As Margaret giggled like a schoolgirl, Lani didn’t know whose behavior astounded her more—Donovan’s or her grandmother’s. Whichever, she had no more time to dwell on it as Kai returned with a tea tray, distracting Margaret’s attention once again.
“Thank you, Kai. Everything looks lovely, as usual.” She turned toward Lani and Donovan as the young man poured the steaming, fragrant brew.
“I brought you both black and green for a true sampling,” he said as he put two cups in front of Donovan, along with a thick slab of coconut cream pie. Which, although Donovan wasn’t a dessert guy, looked damn delicious. “Try the green first, because it’s the lightest. Then move on to the black.”
“Nobody brews tea like this man,” Margaret said. “Tea leaves are very delicate. Only a master brewer knows precisely how much pressure to apply in order to waken the full flavor without damaging the surface. Bruised leaves give tea a bitter taste. Isn’t that correct, Kai?” she asked brightly.
“They do,” he agreed. “Though that isn’t a problem with Island Girl, which is grown and hand picked to taste nearly the same if a buyer prefers tea bags for a shortcut.”
Donovan watched as the woman sipped her tea with the air of a wine connoisseur sampling a vintage cabernet sauvignon. “Excellent, as usual,” she proclaimed finally. “I can’t wait until we get our tasting house built and gardens planted at the site. Not only will it be a good island tourism attraction, I love educating people about tea.”
“You appear to know a great deal about it,” Donovan said to Margaret.
“I do indeed, thanks to Kai, who’s not only a brilliant grower, but a patient teacher. Of course, I did drink a lot of tea while playing the great Kublai Khan’s wife in
The Romantic Adventures of Marco Polo
.”
“I saw that movie just last month,” Donovan surprised both women by saying.
Lani slanted him a look that, though one of gratitude, told him he needn’t bother to lie. Donovan steadfastly ignored her.
“You were the best thing in it,” he continued. “I especially liked that part where you got down on your knees and begged your husband not to kill Marco Polo. Were those real tears?”
Margaret bobbed her head. “Of course. I never resorted to using fake tears. The studios might have cast me as a sex goddess, but I was always an actor at heart. Why, there was this one time…”
As interesting as she’d always found her grandmother’s colorful tales, Lani’s mind drifted as Margaret segued into a bit of juicy movie gossip about an off-screen affair between a hairdresser and the actor playing Marco Polo.
Lani was surprised by how instantly Donovan had taken to her eccentric grandmother. She had expected him to be polite, of course—she never would have submitted her beloved grandmother to deliberate rudeness. Reluctantly, Lani admitted that taking Donovan to her parents, and bringing him here today, were acts of self-protection.
She had wanted to establish boundaries, to prove to him that no matter how strong the physical attraction between them, they had absolutely nothing in common on which to ever base a long-term relationship.
Oil and water. That’s what they were. Shake swiftly and they might come together for a short time, but that’s all it could be. Yet, she allowed, it could be an amazing Christmas to remember…
Deciding that it was time to return home before her grandmother had her and Donovan engaged, Lani replaced her teacup on the gold-rimmed saucer with more force than necessary. Both Donovan and Margaret turned toward her.
“We should be getting back,” she said in answer to Donovan’s questioning look.
“You’re the tour guide,” Donovan allowed. Then turned to Kai. “Since I put myself through school working the Portland docks, I’ve always gotten my caffeine fix from coffee.”
Hell, he’d take the stuff through an IV if he could. “But you may have converted me. I like the citrusy taste of the green, but the black’s amazing.” It was a deep mahogany color that had a faint taste of caramel and something else Donovan couldn’t identify.
“The leaves are infused with dried cherry smoke while drying. It takes time, and we’ll never be able to scale it enough for mainland wholesalers to stock it, but we’re proud of what we’ve created here.”
“You should be.” He stood up and turned toward Margaret. “Thank you for your hospitality, Ms. Breslin,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“Will you come back?” Her eyes betrayed a hint of pleading.
“I will.” Donovan brushed his lips, old-style, against the back of her veined hand. “If you promise more stories. And tea. And the pie was delicious.”
