"Lelani Kahale," my mother's voice reprimands me as I hastily tie a black pocketed apron around my waist, draping it over a god awful brown shade of khaki shorts. "This is the third time this week that you've shown up late to my restaurant."

"Momma, I've told you I'm sorry. Traffic was horrible coming across the island. I can't help that." My fingers push down against the bottom hem of my collared, button-up Hawaiian shirt, tucking the pink hibiscus, palm leaves, and pineapple print material into the beltline of my shorts.

I watch my mother sigh in frustration, as she moves through the stainless steel kitchen, running inspecting glances over the cooks hard at work against the hot grills. "You wouldn't have to travel across the island every day if you weren't going out and surfing every morning, and if you weren't surfing every morning, you'd be on time."

I'm basically skipping just to keep up with her pace as I follow her through the maze of chrome shelving units, full of spices and ingredients, back into her office. "Well, what do you expect me to do, Mom? You know I'm preparing for competition at the end of winter." My fingers work through my wavy locks, pulling my hair into a loose ponytail on the top of my head while I wait for her reply.

"I expect you to prioritize, Lela. I'm not asking you to give up surfing, but I am asking you to reevaluate how much time you're putting into it." Her back turns to me as she begins working against the keyboard of the computer, and my eyes can't help but roll at her words. "I need you here and I need you to be on time. I'm putting a lot of money into this business as is, and I can't have you coming in late to every shift. If this keeps up, you'll be finding a job somewhere else."

My arms throw themselves up in defense, "You'd seriously fire me? I'm your daughter for crying out loud! Your own flesh and blood," I add on, with dramatic sarcasm.

She swivels in her office chair, shooting a stern look my way. "Within these cafe walls, you are part of my staff and blood doesn't mean a thing. No unfair treatment."

With her back still turned, my hand mocks her words as my mouth does a dramatic replay of her statement. With a warning against her squeaky chair, my hands dart into my apron pockets, fetching out my order pad and a pen.

No, I wasn't just mocking you like a 9-year-old child, Mom.

I may have just graduated high school, turned 18, and legally become an adult, but hell if those facts alone would make me act like one. Growing up is overrated anyway. But Momma isn't naive in the slightest, and she's well aware of my antics. She sends me a final warning glare, and it's not a second later that I'm already swiveling on my heels and making my way to my tables.

"And you're going to talk with that advisor tomorrow," she reminds me.

"We'll see about that!" I taunt her, laughing my way through the kitchen.

"You're turning me gray, Lelani!" She shouts back from her office, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Haven't you heard? Gray's the new blonde, Momma," and that gets a laugh from all the cooks and food preppers who are in proximity to hear.

"Chicka, you are going to do that poor woman in," Alana voices from behind me, using her fingers to tuck in the tag that's apparently hanging out the back of my shirt. "Late again?"

"Only by like 10 minutes," I defend myself, turning to her. Alana's eyebrows lift to me, knowing that 10 minutes in Lelani Kahale's reality was really 20 minutes. She wears the same attire as me, while her tight black and caramel curls are pulled to each side of her head in perfectly shaped space buns. I reach into my pocket, pulling out a piece of Juicy Fruit gum (our absolute favorite), and offer it up to her. "You should have seen the waves this morning, Alana. There were barrels for days!"

"Must be nice," she complains, throwing me an eye roll, snatching the gum away, and popping it into her mouth. Alana absolutely hated it when I went surfing without her. "Unfortunately some of us have to make sure and be on time because our fellow employees can't be."

"I know, I know," I speak out quietly, feeling my guilty conscience begin to seep in. "I promise I'm trying to be better. It's just the water... it calls to me," I smirk, which finally earns a smile back from my best friend. "Can I make it up to you? Next weekend we can drive down to Pua'ena Point.... We can make a whole day out of it. Snorkeling, surfing, ice cream... you name it, we'll do it!"

"You promise?" Alana asks, holding out a pinky to me.

"Promise," I affirm, taking her pinky into mine. We swing our hands back and forth, chanting together "Chee Hoo!" before spitting on our palms and smacking them on the back of each other's hands as hard as we can. Our handshake lacks depth, but hell if it wasn't a tension breaker.

Alana and I begin making our way out of the kitchen, giving each other's appearances steady look overs before we begin serving. Unfortunately, we live in this messed-up society where attractiveness equates to more respect. I personally think it's a load of bullshit, but if looking more presentable means a bigger tip for me, I'll make sure my ponytail is in pristine condition while I happily take the money out of people's mysoginistic hands and silently tell them to go screw themselves in my head.

The cafe remains relatively empty, with only a few couples occupying the bamboo tables that spread themselves out sparsely through the quaint restaurant. Glass windows, with white wooden blinds line themselves along the wall, streaming golden sunlight onto every inch of the tropical-themed interior. Shades of pink, teal, turquoise, and yellow contrast themselves throughout the restaurant, giving it a light and relaxing feel. In one of the far corners stands a tiny, bamboo platform, accompanied by a run-down karaoke machine that hasn't worked in years. I refuse to let myself die without seeing it come alive again.

Mental note: put karaoke machine repair on bucket list.

