Page 36 of Poseidon's Island Flower

Kalua pork was roasted in an underground oven, steamed rocks were placed in the pig's belly and covered with banana leaves. The sides prepared at this little dive were all authentic, made by an older generation of men who stuck to their roots.

They were all wonderful people, but at the sight of our black SUV pulling into the sanded parking lot, we got some wary stares.

“Wait here,” I told Cy and Zeus. “I’ll go tell them we brought you. Only special tourists are allowed to eat here.” I winked at Cy, squeezing his hand once more before opening the door.

I hopped out of the car and was immediately greeted by a group of cooks I recognized instantly. The group gave Koma and I plenty of food until I could settle my parents’ funeral and find a job to keep my brother in school.

“Whose car is that, Lani? Did you steal it?” Naia asked. She wiped her hand on her apron and threw her hands on her hips.

The men behind her were the cooks, while Naia was the server. More often than not, though, she’d put in her two cents if the older men weren’t doing a good enough job. They mainly tended to the imu, or the underground oven, to cook the pork.

She smelled of smoked meat, her apron covered in Kalua sauce. Her thick, white, wiry hair was pulled back into a bun.

“I brought some friends. They’re from the mainland, but they’re very nice.”

Naia narrowed one of her eyes at me and back at the car. “They are white folk, aren’t they?”

“Naia, don’t be that way. They aren’t racist,” I scolded.

Many believed that native Hawaiians were always friendly, spurting out “aloha” at every turn, but that was far from the case. Tourists outnumbered us, and our culture was ultimately dying. Sure, tourists could watch the traditional dances at the resorts, but food prep could be far from orthodox when cooking a traditional meal.

We just worried our traditions would be wiped away.

Naia shook her head. “Ah, I know that not all of them are. I just don’t want to get shut down. You know this place is special.” She gave a stiff smile.

This place was special. Few of these little setups still stood around the island. The commercial real estate brokers would jump at the chance to take away this plot of land to set up another resort, and we wouldn't have that.

If I thought that Zeus and Cy would report a place like this, then I wouldn’t have brought them. Only knowing them for a short time, I felt like we would become great friends.

Naia smacked her lips together. “Fine, bring them on in. I’ll set them up at the nice table.”

After Zeus parked, I led them through the shack. That was no exaggeration, it was a shack and one of the reasons we kept off-islanders away. All the food was cooked authentically, using traditional cooking method.

But it was so dang good this way.

By the end of the night, we would all be smelling like smoke, but it was a good, sultry smoke that gave me nostalgic memories.

“Ah, good to see you, Candice. I haven’t seen you in so long!” Naia hugged her and brushed away her short hair. “You still will not grow out that beautiful blonde hair, will you?”

Candice shook her head. “No, if I did, I would become too beautiful, and then what would Lani do when she tries to get a man? I would steal them away so effortlessly. Nah, gotta keep the playing field even.”

Naia laughed, shooing us to a table that was set on the sand. The wind blew over the beach, its gusts pushing the smoky haze away from us and down the shore.

It was a weeknight, so there wouldn’t be a crowd, and I could already see three imus hiding the pork beneath the banana leaves. On a weekend, we could easily see at least seven imus set up.

The moon was so full and bright, it lit up the ocean. The tide was high but calm, however. The waters stretched far up the shore line, almost beckoning us for a swim.

Maybe a walk on the beach later? Would Cy enjoy that?

Cy breathed in deeply, staring out over the ocean. His body shifted closer to me on the picnic table where we sat, and our thighs touched. My legs pressed together; I could feel my pussy throbbing because of our proximity.

Was he feeling the same thing as me?

Sure, this dinner was supposed to be a “thank you for saving my life, sir,” but now it was more. I could feel that he and I were different.

I just didn’t know if he could feel it, too.

Is this what the decently good men out there do? Question themselves?

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