?”

  His grim expression tells me all I need to know. “Yes,” he says. “And those days haunt you for the rest of your life. We take the ocean seriously here. It can be your friend, but also your biggest foe. It demands your respect and if you don’t give it, there are rips, and waves and sharks that would love to put you in your place.”

  Okay then. He sounds like that damn video that was playing at baggage claim. Suddenly the ocean doesn't look so appealing anymore. And to think that Charlie wanted to teach me to surf. No thank you.

  We continue along the beach as it curves around the beachfront buildings. Despite the dangers, it really is beautiful, especially as it opens up to the dramatic cliffs to the west. It looks positively tropical, like the quintessential South Pacific scene, and I half expect Polynesians in a dug-out canoe to wash up on the shore. There are even fucking coconuts littering the sand.

  “And there's the restaurant,” he says, gesturing to it. From the front entrance, I knew it was oceanfront but from here you can see it's literally right on the beach, to the point where it looks like the waves could crash against the windows if the storm was big enough. “Unfortunately the kitchen itself doesn't have ocean views.”

  “Probably better that way,” I tell him. “Less distracting.”

  He gives me a look that borders on impressed. “I've forgotten what it's like to get workers from the mainland. Try and keep the ethic up.”

  Again, I'm not sure how to feel about the compliment.

  I ignore it as we step inside the restaurant, my new job.

  With my new boss by my side.

  I can only pray things get a little bit easier.

  .

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “The restaurant is actually called Ohana Lounge,” Logan explains as he opens the heavy doors and we step inside. “Ohana means family in Hawaiian, by the way. But most locals call it the last stop.”

  The area inside is actually a lot more spacious than it looked from the outside. Skylights adorn the ceiling, and the entire back wall of the restaurant has the amazing ocean views I had noted earlier. Even though the lights are all off, the place looks bright.

  There's an empty hostess stand at the podium with a sign that says please seat yourself. To the left of us are the washrooms, just off the small waiting area. To the right it looks like the door to the kitchen.

  I follow Logan further inside, the decorating similar to my new room, perhaps with more of a Mediterranean or middle-eastern feel. There's a bar to the left of us, small and rounded, with five bamboo barstools along it, and to the right is the kitchen, open slightly to the restaurant.

  Charlie is already in there, smiling at me through the open section before he quickly turns away and busies himself once Logan catches his eye.

  I turn back to the room and take quick stock of my new workplace, my eyes immediately taking in everything that needs to be improved. I can't help it.

  “How many of these tables are used on a given night?” I ask Logan. “How often are you full?”

  He leans back on his heels, strokes his hand along the beard on his jaw. My god, he has perfect hands. Wide, powerful—I'd forgotten about that. It was one of the first things I noticed about him, though when the wedding band went on his left hand, I stopped noticing all together.

  At least, I should have.

  “Not every night. There's never really a wait for a table until we get into the busy seasons . . . Christmas, the winter holidays, summer holidays. Autumn is the shoulder season, which is why Charlie and Johnny have been able to manage with just the two of them. But the closer we get to December, the busier it's going to get.”

  “Well, my first thought is that the place is too cramped,” I tell him.

  He frowns at me. “Too cramped?” He looks personally insulted. “Look at all this space.”

  I shake my head. “It's spacious but the set-up is all wrong. You're crowding too many tables by the window.”

  “But people want the view.”

  “Then people will have to get here early or make reservations if they want the view,” I tell him. I jerk my chin to two four-seaters by the window. “Get rid of those completely. Stack them in storage for now, put them somewhere more accessible when the busy season comes, but for now they're an eyesore. People might want the view of the windows but they don't want to share it so closely with others. Since you say not many families come here, the four-seaters aren't needed, not there anyway. Kids don't give a shit about the view. I say, push the four-seaters up there in that alcove, and that can become the family area. Couples don't want children causing a fuss over dinner, believe me. And if this means that more people will have to wait to get a table, let them wait. People stay at the hotel, they want to eat here because they're too lazy to go into town or they want to have a few drinks at dinner and don't want to drink and drive. So then you add a couple of more stools to the bar, there's room, and they can wait there. Maybe even serve drinks in the waiting area, or set up some tables outside. There’s a whole beach out there with an even better view; they can relax while they wait.”

  I realize I've been totally rambling on and from the glower that Logan is given, I can tell my suggestions aren't exactly appreciated.

  “Let me get this straight,” Logan says slowly, not looking away. “I have this restaurant up and running for years, never had more than a few complaints, have a bloody brilliant rating on Yelp, and then you show up, fresh off the boat, and immediately have something to say about it. You haven't worked here even for a minute, Veronica. Why the hell should I suddenly rearrange what's working just because you've said so?”

