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

  Ka‘eo bumps my fist and heads to the carport to get set up. I get changed, trying not to admit to myself that no amount of running is going to erase the piano player from my mind. Still, I have to at least try.

  Without a way to find ‘The Girl,’ I throw all of my energy into the “anti-ball” I’ve been planning — getting dressed up and spending the night out in Honolulu instead of going to the Navy Ball. It’s easier to think about that than to keep obsessing over a woman I’m starting to believe was a figment of my imagination. I’ve been taking care of all of the details. I enjoy planning, researching, getting all the moving parts to line up. Combining that with doing something for people I care about, makes it even better.

  I won’t be the third wheel to the Ka‘eo and Norah love fest. My other two housemates, Nikki and Jameson, are coming, as well as a shipmate, Everett. They should balance things out since we’ll be joined by another sickeningly in love couple, Fern and Deacon. We’re all going to have a great dinner at 100 Sails, see an Ella Fitzgerald tribute at a jazz club, The Blue Note Hawai‘i, and stay at the Waikiki Outrigger Hotel. I won’t really be using my room the way Norah and K will be, but I figure, why not? No worries about driving across the island late, I can order room service, use the nice hotel pool…it will be fun. We’re going to get dressed up and have a night to remember. Even if all I can think about is mesmerizing hazel eyes.

  4

  Nalani

  It’s possible I’ve become one with my couch. I can no longer tell where the cushions end and where I begin. My brain is like a skein of yarn after a kitten has gotten a hold of it, snarled and tangled then discarded in a messy heap. Pretty sure I smell like a basket of old laundry, and I could resemble one too. I’m idly wondering if it’s worth getting up to search my fridge for food when I hear the scrape of a key in my lock. Dammit.

  “Lani, love?” My mom pokes her head in, sunlight glinting off the silver strands streaking through her blonde waves.

  I raise my hand in greeting. Sort of. My body is sluggish, and it takes too much effort. “Hi, Kachaan.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I was afraid of this.” My mom rushes in, scooting her body close to mine on the couch and wrapping me in her arms. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Despite myself, tears leak from the corner of my eyes, tracing down my cheeks. “Oh, Kachaan, I wanted to, but then I didn’t want to. I’m 26 years old! I should be able to recover from a breakup without calling my mom.”

  “Lani,” Kachaan pulls back, eyes stern, “I am always here for you. It’s not weakness to be comforted by your loved ones! How else are you going to vent and work through your feelings? Plus, I’ve been dying to tell you how much of an asshole I thought Noa was! Are you going to deny me my right, as your mother, to trash your ex?”

  I choke out a wet giggle, squeezing her tight. “Did you really think that?”

  “Of course! He never appreciated you for who you are! He said all the right things to get you in bed, then treated you like a broken toy, something to take his own insecurities and anger out on. Sweetheart, you deserve the kind of love that lifts you up, that celebrates you, that makes you the best version of yourself, that helps you to see that these parts of you that you see as flaws are simply another part of you as a whole. You’re a whole ass woman, my love! All I want is for you to feel that and believe that.”

  “I’m trying,” I sniffle. “But…”

  She cuts me off, “No. No buts. Noa tried to break you down. He made you smaller. Just promise me something?” She cups my face in her hands, the way she has since I was a small child, sharing her love through her touch. “You don’t have to date. You can take time for yourself, if that’s what you want. But if a man isn’t making you feel cared for, supported, beloved, then you walk away. You have too much to offer to waste time with assholes like Noa who use you to make themselves feel bigger.” She kisses the tip of my nose, smoothing my hair away from my face. “Promise me, love.”

  I breathe deeply, slowly exhaling and meeting her eyes. “I promise. No more Noas.”

  My mother stands, surveying my open apartment. “Now, get yourself in the shower. I’m going to make us popcorn and we’re going to watch Pride & Prejudice, but I refuse to snuggle with you smelling like that. I already told your dad that today called for girl time, so he’s not expecting me back until dinner.” God, my mom is the best woman that ever lived.

