Page 67 of Tiki Beach
“I know it’s not rational,” I said. “I know that loving someone doesn’t cause them to be taken away. But the fear is so deeply ingrained that sometimes it feels like a protective spell—if I don’t fully commit, maybe I can prevent history from repeating itself.”
“What would make you comfortable right now? Not what you think you should feel, or what would make me happy—but what feels right for you?”
I stared down at the ring, then back at his face. This man had shown me time and again that he understood my complexities and respected my needs.
“I want to be with you,” I stated, the certainty of that a solid foundation beneath the shifting sands of fear. “I want to build a life together. I’m just not ready for a traditional engagement with all the trappings.” I slipped Keone’s grandma’s heirloom onto the ring finger of my right hand. “Would it be okay if I wore it here for now?”
“Perfect,” he said, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to the ring that now adorned it. “This relationship is about finding what works for us.”
“Are you sure?” I searched his handsome face for any sign of hidden disappointment. “Most people would expect a straightforward yes—or no.”
“I’m not ‘most people,’” he reminded me. “And neither are you. We’ve never done anything the conventional way. Why start now?”
Relief and gratitude washed through me. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I’d rather have you genuinely where you are, than pretending in any form.”
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. We were both the same glorious six-foot-one in height. We fit like two bookends measured for each other. We kissed for a long time. So long, in fact, that I forgot where I began and he ended.
It was Tiki, winding around our ankles with a loud “Mrrrow!” that made us break apart. I gave a breathless laugh and reached down to pet her. When I straightened back up, I met Keone’s gaze, and he was twinkling his eyes at me. “I love you,” I said.
“I love you, too, Trouble,” he said. “Maybe that ring will stay on your right hand forever, and that’s just fine. There’s no expiration date for us.”
We kissed some more. Tiki sat down on my feet, registering her presence. She eventually applied talons to my calf, letting me know she wanted sustenance.
“We should probably head back,” I said, pulling away from his embrace. “Elle will send out a search party if we’re missing too long.”
Keone plucked a fallen plumeria blossom from my hair. “What do you want to tell people? My mom is sure to notice that ring.”
“That we’re engaged, but not yet planning the wedding,” I said. “I’ll know when I’m ready for the next step. I’ll move the ring to my left hand, then.”
“Perfect,” he said, and it felt that way to me, too.
As we walked back toward the main gathering, following Tiki’s sassy kinked tail, I was acutely aware of the ring on my right hand. Wearing it there was a promise to myself as much as to Keone: a promise to keep working through the fear that had shaped so much of my life, to move toward love rather than away from it, even when that was at my own careful pace.
The celebration was in full swing when we returned, with Elle efficiently directing the flow of guests between refreshment stations and informational displays about the garden’s future features, as a full band now occupied the stage, and a younger crowd danced where the chairs had been.
Elle spotted us immediately, her eyes narrowing as she assessed our clasped hands and slightly rumpled appearance. “I was wondering where you’d got to,” she said.
“Keone wanted to show me the plumeria tree that’s being preserved in the garden design,” I explained, which was true, if incomplete.
Elle’s gaze dropped to my hand, where the vintage ring’s pearl gleamed in the sunlight. Her expression softened into a smile. “I get it,” she said. “Congratulations to you both!”
Before I could respond to her perceptive assessment, Elle was pulled away by a catering question. With a quick squeeze of my arm, she was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the refreshment tables.
I instinctively tucked my hand behind my back, suddenly self-conscious.
Keone noticed. “We don’t have to tell anyone today if you’re not ready,” he said.
Before I could respond, Aunt Fae and Ilima approached us, engaged in what appeared to be an intense discussion. Aunt Fae’s crane-adorned hat bobbed emphatically as she gestured toward one of the architectural renderings.
“All I’m saying is that the meditation space should incorporate elements from both Japanese and Hawaiian traditions,” she explained. “A true reflection of the community’s intertwined—” She broke off abruptly as she noticed us. “There you two are! We were wondering where you’d disappeared to.”
I kept my hand behind my back, but the gesture only drew Aunt Fae’s attention. Her sharp eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you hiding, Kat?” she asked directly, in the way that had both exasperated and comforted me throughout my life. “You’ve got that same guilty look you had when you were twelve and accidentally broke my heirloom vase.”
“I don’t have a guilty look,” I protested, and brought my hand from behind my back. The sunlight caught the pearl’s surface, gleaming with iridescence that both women noticed. Aunt Fae gasped dramatically while Ilima’s eyes widened with surprise and delight.
“My mother’s ring!” Ilima exclaimed, recognizing the family heirloom instantly. “Keone, you finally asked her.”
