Like a Good Wife (Oahu Naval Officers Book 2) Read online

  Like a Good Wife

  Drea Braddock

  Copyright © 2021 by Hana Mau Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Kat Wyeth of Kat’s Literary Services

  “To Love” by Brooke Waggoner used with permission.

  For all my fellow anxious gals

  May you find the support you need, discover the strength you have, and be regularly reminded that you are worth the effort.

  Contents

  Punctuation Note

  1. Ames

  2. Nalani

  3. Ames

  4. Nalani

  5. Ames

  6. Nalani

  7. Ames

  8. Nalani

  9. Ames

  10. Nalani

  11. Ames

  12. Nalani

  13. Ames

  14. Nalani

  15. Contract

  16. Ames

  17. Nalani

  18. Ames

  19. Amended Contract

  20. Nalani

  21. Ames

  22. Nalani

  23. Ames

  24. Nalani

  25. Ames

  26. Nalani

  27. Ames

  28. Nalani

  29. Ames

  30. Nalani

  31. Ames

  32. Nalani

  33. Ames

  34. Nalani

  35. Ames

  36. Amended Contract #2

  37. Nalani

  38. Ames

  39. Nalani

  40. Ames

  41. Nalani

  42. Ames

  43. Nalani

  44. Ames

  45. Nalani

  46. Ames

  47. Nalani

  48. Ames

  49. Epilogue: Ames

  preview

  Jameson

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Drea Braddock

  Playlist

  Hawaiian Words & Phrases

  Hawaiian Names & Places

  Punctuation Note

  *the diacritical marking ‘ (‘okina) is used throughout the book, in deference to its importance in the Hawaiian language. It indicates a glottal stop, like the sound between the syllables “oh-oh.”

  For pronunciation guides on Hawaiian words, check the glossary in the back.

  Ames

  March

  There is an uncomfortable amount of eye-fucking and finger sucking going on, especially considering we're outside of a church. When I found our neighbor, Ka‘eo Maheloha, parked on our couch, wearing nothing but an inadequate towel and what can only be described as a sex-satisfied grin, I knew he and my friend Norah had moved past their hate-lust. I'm not mad about it, it's about time, but I didn't expect to have to keep averting my eyes the whole damn day! He brought us to this poi pounding because we’d asked to learn more about native Hawaiian culture. I came to be taught to pound steamed kalo root into pa‘i‘ai, not to be subjected to this new facet of their relationship. And, ok, I have learned a lot and the whole experience has been fascinating. Still, I need a break. They’re nauseating.

  Regardless, I can’t sit still any longer. I stand up, ready to insert myself into a random group or find someone new to talk to, when I hear music coming from inside the church. I know the song, but it’s weird hearing it in this setting, like running into your teacher outside of school when you’re a kid. It’s a Death Cab for Cutie song. I’m standing on the sidewalk, frozen part way through running my hands through my hair, drawn to the sound. I’ve made my way over to the wall of opened, louvered windows before I even realize I’m moving. Now it’s not only the piano, there’s an incredible voice too. It’s clear, but low. Sexy.

  The baby grand piano on the stage in the front of the church sanctuary is angled in such a way that I can’t see the pianist from where I’m standing. I slip inside the open door next to me and take another couple of steps along the back wall, trying to stay unnoticed. Her eyes are closed, I needn’t have worried. She’s lost in her own world. I feel like I’m lost right along with her. The song fills me, connecting me to her and the moment in a way that only music can. Petite with delicate features and graceful limbs, she plays with her whole body. It’s like the music is an extension of her, filling her and pouring out from her fingertips. Fingers glide over the keys and she’s swaying with the building and ebbing phrases. I can feel every chord, every run, like it’s my own heartbeat. Goosebumps erupt on my arms and the hairs stand on end. Her dark, wavy hair is brushing the olive skin of her shoulders as she tips her chin up.

  She’s beautiful.

  Mesmerizing.

  She gets to the line about longing for the sea like Navy men and I gasp, even knowing the line is coming. It feels very personal. Like she’s singing it just for me.

  She finishes the song and I’m entranced. I feel like we just shared something, except I’m the only one that’s aware. I forget that I’ve basically snuck in to spy on a stranger. I’m now standing in the middle of the aisle, close to the stage, watching her. I couldn’t turn away even if I wanted to and I really, really don’t want to. The final notes ring out and she slowly opens her eyes and turns, seeing me. Wide-set almond shaped eyes take me in. She freezes when her eyes meet mine and her rosy lips fall open. It’s as if the entire world freezes around us, the air filled with promise as heavy as the scent of tropical flowers coming in through the windows. I take a step towards her, but the lid bangs down over the piano keys, she grabs a bag from the floor, and runs off the stage and out the side door, taking a piece of me with her.

  2

  Nalani

  Shit, shit, shit!

