Page 16 of Resorting to Romance

Stevens is a marine biologist who lives on Marbella. He runs educational tours of the kelp beds teaching about marine life. We book things for him and he keeps his boats moored in the harbor on the north side of our pier.

The women meander through the shop, thumbing through racks of surfwear, trying on sunglasses, giggling and chatting, and effectively keeping Ben from prodding into my personal life.

Stevens arrives about ten minutes later, true to form. He’s one of those guys that spends so much time up in his head, he rarely knows what time it is. Sometimes he’ll get so lost in a project he forgets to eat. His idea of a fun night is playing Words with Friends and solving physics problems. Sometimes, in the course of a perfectly normal conversation, he’ll bring up topics like neutrino mass, matter–antimatter asymmetry, and the concept of dark energy. Ben entertains himself poking good-natured fun at Stevens, who rarely realizes he’s being taunted until at least a few sentences into an exchange between the two of them.

But the man has a heart of gold. He’s an animal-lover, and he’s great on tours. You’d think all his nerdy brainiac conversational skills would render him inept at taking the average tourist out on the water, but somehow, once he’s on a boat, he tones it down to sub-genius level and is able to engage people in the things he loves most—like sea cucumbers.

Stevens introduces himself to the two women.

“Hi, I’m Stevens. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

They have the same reaction most females have to Stevens—starry-eyed, staring, tittering nervously, and more unabashed gawking.

“Um, no. It’s fine,” the taller blond says, literally batting her lashes in a very obvious display of flirtation.

“Totally worth the wait,” her brunette friend adds with a tip of her shoulder in Stevens’ direction. “Youare the marine biologist?”

“That’s me.”

“No one told me marine biology could be so attractive,” the first woman says.

Her friend giggles nervously.

“It’s fascinating. You’ll see.” Stevens smiles congenially, completely oblivious to the blatant non-verbal—and verbal—signals these women are sending his way.

Want to know the mating habits of the California sea lion? Stevens is your man. Ironically, the female of that species acts a lot like these two are behaving right now—practically throwing herself at the bull of her species. When it comes to his own kind, Stevens is so oblivious it’s nearly comical. His reaction to female attention is usually something along the lines of carrying on about Gorgonian sea fans or some other oceanic marvel, unintentionally shutting down any romantic advances.

Stevens hands the women their waivers, and once they’ve signed the paperwork, he leads them out to his boat, leaving me alone with Ben again.

Before Ben can pick up our previous conversation, my phone rings. I recognize the number right away. The caller ID saysMom and Dad.

I hold a finger up to Ben while I step out the back door to take the call.

“Kai!” My dad’s voice booms through the phone. “We’re all here and we wanted to call you before Kala and Makoa leave for Maui.”

Makoa is the name my father calls Bodhi.

A chorus of “Hi, Kai!” makes me smile so broadly I feel my cheeks stretch. I discern the voices of my mom, Kala and Bodhi in the mix.

“How are you Kai?” my mom asks.

“I’m fine. Good. A little tired today. I was up late helping a friend. But I’m good. How are you?”

“We’re all well. So happy to have your sister and her future husband here with us. We miss all of you.”

“I miss you too. I’m at work right now, though. Can I call you later?”

“Of course. We just wanted to include you in their visit. I wish you were here.”

“You’ll be here for the wedding and we’ll see one another then.”

We talk a little longer, Bodhi and Kala telling me about a few local Hawaiian friends who send their greetings. They fill me in on the surfing conditions and waves they’ve ridden since being back in Hawaii, Mom gives me an update on her life over the past week since we last spoke, Dad is mostly silent until we all wish one another well and then we hang up.

The day moves forward, customers trickling in and out of the shop here and there, but nothing like they do in the summer months. Both Ben and I have surf lessons at various times. A few hours after lunch I inform Ben that I’m going to take off early.

“I’ve got some follow up from an odd job I did on the North Shore.”

“At Mila’s Place?”

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