Page 30 of Tiki Beach
I felt a familiar tightness in my chest; it was an involuntary response to commitment, to closeness, that had plagued me since childhood when I’d lost both parents in a traumatic car accident. “I don’t know, Keone. It’s a big step. Aunt Fae needs me. And where would Tiki…”
“It’s okay.” Keone set down his wine glass and moved to perch on the wide wood arm of my chair. “Kat, I’m not pushing. I just want you to know the option is there and that I’d like to move in that direction. Whenever you’re ready.”
I squeezed his hand, grateful for his patience. “I know. And I love you for it.”
“Being anxious is normal,” he said softly. “But so is moving forward. At your own speed.”
The understanding in his gaze made my heart swell, and I set aside my wine glass to pull him down for a kiss. “How did I get so lucky?” I murmured against his lips.
“I ask myself that same question every day,” he replied, kissing me with tenderness that quickly deepened into something more urgent.
Keone stood and pulled me to my feet. “I didn’t shower yet,” he said, his eyes dark with desire. “Care to join me? You’ll be squeaky clean and it will save water for the cleanup afterward, you know. Very environmentally conscious.”
I laughed, stepping into his arms. “You’re not the only one who likes multitasking.”
Later, wrapped in fresh towels and each other’s arms, we made our way to his bedroom. As I drifted toward sleep, Keone’s heartbeat was steady beneath my ear.
Some steps forward were worth the risk, especially when they led toward someone who understood your strengths, and your fears.
Tomorrow we would deal with the case and its decades of secrets.
Tomorrow we would continue the fight for Pearl and her garden.
But tonight, in this peaceful cottage by the sea, I would simply be present in the moment—safe, loved, and, for the moment at least, at peace.
10
The next morning at the post office, Pua hollered over her shoulder to me. “Kat? There’s a situation out here.” Something in her tone suggested this particular morning was taking an unwelcome turn.
“What kind of situation?” I hollered back, gloved hands still busily sorting mail. “Is the door stuck again?”
“It’s . . . it’s Tiki,” Pua replied. “And she’s brought you a . . . gift.”
The hesitation in her tone was all I needed to know about what kind of “gift” my cat had likely delivered. Tiki had, after all, brought me the desiccated hand of the previous postmaster to kick off my life in Ohia. Tiki was, despite her general disdain for any sort of rules, an accomplished hunter with a flair for the dramatic, delivering trophies to those she deemed worthy. They always seemed to arrive at inconvenient times.
“I’ll be right there.” I set aside the bundle of letters I was sorting, glad I was already wearing rubber gloves.
My scruffy calico feline sat proudly on the polished laminate countertop next to a very dead gray Hawaiian roof rat.
The main area was empty of customers—a small mercy. Pua stood rigid at her station uncomfortably near the scene of the crime. Her face was a delicate mask of repugnance as she stared at Tiki and the aforementioned rodent. The corpse had been placed with what could only be described as artistic precision atop a Priority Mail form; its tail dangled off the counter.
“Tiki,” I snapped. “I appreciate the rodent elimination effort, but—boundaries, please. Not at work.”
Tiki blinked slowly, her yellow eyes radiating smug satisfaction, and licked her chops as if to emphasize the tastiness of her offering. She placed a paw on it and gave a little push in my direction. The rat—thankfully intact, rather than partially dismembered—was clearly meant as a bribe or a consequence, perhaps in response to last night’s absence from home.
“Is it normal for her to bring you . . . presents?” Pua asked, maintaining her distance from both cat and rat.
“Only when she’s feeling particularly generous—or grumpy,” I replied. “Or when she wants to remind me of her superior hunting skills. Or when—heck, I have no idea. Tiki does what she wants, when she wants. As you know.”
“This is unsanitary,” Pua muttered. “To begin with.”
“I’m aware.” I scooped up the rat with a handful of tissues. “Thank you for the gift, Tiki, but the post office is not an appropriate place for you to bring me a present. Federal regulations.” I gave Tiki a firm scratch behind the ears. “I promise to be home tonight.”
Tiki’s kinked tail twitched in what might have been amusement or disdain (with her, it was hard to tell.) Meanwhile, Pua trotted to our little kitchen area and returned with disinfectant spray, paper towels, and a ziplock bag. I dropped the rat inside and sealed it as Pua sprayed the laminate counter, all the way up to Tiki’s paws. She glanced up at me. “Is she going to move?”
“Unsure.” I gestured toward the door which was propped open to catch the ocean breeze and told Tiki, “Shoo. Go visit Aunt Fae or torment the birds at the park or something.”
With the languid stretch that cats have perfected over millennia, Tiki rose from her regal sitting pose, arched her back, and leapt gracefully from the counter. She padded to the door, pausing to glance back with an expression that clearly said, “You’re welcome.”
