Page 39 of Soulmates

“Or sharks?”

She looked at me. “We’ll be fine, Miles. Let’s just keep rowing.”

“How much further?”

“See those boats bunched up there?” She pointed ahead of us. “That’s where the sandbar is. About twenty minutes or so more.”

Seeing the objective in front of me, I paddled harder, really putting my weight into the strokes while timing them to be in sync with Taylor. The kayak picked up speed, and we made it to the edge of a gigantic sandbar in fifteen minutes.

It was a goddamn party town.

Motor boats and catamarans of all shapes and sizes were anchored all around the white sands, along with a handful of kayaks and jet skis. Music blared from loudspeakers. On one side a group of college-looking kids had erected a floating volleyball net in the knee-high water and were tossing the ball to each other over the net. Other people milled around, chatting, dancing, and holding touristy umbrella drinks.

“Over there,” Taylor shouted, pointing to one of the larger tour boats where the music was blasting from. A shirtless young man in a blue cap was grilling on the deck, the smell of sausages and burgers wafting through the breeze and sending my stomach growling, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything.

“I’m starving,” I told Taylor. “You think we can bum a sandwich off him? I didn’t bring any cash though.”

“I know that guy, no worries.”

We paddled to the boat and Taylor called out.

“Eh, Kimo!”

“Tay-Tay!” Kimo said, waving his hat at us. “I’m glad you made it!”

“Permission to come aboard, captain.”

“Sheez, Tay-Tay, come on up!”

We maneuvered ourselves behind the boat. After Taylor had secured the kayak to the stern, we jumped in the water and waded around to the steps that lead up, my skin crawling the entire time.

“Whassup, Tay!” Kimo said once we made it to the deck.

“Kimo, I want you to meet my friend, uh, my dad’s friend, Miles.”

“Hey, Kimo.”

“How’s it going, brah,” Kimo said, giving me the local handshake.

“Kimo and I go way back. My friends and I used to hang out at his dad’s shave ice store, called Kimo’s Shaved Ice, when we were growing up. Remember those days, Kimo?”

“Fo sure, Tay-Tay.”

“So you’re dad’s name is also Kimo?” I asked.

“No ways,” he said. “My father’s name is Kalani.”

“So he named his store after you?”

“We think his dad wanted him to inherit the store eventually,” Taylor said. “So he was planning ahead when he named it after Kimo, but he didn’t consider that Kimo never wanted the job. By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late to change the name, as everyone on the island knows the place only as Kimo’s Shaved Ice. So Kimo, can we bum some food and drinks?”

“No need even ask, Tay. Grab whatever you like. The good kind beer is in the red cooler. The blue one only has the pissy, watery kind.”

Taylor handed me a couple of plastic picnic plates. I loaded them up with burgers and sausages while she grabbed a couple of Kona Longboard lagers.

“Thanks, Kimo!” Taylor said.

“Anytime, Tay. Later, Miles!”

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