  What the hell was that, Nalani? I’m clutching my bag to my body, tools rattling and keys jangling, running through the church parking lot. I slow down once I get out to the street, inhaling for two steps and exhaling for four until I get to the bus stop, out on the main drag. Slow and even, deep leads to calm, just the way I’ve been practicing for years. I shouldn’t have been playing once I knew the job was done, but it’s hard to ignore the pull of a freshly tuned baby grand. I’m not being honest with myself, though. It wasn’t getting caught playing and singing that rattled me, it was him.

  There was this palpable electricity between us. He was watching me with such raw, unmasked desire in his expression and it shook me to my very foundation. For a moment, before I caught myself, I could perfectly picture myself stepping off the stage and into his arms, the pull was that strong. I would have drowned in the deep blue depths of his eyes, surfacing for air only to find myself lost again in the pressure of his lips. My pulse was racing at the mere idea. I’ve never responded to someone so quickly or intensely. And then I remembered Noa. What kind of woman forgets her own boyfriend?

  Once I’m settled onto my seat on the bus, I pull out my phone to text him. This job wasn’t supposed to take very long, and he expects me back for a lunch date. Of course, he’s already at my apartment.

  Noa: Where are you?

  Noa: Nalani, you know I hate waiting.

  Noa: We agreed we’d have lunch, why don’t you ever respect my time?

  Me: I’m so sorry, it took a little longer than I expected. I’m on the bus now.

  He knew where I was working. If he was worried about time, he could have come to pick me up at the church instead of expecting me to ride the bus home. I shake my head, as if
I can shake those thoughts right out. No, that’s not fair. He works really hard and today is his day off. I shouldn’t be wasting his time or expecting him to act as my chauffeur. If I had left when I finished tuning the piano, I might have returned home before he arrived. This is my fault. Familiar guilt tendrils out, holding my stomach in its clenching grip.

  Noa: Fine. If this takes too much longer, I’m going to have to bounce. I told you I’m meeting Garrett to surf.

  Me: I know. I’m sorry. I’m almost home.

  My palms are clammy, and my fingers are aching from clutching them tightly. I step off the bus, my steps more and more reluctant the closer I get to home, and I see Noa sitting on my steps, waiting. His foot is tapping, and the set of his jaw is rigid and pulsing with the clenching of his teeth.

  “There you are. Finally! What took so long?” He stands up, the width of his shoulders and his towering height already intimidating without him standing two steps above me on the staircase.

  “I know, I’m sorry, I just…” I don’t even get the expected apology out before he’s talking over me, gesturing me up the stairs.

  “Drop your shit off, quick, I can’t wait around for you to change, so I guess we’re going to lunch with you looking like that.” The upward swing of his arm indicates all of me and I flush with embarrassment. I hadn’t been planning to change. The gorgeous blond at the church stared at me like I was an oasis in the desert. Oh God, I probably misread the whole thing. Maybe he was staring at me because I look like a wreck. He could have been coming to ask why I was playing and singing instead of finishing up the job and clearing out. I’m such an idiot. Nervous fingers try to smooth down my dark waves as I rush up the stairs, depositing my piano tuning gear inside and re-locking the door.

  Noa is behind the wheel of his SUV, engine running. I scramble in, breathing out another apology with as much thought as I give exhaling, securing my seatbelt as he peels out. When he parks at a newly opened restaurant, my stomach knots even more. Sometimes he gets like this, as if he’s testing me with things he knows I struggle with, setting me up to punish me. All I can do is try my hardest not to disappoint him.

  Noa pushes his way forward, used to demanding respect and being in charge. Looking over the menu, my panic increases. They serve small, street-style tacos with a million different topping options. This is like my own personal hell. I haven’t had time to check reviews and see what’s good. I didn’t know where we were going, so I wasn’t able to think over what I was in the mood to eat. There are so many choices, it’s overwhelming. Noa finishes ordering his lunch and the girl behind the counter turns to me, smiling expectantly. Aching fingers twist and grip and I bite my bottom lip, eyes darting over the menu board again. Noa is glaring and I can feel the presence of people waiting behind us, like there are waves of annoyance buffeting me from all sides. At least I know Noa won’t make a scene. He’ll bury me in his frustration but stop just shy of anything that might embarrass him publicly. He’s very conscious of his image. His dark eyes narrow and I gulp, sucking in a shuddering breath. I ask for the first thing I see, not even caring if it’s something I will like. Anything to get this over with.

  I follow my boyfriend to a corner table, watching our feet stepping through streaks on freshly washed tile. I don’t want to meet his eye, knowing the annoyance I’ll see there, but avoiding it will just make things worse.

  “I swear, Nalani, you’re such a fucking embarrassment. It’s a taco. You’re not curing world hunger, just picking your own fucking lunch. Why do you have to make everything so hard? Sometimes I wonder why I keep you around.”