  Right. See the other thing I remember about Logan is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch and you better not tell him his way is the wrong way. Unfortunately, I'm also a stubborn son of a bitch, but at least in this situation I know I'm right. He may own this restaurant and the hotel, but he doesn't know the first thing about cooking food, abou
t serving, about running a place like this.

  “She's right, aye,” a booming voice comes from behind me.

  I whirl around to see a round, jovial-looking face staring at me from the kitchen. He smiles broadly, his teeth blindingly white, albeit slightly crooked, against his dark skin. “Hey, I'm Johnny by the way. You can call me Big J. Least that's what the habut calls me.”

  “Johnny is just fine,” I tell him, feeling eternally grateful for this friendly face in the presence of the ha-boo-t.

  “What do you mean she's right?” Logan asks, his voice on edge.

  Johnny shrugs. “I mean she's right. Just because you have a good Yelp rating, doesn't mean people don't talk. Especially locals, aye? They won't write reviews but the word still spreads. And I'm the head cook, which means I have to hear about it. Not you.”

  I look back to Logan. He seems like he's ready to blow, his jaw is set in a tense line, his fingers are tapping against his arm, agitated. “What are they saying?” he asks carefully.

  “Nothing you should worry about,” Johnny says. “But I can tell you that people don't come here to eat for the ocean view. It's too crowded. Like she said. And having a wait isn't a bad thing. Most diners are our guests. If there is a wait, they can go back to their room. Or the beach. And adding some extra seats at the bar doesn't hurt at all.”

  I watch Logan, my breath in my throat. I'm afraid he's going to lose it on me or Johnny, not that Johnny seems to care, which makes me like him even more.

  Finally, Logan's eyes meet mine and I see nothing but animosity in them. Something tells me that I made a big mistake speaking out like that.

  I expect him to say something else that would shoot down my idea but eventually he lets out a ragged breath and says sternly to Johnny, “I have to check on the pool. I trust you'll get Veronica up to speed?” He glances at me. “Your first shift starts tomorrow. Come to the office later, I have papers for you to sign.”

  Then he turns on his heel and leaves, his hulking body pushing open the doors and disappearing into the bright world outside.

  “So Charlie tells me Shephard's your brother-in-law,” Johnny says, making me turn my attention back to him. “I thought he'd for sure treat you a little easier but I guess it's fair across the board here.” He gives me a quick wave. “Come on back here, let's introduce you to your new home, little wahine.”

  I take in a deep breath, trying to shake off Logan's attitude, and head into the kitchen.

  My first thought is that it's small. Barely big enough for three cooks and a dishwasher, assuming they have a dishwasher. I've heard a lot of the smaller places don't.

  “She ain't much, but she makes good food,” Johnny says. He comes over to me holding out his hand. “Now it's official. Johnny.”

  “Ronnie,” I tell him as he takes my hand in his, his palm damp. He's a huge guy, tall and round, and yet despite the big jiggling stomach, he somehow exudes strength, like he could bench press you at any given time. “You can call me Ron if you wish. Or even hey you.”

  He grins at me and it lights up his face like a child on Christmas Day. “Nah, I don't think we'll call you hey you. Ronnie is just fine. Or little wahine. That’s Hawaiian for pretty lady, you know.” He lets go of my hand and twists around him to look at Charlie who is at the back of the kitchen, chopping up bok choy. “You didn't tell me she was cute.”

  “I don't have to tell you everything, Johnny Cakes,” Charlies says without looking up. “And wahine means woman, Ron, so he’s just trying to butter you up.”

  “I’m a cook, of course I’m trying to butter her up, I put butter on everything,” Johnny says with a wink. “So now that you've seen the place, I guess you're figuring out where everything is. I'm pretty organized so you'll get the hang of things really quick and soon it won't feel like work at all.” Charlie snorts at that but Johnny ignores him. “The only thing that will test you is trying to work with this haole over here.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Charlie says, heading over to the fridge and rummaging for something. He looks totally different now that he's in his white uniform. I always found that the uniform gives an air of respectability to anyone, even someone known for not wearing shoes. And to be safe, I look down and notice the skate shoes he's got on. Not exactly good protection if he drops something on it but good enough for Hawaii.

  “Any questions?” Johnny asks me.

  I raise a brow. “Um. I have a ton of questions.”

  “Let's hear it. I've got a few minutes before I have to get back to work. I keep myself on a tight shift.”

  I wonder if that's true after the comment that Logan made about him being all relaxed but I realize that I can't exactly take Logan's word for a lot of things.

  “Well, for one . . . what's the menu? Who are the suppliers and how often do we get stuff in? Who handles that? Do we have a bartender? Who are the wait staff? Dishwasher? Is the menu always set or does it change from day to day? Do we do special events and if so, how do we handle those on top of the restaurant, considering there are only three of us.”

