"Complicated how? Is the old man giving you trouble?"
I filled her in. Mr. Kahale's unconventional approach. The two weeks of evaluation. Character over contracts. She made approving sounds, asked smart questions, and told me it sounded like exactly the kind of playing field I was built for.
"So what's the complication?" she pressed.
Before I could answer, another voice came through.
"Miss Kealoha? Is that you?"
Evie. Priya must have had me on speaker at the foundation. Well, thank God I hadn’t said anything about the complications yet.
"Hey, Evie. How's everything going?"
"Good. We miss you, though." A pause. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but it’s kind of boring without you."
“I heard that!” Priya yelled.
I laughed. "Your secret's safe with me."
"Oh, Miss Kealoha, my dad’s in Hawaii too. Did he tell you?"
My stomach twisted at the mention of him. "Yeah, I know he's here. Listen, Evie, I should go. I'm in this old part of the hotel, and the reception's getting spotty."
"Okay. Tell my dad I said hi if you see him. But like, don't make it weird."
"I'll try my best. Bye, sweetheart."
I hung up and slid the phone back into my pocket.
The hallway stretched ahead, narrowing as it went. Photographs lined the walls in mismatched frames, more reminders of the hotel's past. Staff in vintage uniforms, their smiles frozen in black and white. Guests posing on the beach in old-fashioned swimsuits. A group shot in front of the main building, the paint fresh, the gardens newly planted, everyone squinting into the sun.
At the end of the hall, a door stood slightly ajar.
I pushed it open.
The room beyond was small. A bedroom, clearly, though everything was shrouded in sheets. The shapes of furniture beneath—a bed, a dresser, something that might have been a writing desk near the window. Dust lay thick on every surface. The windows were so filmed with grime that they let in only a pale, watery light.
No one had been here in a very long time.
I stepped inside. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet.
Photographs hung on the walls here, too, but these were different. Personal. A young man with dark hair and bright eyes, his arm around a woman in a white dress.
They stood in front of the hotel, the ocean sparkling behind them, their smiles so wide and genuine that it almost hurt to look at.
Mr. Kahale. It had to be. Decades younger, but those eyes were unmistakable.
I moved closer, studying the woman's face. Beautiful. Happy. The way she leaned into him, the way his hand rested on her hip—this was love. The real kind. The kind that built hotels and raised families and lasted until death parted them.
Was this their room? Their private wing, sealed off when she died, preserved exactly as it was because he couldn't bear to change it?
I heard footsteps behind me.
I spun around.
Sebastian stood in the doorway, dressed in casual pants, blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a smudge of dust on his shoulder like he'd brushed against something on his way in. He had what looked like a bit of cobweb in his hair, and my fingers itched to remove it. His gray eyes found mine and held my gaze.
No.This was my time. We agreed to stay away from each other. He couldn’t be here. It was against the rules.