She nodded happily as she fingered the lavender orchid flowers of the lei he’d brought her. “I knew you’d like the tea, and my daughter-in-law made the pie. She’ll be making more for the Christmas luau. Can I expect to see you there?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Donovan said. And realized it was true. When the topic had come up during the dinner, the only draw had been Lani. Now he realized he was looking forward to all the promised festivities. And spending more time with Lani’s family, who was the polar opposite of his own.
“You’ve a real fan in there, Kai,” he said as the tea planter accompanied them back through the floral maze to the Jeep.
“It’s mutual. How many entrepreneurs do you know who’d start a new business at her age? Especially when it takes three years before you can harvest plants grown from seed. Which she insisted on doing.”
“Tutu’s a firm believer that people die when they stop having new projects to keep them interested and alive,” Lani said.
“Thus the tea house and garden ideas,” Kai said. “We’re at blueprint time for the house now, and she’s interviewing landscape architects, so there’s no way she’s going to run out of challenges anytime soon.”
“She’s a doll, and I adore her and admire her energy, but Tutu does bounce back and forth between the past and future sometimes without warning. Maximilian Heinrich von Schiller, by the way, passed on twenty years ago. Fortunately, Kai has amazing patience.”
Kai shrugged. “I like her. A lot. Plus, I get my own house on the plantation and a salary that’s way more generous than I could’ve gotten if I’d taken the offers to teach at the university or that job growing tea for Starbucks. I’ve been doing some pretty heavy investing and should be able to retire before I’m forty. Not that I’d want to. But since there’s a lot of down time in the tea business, I also get time off for surfing. Thanks to your grandmother, my life is pretty freaking perfect.”
* * *
Lani was quiet as they drove back to the cottage. To Donovan’s surprise, she drove at less than the speed of light and seemed thoughtful. Not wanting to intrude on whatever was going through that bright and busy mind, he remained silent, content to watch the scenery.
It was incredible, he mused, now able to understand her belief in magic. Jagged mountains sloped down to gorgeous bays through valleys carpeted with sugarcane and pineapple and dappled by shafts of reflected sunlight. The narrow winding road curved through lazy, sun-drenched villages where placid Buddhas kept eternal watch in Oriental cemeteries. Wind and wave, rain and river had sculpted the tropical island into a kind of fairylike reality that was magical. Donovan almost found himself believing in the mystical powers of rainbows.
“Thank you,” she said after a time.
The sky was turning saffron and purple as Donovan dragged his attention away from the brilliant sunset. “For what?”
“For being nice to my grandmother.”
He shrugged off her appreciation. “She’s easy to be nice to. I like her. Actually, now that you bring it up, Lani, I like your entire family. A lot.”
That wasn’t supposed to be how her test turned out, Lani thought with a sinking heart. He was supposed to be shocked by her family’s individual and collective eccentricities. Appalled. He wasn’t supposed to want anything further to do with her. This new Donovan Quinn, the future FBI special agent or possible Portland Chief of Police, was turning her entire plan upside down.
“You didn’t have to lie about seeing her Marco Polo movie.”
“I didn’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Give me a break here, Donovan. You may be able to fool an old lady but not me.”
“It was shown at a film festival the Police Benevolent Association sponsored for charity,” he answered amiably. “Your grandmother’s reputation and talent contributed to a lot of beds for Portland’s homeless.”
“Oh. You’ll have to tell her that at the luau. It’ll be a great Christmas gift to know that her movies are not only remembered but helping others.”
“I’ll do that.” He reached out, putting his hand lightly on her thigh. “So, what are the plans for the evening?”
“Evening?”
“Evening. You know, that quiet, romantic time after the sun goes down. When the world slows down to catch its breath. Evening,” he repeated patiently.
She glanced over at him in surprise. “Since the twilight dinner sail is obviously out with Ford still being MIA, I hadn’t made any other plans.”
Donovan ruffled her hair in a carefree, affectionate gesture. “Don’t worry,” he said with a bold grin that reminded her of one of the pirates who once sailed these seas. “I’m sure if we put our heads together we can think of something.”
Lani found the unexpected turn of events, not to mention his provocatively husky tone and the lambent flame gleaming in his deep blue eyes, far from comforting.
