Page 64 of The Wrong Fiancée

"You seem surprised." He gave me a sideways smile.

I shrugged. "I guess I didn't expect you to be so…relaxed. You seem at home here."

He adjusted his fedora. "Kauai has that effect, doesn't it? Can't be uptight in a place like this. Plus, I wanted you to take a break. Enjoy yourself."

I was about to protest—I had too much going on to "take a break"—but the truth was, it had been ages since I’d had a day off, a day to do nothing but stroll and soak in the world. And somehow, Tate knew that’s exactly what I needed.

We wandered through the galleries, stepping into little art studios and workshops that smelled of wood and paint. Rooms where walls were covered with art that felt alive—vivid paintings of Waimea Canyon, the Na Pali Coast, and hula dancers captured in mid-movement, the colors practically vibrating offthe canvas. There were carvings of koa wood, delicate handmade jewelry, and beautiful ceramics. This wasn't high-end or glossy, it was authentic and deeply connected to the island's history and spirit.

Tate was atruetourist. He was curious about everything. He'd pick up pieces and hold them in his hands, studying them with real admiration. He asked a lot of questions, and I surprised myself by answering most of his queries.

"You know," he said, examining a small carved tiki statue, "there's something here you don’t find in those high-end galleries. It’s raw and real. Feels alive, like each piece has a story to tell."

I loved that he felt the same way I did about island art. Here, it wasn’t about status or prestige—it was about the islands, their people, their land, their soul.

After we wandered out of a small studio, my stomach growled. I hadn't even realized how hungry I was until I breathed in the smell of grilled fish and garlic from a nearby restaurant.

Tate raised an eyebrow. "Lunch?" he asked, already guiding me toward a small café across the street without waiting for my answer.

The eatery was a tiny, open-air spot with mismatched wooden chairs and tables shaded by big, colorful umbrellas. Locals filled most of the tables, laughing and chatting with the laid-back ease that seemed to come naturally in Hanapepe. The place wasn't fancy, but it had a cozy charm—kind of like everything else in this town.

Tate chose a table with a view of the main street and the galleries across from us. As soon as we sat, a waitress appeared, smiling as she handed us menus filled with local dishes—exactly what I wanted.

"What are we thinking?" Tate asked, flipping through the menu as he lit his cigar, the smoke curling lazily into the air.

"Something….” I eyed the ahi poke bowl on the menu. "The poke bowls here are really good, but you can't go wrong no matter what you order."

Tate read through the menu, weighing his options. "I thinkI'll do the kalua pork plate, too. I can't come to Hawaii and not have that."

When the server returned, we placed our orders—ahi poke for me, kalua pork for him, lomi lomi salmon, and some Spam musubi just for good measure. Tate added a local beer while I went with fresh lilikoi juice, the sweet-tart flavor already making my mouth water.

The sun was warm on my skin, a soft breeze rolling in from the ocean, and the sound of island music floated through the air from somewhere down the street. It felt like everything had slowed down for a minute. No stress. No drama. Just a peaceful afternoon, eating lunch and talking art with…Dean's father?

What had happened to my life?

"I haven't had a day like this in...," I leaned back in my chair, "I don't even know how long."

Tate gave me a knowing smile. "That’s what I thought. You needed a break. Too much work and stress can tear a person apart." He took a slow drag from his cigar, his gaze drifting lazily over the street. "Besides, you’re pretty good company—even if you did just get out of jail."

I laughed, shaking my head. “Technically, it was an interrogation room."

Tate put his hand on mine. "I'm sorry about that."

"You have nothing to apologize for," I said sincerely. "This is Felicity and Ginny. I…how come Dean couldn't see who she is?"

"He would have, but he was in a rush to settle down. Damian and Duncan got married to terrific women, and I think he wanted the same. He thought he could have it with Felicity." Tate stubbed out his cigar.

"Did youlikeher?"

Tate shrugged. "If Dean loved her, it wouldn't have mattered how I or Marcella felt. But, no, we didn't like her. And before you ask,no, we didn't say anything to Dean. We interfered once with our son Damian, and it nearly cost him Emilia, who is, by the way, a terrific artist. So, Marcella and I decided to keep our mouths shut and let the kids figure it out."

"But you cameall the way to Kauai to check me out?" I quirked an eyebrow.

He chuckled. "I thought he wouldn't be here, and I could interfere without him finding out."

The food arrived, and the flavors, as I had predicted, were incredible. The poke was fresh with a tangy soy-sesame dressing that made my taste buds dance. Tate dug into his kalua pork, pulling apart the tender, smoky meat with a satisfied grunt.

"Now this," he pointed his fork at his plate, "this is what I'm talking about. Simple and fucking perfect."

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