  Emerging from the steamy bathroom, clean and dressed, has me feeling more human than I have all week. Kachaan didn’t just make popcorn, she tidied my apartment too. Such a mom move. She shouldn’t be pushing herself right now. I worry about her wearing herself out, but I know if I mention it she’ll brush me off and insist that she can handle anything. I guess I’ll have to trust her and ignore my concerns.

  Girl time is the reset I needed. She always knows what I need. I can’t spend anymore time in the dark, losing myself to fog and apathy. If nothing else, Noa was not worth it. I can see that now.

  The first step I take to getting back to stable ground is getting back into gigging. I didn’t play as much while dating Noa because he demanded my evenings be free. I hate myself for letting him take one of the things that makes me, ME. I’m not myself without music. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, even just to myself, but every time I sit in front of the piano, there’s a small moment when I remember the guy from the church, watching me play. I like to think that he’s cheering me on, wanting me to give myself over to the melody and stop worrying about what others think. I wish I could thank him. The way he looked at me, the way I like to imagine he thought of me, is like a tiny fire burning in me, giving me confidence.

  Ames

  November

  It’s Anti-Ball night, ya’ll! My room is nice, and I take my time, enjoying the air conditioning. We don’t have that luxury in our house on the windward side of O‘ahu. Air conditioning is a necessity back in Memphis and I miss it. I’m still not used to being hot all the time.

  I shave and put on my tuxedo. I went classic tux. I think I look pretty good and it sure beats wearing my dress blues. I get to be a regular guy tonight. Everyone meets down in the lobby. Nikki looks pretty in her long tropical dress with her blonde hair set in glamorous waves, but her vibe is all off. She’s distracted and pensive. I try to keep things light and cheerful to counteract her mood. It’s not easy. I’m glad I’ll have other people to talk to tonight.

  Everett Dawes is giving off some strong, broody energy. I often think it’s funny that, with his red hair and freckles, he looks so sunny while his personality is far from that. People assume he’s light and jokey. They don’t make that mistake twice. Jameson is his usual, chill, Texan-self. Frankly, he looks like he was made to wear a tuxedo with his dark curls and telenovela good looks. He’s the poster boy for tall, dark and handsome. Deacon and Fern are downright sickening. They can’t keep their hands off each other and the way he’s looking at her makes me feel like we should leave the room. Or they should.

  Ka‘eo and Norah come down, looking like a strangely perfect pair. They shouldn’t go together. He’s wide and tall, all muscles and hard edges, with dark eyes, a broad nose, and long, curly black hair he has tamed in a knot tonight. His burgundy tux is giving off action hero vibes and I am here for it! Norah looks like a casting agent’s dream for an edgy West Coast girl with her badass honey-blonde pixie cut, big green eyes, and copious freckles. She has on a short white dress that shows off her crazy long legs and tall, toned physique. They’re so opposite and yet they work. They fit. They complement each other and feed off each other’s energy. Lucky bastards. And I’m hoping we’re all going to ignore the fact that they look like they just had sex. I look over at Dawes and he grimaces. At least I’m not the only one not getting any.

  It boosts my mood considerably to have all of my plans received so well. I’m killing this whole “Anti-Ball” night. Dinner is excellent, we snag tables right up front at the jazz club, and we order a round of desserts. I chat with K, b
riefly, about our upcoming slate — how officers put in for their next set of orders — while we wait for everyone to sit. There’s the chaos of a bigger group going on around me — people coming and going, couples canoodling, Nikki getting back with her ex-boyfriend over the phone, but I’m not paying attention. The jazz trio backing up the local singer performing Ella Fitzgerald’s songs file quietly onto the stage. The piano player is my piano player. The Girl. It feels like one of those perfect movie moments: she pauses briefly, standing under a spotlight, breathtakingly beautiful, and everyone and everything around us fades into the background. Just bokeh and a dull buzz of noise. There’s no one else but her.