Strangely light-headed, she returned her attention to her driving, ignoring Donovan’s deep, self-satisfied chuckle.
Donovan felt his plans for a romantic evening for two disintegrate like fog under a bright Orchid Island sun when they approached the cottage and found Thomas Breslin waiting on the front lanai.
“Aha!” Thomas called out, waving his straw hat in welcome. “You’re back. I was just getting ready to leave.”
Donovan cursed his decision not to have Lani stop so he could take a picture of the neatly squared rice paddies and taro patches along the river they’d passed. From the vantage point afforded by the highway, the peaceful scene had reminded him remarkably of the Orient. If they’d only stopped for five minutes—three, even—he could have avoided what he knew was going to be a long evening listening to Lani’s father wax philosophical about the arts.
“I brought the painting over in the SUV,” Thomas said, lifting up a large, bulky package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. His next words confirmed Donovan’s worst fears. “As well as a portfolio of some of my favorite sketches. I thought as a fellow art aficionado, you’d undoubtedly enjoy an artist’s view of the island.”
Donovan ignored Lani’s low chuckle. “I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more,” he said weakly.
Lani patted his arm. “Have fun,” she said cheerfully as she turned to head down the beach to her own cottage.
Unwilling to allow her to escape quite yet, Donovan wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “What would you say to my dropping by for dinner after your father leaves?”
They were moving too fast. She needed time to think. Time to figure out what she was going to do with this man. “Sorry,” she said with far more aplomb than she was feeling, “I’m going to bed early. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Putting in my tile?” He found the idea of Lani puttering around the cottage all day extremely pleasing.
“No, the library’s open tomorrow and it’s children’s reading day, so I’m working. And you have to get up early to have breakfast with Taylor.”
“Where?”
“Pronto Lanai on Kapoli Bay. I’ll have Kenny Palomalo deliver a GPS equipped car with first thing in the morning because you’re going to be needing your own transportation while you’re here.”
“I didn’t think there was a rental car agency on the island.” Which had resulted in his less-than-satisfactory cab experience.
“There isn’t an official one because, unlike the other islands, we’re not that into becoming a crowded, hectic tourism destination.” She flashed a quick grin. “Call us selfish, but we prefer to keep our beaches to ourselves. But Kenny’s a car dealer who rents used cars and trade-ins on the side to the occasional tourist who does show up. Or someone who needs a loaner.”
“What time?” he asked resignedly, suspecting the meeting was going to be nothing but a waste of time. Even if the missing fiancé hadn’t returned home, he’d listen to Lani’s friend’s story, then, after assuring her that she was undoubtedly too good a woman for the guy, he’d be on his way. Although those study books were calling, maybe he’d drop by the library to take Lani to lunch. Better yet, a picnic on what he was already beginning to think of as “their” beach.
“Ten,” she said. “Call me after you talk to her?”
Ten was early? Not wanting to get into yet another discussion about differences in time and life-styles, Donovan merely nodded. “Sure.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you. It’s very nice of you to jump in like this when you have important things of your own to do.”
“Nothing as important as you.” Which had become the truth. “Thanks for the tour.”
“Don’t mention it. Orchid Island may have broken away from Hawaii during the first King Kamehameha’s wars to unite the islands, but far be it from me to give you the idea that we Orchid Islanders aren’t overflowing with the aloha spirit.”
For not the first time since meeting Lani, Donovan felt unreasonably powerless as she turned on her heel and began jogging down the expanse of sand.
“She’s more complex than she appears at first glance,” Thomas offered as he came up beside Donovan. “People look at Lani and fall in love with the free spirit, never guessing there’s an intelligent, flesh-and-blood woman living inside that attractive packaging.”
Donovan didn’t feel it prudent to tell Thomas Breslin that what he was feeling for the man’s daughter was a great deal more basic than love.
“She’s got a lot of her grandmother in her,” he murmured instead.
Thomas looked at him with renewed interest. “So she took you to visit Margaret, did she? Last time you were here, you only met her in passing, when she arrived at the house just as you and Nate were off to go surfing. What did you think?”