The bell rings at the door in the front, letting Alana and I know that the beginning of the lunch rush is about to begin. Named after my mother herself, Malia's Cafe was one of the busiest restaurants in O'ahu. Flocks of people come every day just to get a taste of some of the best authentic Hawaiian dishes the island has to offer, and lunchtime has always been the busiest. Alana takes the first couple that walks in, and my stomach sinks when I see the next group of people to saunter through the doors.

Shades of camo flood my vision, as a group of six or more Marines come strolling through the door, taking off their hats as they enter inside. Their heavy boots clunk atop the wooden flooring as they make their way to a set of tables. Among the group stands a familiar, tall body, one that I'm sure I've seen before...

Oh, shit balls.

Just as I find the slightest sense of hope that I can give the group of meatheads over to Alana to serve, a striking set of deep brown, almost appearing black, eyes meet mine. I feel my heart flip in my chest, and I absolutely hate it. A bright, wide-mouthed smile only sends my stomach swirling more, which I detest even more and I'm forced to watch his hands play against his short black hair as I struggle internally to look away.

"Well, if it isn't mystery girl herself," he speaks out confidently, approaching me steadily. "Just when I was starting to worry I'd never run into you again." His eyes give me a once over, stopping when they skim over the name tag pinned against my chest. "Lelani," he reads out loud. "That much less of a mystery now."

My arms instantly cross over my chest and my head tilts itself in a cocky manner, matching his own demeanor. "And if it isn't..." My words trail off, and I feel embarrassment start to take over, covering my cheeks in a shade of pink as I realize that I have no recollection of his name either. The only name I can gather in my head is...

Brodie.

"I usually go by Hammond, but I'd be willing to give you my first name on one condition."

"Oh yeah?" I play along, not really caring to know his name but at the same time feeling too intrigued now not to know. "And what condition would that be?" I keep my smile at bay with my arms still crossed tightly across my chest.

"You let me take you out," and his eyes do this little glimmer that makes me have to bite hard against my bottom lip just to keep him from seeing me grin.

My head immediately begins shaking at his proposal, "Not happening."

"Oh come on, I'm not some boogeyman. It's just dinner. Or we could go bowling. Or see a movie. I'll even let you choose." It takes me a second to notice that he's standing closer now, and I instantly take a step back, replacing the distance he stole away from me.

I don't like thieves.

"I've already told you. I don't date Marines." With these words, I turn to one of the empty tables next to me, prepping them with silverware and adjusting the salt and pepper shakers on top of the glossy surface.

"Oh right," Hammond says, grabbing my attention back to him. I watch his eyes drift off for a second, surely conjuring up another way to convince me otherwise. "Well then in that case, not a date... Just a little bit of fun."

Oh, I know just what you Marines' little idea is of fun. Go ahead and count me out.

Not feeling any more interest in Hammond's proposal, I plant my feet firmly in front of him, giving him my fakest, most exaggerated smile. I decide to pretend I don't hear his last statement and instead hit him with a, "You can be seated now," with one rough finger, I poke at his own name tag, "Hammond. Alana will be right over with you guys!"

He laughs, clearly amused with me, and as much as I don't want them to, my eyes skim over his large body once more, taking notice of his broad shoulders this time and how good the color of his sand tee pairs with his dark features. He swallows, and now I'm noticing the way his Adam's apple juts from his neck and the definition in his jaw. I feel myself swirling with nervousness and excitement, but I rid myself of those feelings quickly. "I guess I'll just have to change your's and your daddy's mind."

"Good luck," I add matter-of-factly. "I'm my father's daughter. He's not easily swayed and neither am I." Even though the words come out sure and confident, inside I'm not entirely certain I believe them.

"We'll see about that, Lelani." He sends one last smile my way, and while it's beautiful, I can't help but notice something sinister behind it.

Daddy says to stay away from Marines, Lelani. You know they can't be trusted.

༄༄༄

It's 2:45 before the last table of the lunch rush finally make their way out the restaurant doors. Loose, wavy strands of black hair now encompass my face, and I have to blow a puff of air against them every two minutes just to keep them out of my sight. I use a fork to scrape the dirty scrappings of food off of the glass plates, before clanking them on top of one another into one of the black tubs of my table bussing cart. The wheels of Alana's cart squeal against the floor next to me as she approaches, and we both give each other a mutual look of exhaustion before plopping ourselves down against two of the chairs beside us.

"How much did you make, chicka?"

"Hmmm," I huff out, slouching back and digging into my apron. I throw the wad of $1, $5, and $10 bills against the table, sorting and counting them out quickly. "$42!" I say excitedly, grinning down at the money, "Not too shabby if I do say so myself. You?"

Alana counts her money once more in her fingers, "$54."

"That's what I'm talking about, bitch!" We both laugh giving each other rough fist bumps and elbow taps. Today was a good day, and another reminder of why I can't afford to lose this job, even if it is under my mom's close eye. Surfing is expensive, and this restaurant gets me the money I need to keep it up.

"Like taking candy from a baby," Alana smirks. "Especially that table of Marines. All I had to do was smile pretty and keep their drinks full. You're crazy for not taking them."