  Johnny is staring at me so blankly that I'm afraid he hasn't heard me.

  Finally, he nods. “Okay. I think I may need a beer after that one.”

  “Yes, beer please,” Charlie says, not looking up.

  I want to ask if drinking on the job is a regular thing but I don't dare. I've already shaken things up enough with my suggestions, I won't be asking them to change how they work today.

  Johnny raises his hand and starts ticking off the answers on each finger. “The menu is posted on the wall behind, changes are seasonal. If we sell out of something, then we're out of it and it’s crossed off the menu. We have a local fisherman supplier for all the fish, and we use another supplier for a lot of the local vegetables and meat. Yes, we have a bartender. Daniel. He's also a real estate agent so he's going to try and sell you a condo, just warning you. May also try and get in your pants.” Johnny glances at the clock over my head. “He'll be here soon. On Sunday's we open at six, which is in an hour, in case you're still on Chicago time, rest of the week we open at five. We stop serving at ten, though we tend to prepare a few pupus ahead of time on the weekend, for people drinking at the bar.”

  “Pupus?” I repeat.

  He grins. “Yes. It means, like, tapas. Appetizers. Pupus are our selling point here. Lot's of variety and easy to prepare. People love pupus.”

  “We even have a tee shirt that says ‘People Love Our Pupus,’” Charlie says with a laugh. “Which reminds me, we need to order some more in. Honestly there isn’t a pupu joke that doesn’t make me laugh.”

  “Aye,” Johnny says. “Get Kate to do that. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. Pupus and fresh fish is what we're known for, and a lot of our food has a Mediterranean slant to it. You know, meze platters and all that. Cheap to make, the health nuts love it. What else? Ah, Nikki. She's our waitress. She works every week night. Kate will run food if it's really busy, which usually means Logan takes over reception. I know he sounded like he's large and in charge with the kitchen but that's his ego talking. I'm the large one here,” he says, poking his thumb into his chest, “and I'm in charge. Logan doesn't step in here all that much, except to drink sometimes with Daniel, and frankly it makes the kitchen one of the best places to work at Moonwater.”

  “Sounds like it. Who waitresses on weekends?”

  “There are a few local girls, one in Hanalei, one in Haena. They're great for back-up too.”

  “Hey guys,” a man's voice breaks in, the accent high and lilting. “And Ms. Locke.”

  I turn to see Jin coming in, grabbing an apron off a rack and tying it behind his back.

  “And Jin,” Johnny says. “He's the dishwasher.”

  “It's a fascinating job,” Jin says dryly, giving me a kind smile to let me know he doesn't really mind at all.

  “He's the backbone of our operation,” Johnny says. “And when he's not washing dishes, he's the hotel maintenance man. And sometimes the shuttle bus
driver.”

  I laugh lightly. “I'm starting to think that everyone here is a shuttle bus driver at some point.”

  “Except me,” Charlie says.

  “Because you took the bus to Hanalei beach and gave rides home to the surfer chicks,” Johnny points out.

  “That was one time,” Charlie protests.

  Johnny rolls his eyes. “Useless, I tell ya.”

  After that I stay in the kitchen until the customers start coming into the restaurant. Just enough to observe how things are going without feeling like I’m inspecting them or getting in the way.

  They have the music going on the radio, something with a ukulele and a soft singing voice akin to Jack Johnson, and all three of them seem to really enjoy their job. I can see how seriously Johnny takes his food, which is a relief, but he’s also all smiles and easy-going, which is also a relief. Your job is only as good as the company you keep in it.

  When I’ve watched enough, I leave, the jetlag seeming to hit me again. Even though I swore I’d try and stay up late, it’s only seven pm and I can barely stand on my own two feet. I wave goodbye to Johnny, Jin, and Charlie and take a quick peek out at the floor. Just as I thought, about half the restaurant is occupied. I spot Nikki, the waitress, with her long highlighted hair, bustling about and Daniel, the bartender, a guy in his early-thirties with hair pulled back in a ponytail and a loud Hawaiian shirt, but save my introductions for tomorrow.

  By the time I step outside, I’m met with a wall of humidity, darkness, and the thick hum of crickets. I walk slowly across the parking lot, my eyes closing momentarily as I breathe in deep, the smell of the ocean, the flowers, the everything. In some ways I feel ready for this next adventure, in other ways I’m a total fish out of water.

  It takes me a few moments to remember where my new home is and I head to reception, remembering that Logan had a few papers for me to sign.

  The doors to the office are closed but the light is on. I carefully open them and peer inside. Kate is at the desk, shuffling through papers, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. She doesn’t glance up as she says, “So how was your first day?” she asks, her voice monotone.