  I’m sitting right in her line of sight. Or I would be if she was looking up, but she’s completely engrossed in the music. Not only did I not imagine her, she’s even more beautiful than I remember, like my brain couldn’t fill in the details of her unique loveliness. I want to nudge K, tell someone, she’s THE GIRL, but I don’t want to take my eyes off her. I have this crazy feeling she’ll disappear if I look away. They’re playing “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” and the singer’s voice is soulful with grit to it. The trio is tight, and my stomach is in knots to be this close but still have no guarantee that I’ll be able to speak to her. They finish and I applaud enthusiastically, casting my eyes around for a program or something that might tell me her name.

  Did they have them out front and I missed it?

  Or are programs not a thing anymore?

  How can I find out who she is?

  They start the next song and I’m locked on to Her, watching the way her fingers dance across the keys and her body sways to the music. She’s wearing a simple dark dress, nothing flashy or showy and yet, she’s stunning. Eventually they break for an intermission and my pulse ratchets up while my leg jiggles underneath the table. She has to come back, right? People are peeling off to head up to their rooms and what not, but I can’t focus on what’s going on around me. I find myself alone until the trio is walking back on stage.

  I don’t know if my heart can take waiting through the entire second set, worrying about getting to talk to her. My veins are buzzing with adrenaline. I’m outright staring at her, likely looking more psychotic than charming, when she looks up from the piano. Our eyes meet, like they did back in March, right down to her parted, rosy lips. Does she remember me? God, I hope so. They haven’t started playing yet and she’s still looking at me, shocked. I take a chance. I mouth “Can we talk? After?” I try to enunciate very carefully and point at my table. She shakes her head, but before I can feel heartbroken, she points at the side door she came back through. My shoulders slump with relief.

  The second set goes by agonizingly slow. The music is still great, and I am happy to hear her play, but really, I just want them to be finished. I want to speak to her. After all of these months, the waiting is agony. I pay for the desserts, since apparently everyone I came with ditched me, and try to appear calm, putting a lot of effort into not tapping my fingers on the table or bouncing my leg underneath. After two encores, they’re finally done and she looks at me pointedly, tilting her head towards the door. Finally. I feel like everything has been leading up to this moment. Let’s do this, destiny.

  6

  Nalani

  It’s him. Holy hell, it’s actually him. It was more than half a year ago, but my pants would be a smoldering pile of ash if I said I hadn’t thought about him. He was impossible to forget. Fuzakenna! He looks like the Ken I used to marry to my Barbies! Broad shoulders, a golden, sun-kissed complexion, blond hair, and the kind of smile that lights up a room. After Noa dumped me, I fantasized about Mr. All-American heartthrob. At least until I stopped letting myself think about him— there’s too much unpleasantness stealing my focus right now — and then he’s there, sitting alone at a table right in front of me. Stranger still, he’s shooting me a turns-my-insides-to-goo smile and mouthing that he wants to talk to me!

  It should be hard to concentrate on our second set after that, but I never struggle when it comes to losing myself in music. It’s the place where I feel most free, most fully myself. Before I know it, we’re done and I’m motioning him to the outside door. And now that there’s no turning back, I’m nervous as hell. What did I do? I don’t even know this guy! Remembering that brief moment all those months ago isn’t much to go off of. I’m hoping the fact that I first saw him at a church means he’s not luring me to my death and planning to make jewelry out of my finger bones.

  I push outside into the warm night air and he’s right behind me, keeping himself at a respectable I-don’t-want-your-finger-bones distance. I take him in, looking beyond sexy in a black tuxedo, and bite my lip, even more nervous now that I’m seeing him up close.

  How did my memory downplay how good looking he is?

  Or did he actually get hotter?

  Is that possible? Maybe it’s a white guy thing…

  “Hi.” His voice is not too deep, just shy of rumbling, with a warm Southern accent. Kill me now, that voice really does it for me. “I hope you don’t think I’m crazy. I heard you play and sing at that church in Kailua when I was poi pounding with friends. I asked around, but no one could tell me who you were. I’ve sort of been looking for you ever since.”