"You know exactly why I didn't take that table."

"Even more reason for me to think you're actually mentally insane. That boy from the beach that day is a dreamboat, Lela. I don't understand why you won't just give him a chance."

Alana's words dig sharp, forgetting for a second the real reason I didn't mess around with Marines, and the reason my Dad doesn't like me fooling around with them either. My stomach aches and I try to push past the memories. She gives me a thoughtful and regretful look, "Lelani, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking-"

"It's okay," I almost whisper, but I quickly change my tone, refusing to let my moment of weakness get the best of me. "Besides, he seems a little cocky anyways."

"You're cocky," Alana laughs, knowing me way too well.

"I'm confident," I say, flicking my ponytail off the side of my shoulder flirtatiously. "It's different than being cocky."

"You are so fucking full of it!' Alana says, chuckling and chucking a dirty rag in my direction. "Well, if you don't want him, I'll take him. Or any of his friends... I'm not picky."

I giggle. Alana can never get enough of men, and I'd be lying if I said her behavior towards them wasn't fun to watch. I throw the washrag back to her, and we both rise from our chairs, continuing to clean up the mess scattered across the tables. I feel my phone vibrate against my thigh and having no customers in the restaurant, I decide to dig it out of my apron.

I glance up to Alana, who's now sweeping the floor on the opposite side of the cafe, and she motions her head back to me, "Who is it?"

"I don't know," I admit, flashing my phone screen up to her as if she can actually see it. "It's a private number?" I look back down, registering the words once more that appear.

UNKNOWN CALLER.

"Well, are you gonna answer it or what?!" Alana shouts.

"Yeah, yeah," I wave her off, accepting the call and shushing her before placing it up against my ear.

"Hello?" I ask into the silence on the other end of the line.

The person clears their voice before finally speaking up, "Umm yes, is this-" and I hear the man clear his throat once more, this time making his voice three times deeper and causing me to choke back giggles. "Is this Lelani Kahale?" He asks slowly, sounding out and totally butchering my last name.

I smile, but deem it best not to correct him and instead proceed with the conversation. "Yeah, this is Lelani." My words signal an almost silent chuckle on the other end of the line, "And may I ask who I'm speaking with?"

"Umm, my name is...Roger," He introduces himself in his overemphasized deep tone, not sounding exactly sure.

Okay, Roger... and your reason for calling is???

As if he can read my mind, he quickly speaks back up, "I saw your flyer for beginner surfing lessons and was just calling to get a quote on that."

Flyer for surfing lessons? I hadn't even put those out yet. How in the hell did he know about them?

Even though I have a series of questions running through my head, I instead just say, "Oh, those are actually for juniors, sir. The age range is 7-12. I'm sorry if that wasn't clear on the flyer." There's no way this man was younger than 12, and if he was, I'd be interested to know what the hell kind of hormones he was ingesting.

"Oh, well actually-" He stutters, struggling to keep his voice consistent and the words out clearly. "They're for my- they're for my son. My son...Maverick. Just turned 11," and now my eyes are squinting, which signals a curious look from Alana, who begins advancing towards me to get a whiff of the conversation.

"Is this some sort of prank call or something?" My blood starts to boil a little at the idea.

"No, no. Not at all," and now the man's voice has returned back to his normal register. "I just saw your flyer for surfing lessons and figured my son would like to give it a go. Thought I would, um- surprise him. For his birthday. That he just turned 11 for." I can't help but start to laugh at the man's awkwardness, that has this certain charm to it I can't seem to quite place my finger on.

"Okay," I begin, laying out the 'terms and conditions'. "Well, the lessons start out at $10 an hour. I'm looking to kick them off at the end of the month. I currently have availability on the weekends and some time slots for Wednesday and Friday evenings. I do require a booking fee, but as for the lessons themselves, you're welcome to just pay as you go."

"Alright," the man utters, thinking the options over. "What about we start out with Wednesday and Friday evenings?"

"Okay!" The words come out a little more excited than I intended them to, and I hear the man chuckle on the other end of the line. My first surfing lesson is booked, and I haven't even posted any flyers yet. Maybe these would be a lot easier than I was anticipating them to be. "I can message you more details, and send you my Paypal info for the booking fee. Is this a good number for you?"

"Yep." The man says cooly, and I can hear his smile through the phone. "Sounds great."

"Awesome!" Alana nudges me with her elbow at my elation, but I shoo her off. "And I can just put your name down in my phone, as?"

"Maverick. You can just put it down as Maverick."

I feel my stomach swirl, but I convince myself that it's just from the thrill of booking a new client. "Alrighty then. I'll guess I'll be seeing you and Maverick, soon. Bye now."

"Bye Lelani," and this time the butterflies that come feel familiar, but I ignore the thought.

I shove my phone back into my apron, and Alana stands bright-eyed in front of me. "Chicka! Did I hear what I just think I heard?"

My feet bounce briskly against the floor in excitement and my friend joins me, jumping in excitement as I squeal as the words out of my mouth, "I JUST BOOKED MY FIRST CLIENT!!!"

Let's catch some waves, little Maverick.

༄༄༄