  I nod quietly, mumbling something in agreement and blinking rapidly to keep from crying. A public emotional outburst is the only thing that would make this lunch worse. Once our food is delivered, I eat my tacos in silence, not even tasting whatever it was I ordered. I didn’t use to be a constant source of frustration and disappointment. At one point, Noa pursued me. But that was before he got to know me well enough to see all of the real me. Before he became well acquainted with the parts of me that make liking me so hard. Like always, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before Noa decides I’m not worth the trouble after all.

  Ames

  SEPTEMBER

  I look over my notes again, every line scratched out, before I ball them up and slam them onto the countertop. Another fucking dead end. It seemed so easy at first, so attainable: ask around, find the girl at the piano, cue the happily ever after. Except I keep coming up empty. The week after I saw her I went back to the church, sat through the service — looking for her the whole time — and even talked to the worship band leader afterwards. He didn’t know who I was talking about. Apparently their only piano player is a middle-aged man. I tried a few other times, talking to different band members, but no one could tell me who she was.

  I asked the two uncles who run the bi-monthly poi poundings, but she’s not part of the regular group that attends. She doesn’t teach at any of the music stores on the windward side of the island. She’s not a music teacher, of any kind, at any of the nearby elementary, intermediate, or high schools. She also doesn’t play piano at any of the churches in Kailua or Kaneohe. And I don’t like to dwell on how crazy I must have appeared, asking after a nameless woman I could only describe. ‘I swear I’m not a serial killer, I’m just wondering if you know a young, some-mix-of-Asian-possibly, piano player?’ I’m lucky someone didn’t call the cops on me. Not that it matters now. I’ve run out of ideas. And the obsessive search has started to make me feel like a creepy stalker. I’ve spent 7 months thinking about and searching for the captivating pianist with no results. I am a goal-oriented, achievement-driven kind of a guy. I hate failing. But I have to let it go.

  Except I can’t get her out of my head. I couldn’t muster up even the tiniest bit of interest for anyone else, no matter how I tried. I’ve pushed to make myself get out there, but I find myself comparing everyone I see to this mystery woman I never even spoke to. That’s been made all the harder by my two closest friends, Ka‘eo and Norah, falling in love with each other. It was bound to happen. I certainly wasn’t surprised. Well, maybe a little. I wasn’t surprised they fell into bed, but I didn’t anticipate the love story. I thought they both wanted different things. Apparently, I was way off. Seeing Norah and Ka‘eo happy, wrapped up in each other, working to support each other and better themselves has sucked. For me. It’s great for them! But now, more than ever, I’m aware of how lonely I am. I want what they have. I want someone who tries to see the best in me. Someone I want to be better for. Someone I can take care of and watch tv with and take to Ward Room functions. I may live in the land of holiday hook-ups, but all I want is a real relationship.

  The front door opens and Ka‘eo strolls in, his broad shoulders and massive chest blocking all the light streaming in behind him. His usual, beaming smile falls as he looks at me.

  “Brah, why so down?” He eyes the smashed pile of yellow legal notepad paper and sighs. “Still nothing, ya?”

  “It’s over. I give up.”

  “I hate to say it, but you’re probably building her up to unreasonable heights. No one, not even The Girl, is going to be able to come close to what you’ve got in your head now.”

  “I know, I know. You’re probably right.” I crush the paper into a tighter ball before lobbing it into the trash can.

  “When was the last time you actually went out anyway? Not since I’ve known you, that’s fo sho.”

  Running my hands down my face, my palms tickled by stubble, I puff out a short burst of air. “Longer than that, man. I purposefully didn’t start anything up when I moved here, because I was deploying so soon. And in Virginia,” I drop my head, not wanting to think about those relationships, “forget that shit. Anyway, it’s been a long time, that’s all.”

  Ka‘eo leans down, muscled forearms on the kitchen island countertop. “Other than your obsession with your mystery girl you refuse to give me any details about, what’s the pro
blem? There’s no shortage of women on base.”

  “Hard pass, man. Hard. Pass. I do not mess with women at work. It’s not worth the drama. I’m not ruining my career or making life on the ship hell. Not an option.”

  “Ah, I get it. My Nani said the same thing. It’s not my business, I just hate to see you so frustrated.”

  “Speaking of your Nani,” I stretch, wishing I could shake off my sour mood as easily as easing a tight back, “where is Norah? You know she’s not here, right?”

  “Oh, I know. We were on our way over here to work out and she stopped to chat with Issa. Wanna lift with us?”

  I consider it, then remember what the two of them are like when they’re working out together. Competition as foreplay is not something I want to witness. “Nah, I think I’ll go for a run. Maybe pounding the pavement will help me shake this funk.”