  “You looked for me?” I’m still a little shocked he even remembers me. I’d more than convinced myself I imagined most of that interaction.

  “Well, yeah,” his smile falters a little. “Do you not remember me?”

  “Of course, I remember you! Are you kidding? Do you think gorgeous guys hang out, staring at me all the time?” The beaming smile is back and I’m so pleased to have made him happy it’s easier to ignore how embarrassing that admission was. He’s like the all-star quarterback and I was always the invisible band nerd.

  “I actually do imagine that happens all the time. I mean, I’ve been thinking about you since March. Is that pathetic? Do you think less of me now?” The words are self-conscious, a little deprecating, but his manner is anything but. He comes across confident and charming.

  “I’ve, um, thought about you some too, actually.”

  He extends his hands, long fingers with neat nails reaching for mine. “I’m Ames Cabot.”

  Even his wrists are attractive! Who gets all giddy over wrists? I’m in trouble. I take his hand, a thrilling shock shooting through me at how crazy this all is. “I’m Nalani. Kimura,” I stumble, because yeah, I can’t even say my own damn name right. “Nalani Kimura.”

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Nalani.” He looks as if he really means it. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Well, I’m done working for the night. And I’m off for the weekend. I guess I was planning on taking the bus home.”

  “I have an idea. A really good idea. Or a crazy one. Sometimes they’re one and the same with me. At the risk of sounding too forward, Nalani,” God, I like how it sounds when he says my name, “I live in Kaneohe, but I got a room here, at the Outrigger for a fancy night out with friends. Except they all ditched me. Would you maybe come up with me? We could get some coffee or tea and talk? I promise that’s all I’m proposing — nothing untoward. I just really, really want the chance to get to know you a little. We can sit and be comfortable without the worry of getting kicked out at closing time if we go up to my room.”

  My brain is still stuck on the word ‘untoward.’ I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it anywhere but my favorite old tv show. Certainly not in real life. I like to think that’s what did it — the old man word. It’s very unlike me, completely out of character, so even I’m surprised when I don’t pause to think, I simply tell him, “I’d love to.”

  7

  Ames

  Feeling bold, I take her hand. It feels small in mine. Everything about her is dainty. Delicate. She smiles shyly and I lead her towards the bank of elevators. It’s late enough that nothing is really open. I take her straight to the room, figuring we can make drinks there. I see I missed a text from Norah
, but she was only telling me that they’re in for the night. I don’t worry about replying.

  There’s a cozy sitting area by the balcony doors and Nalani claims one of the chairs immediately. It’s the most impersonal area of the room. Perfect for a conversation between two strangers. It’s not like I thought she’d make herself comfortable on the bed. Ok, I thought about it, but it’s not like I expected her to actually do it. This isn’t a poorly made porn. I shrug out of my tuxedo jacket, take off my bowtie, and unbutton my collar before going to make drinks. I spend my working life in various types of uniforms, so I’m used to being uncomfortable, but I’d like to feel less constricted if we’re actually going to talk for a while. Is it too much to hope we talk for a while?

  We both decide on tea. I heat water using the coffeemaker like the resourceful guy I am and bring the mugs of hot water and assorted tea bags over to the table between the two armchairs. Nalani removed her shoes at the door, island style, and her feet are tucked up underneath her. I kick mine off but stretch out. The quiet while we’re making our tea isn’t uncomfortable and internally, I’m buzzing with excitement. I can’t believe we’re here, together! Finally!

  “I’m so excited to actually meet you, I’m not even sure where to begin,” I admit. “I had almost given up on ever getting to this point and now I feel unprepared! I guess my first question is: why couldn’t I find you? First you ran out when I tried to say hello. Then I went back to the church the following Sunday, but you weren’t there and no one in the band could tell me who you were.”