Waves of Us

bonus chapter | the mele kalikimaka special

Zachariah is late.

The sky above darkens with an approaching storm, scattering tiny droplets of water for a brief moment before clearing back up again. My vision begins to blur with a kaleidoscope of bright colored lights. I reach up to shield one hand over my eyes, all while muted bells ring off in the distance; a horse pulls a white carriage along the street with a cozy couple perched inside.

If there's one thing I've learned about any long-awaited but brief winter in Hawaii, it's to not be too sad that my glimmering dreams of snow are replaced with sad realities of rain. One of these days, I'll cave and blow my entire savings account on a New York City winter wonderland vacation.

Until then, I'm stuck waiting for my boyfriend while all of the other families and couples skip past me on their way to the Honolulu City Lights.

I have second thoughts about giving him his early Christmas present tonight—it is only December 13th after all—but, if I'm being honest, it's as much for me as it is for him.

Besides, as soon as my eyes land on his annoyingly handsome face, I'm a goner.

Every single time.

A gust of wind drags a delightful shiver across my skin and I tug on the soft beige cardigan draped across my shoulders, pulling it tighter across my body. My eyes coast around me in search of my other half before, eventually, they find him, as I always seem to do so easily it hardly feels as if we are ever apart.

Zachariah is the kind of beautiful that doesn't need an explanation. It simply isn't quantifiable. He is undoubtedly delightful to the eye and charming to the soul. With casual ease, he strolls over like he has time wrapped around his finger, molding it to his own pace. It's impossible to look away, as evidenced by the handful of pairs of eyes that trail behind him, clinging to the way he swings his arms or walks like the earth was laid there for him. But he's as lost in his own world as he's always been, so he doesn't notice the way he burns bright like the sun, with everyone else around him pale sunflowers dancing beneath his rays of light.

I don't know how he manages it after all these years, but he still makes my breath catch, setting my heart aflutter like a cageful of butterflies set free inside my chest. Maybe it's because he's somehow turned this walking skepticism into a full-blown romance.

He doesn't see me at first, his eyes seemingly landing on everything but the girl standing in a hopeful wait for him. It isn't until a sly smile creeps onto his face, like a child who's caught Santa sneaking down the chimney, that I realize he's messing with me.

I've never been one to run after just any man—my father and brother taught me better than that—but it's Zachariah so my pace quickens. When he's inches away, I throw my arms around his shoulders and tug his face down until our lips are pressed together. His signature Tom Ford cologne washes over me as his simple touch reels me in.

"You're late," I scold, failing miserably at pretending like I'm angry. "Merry Christmas, jackass."

"Merry almost Christmas, babe," he replies with a slow smile, returning the kiss until I'm nearly left out of breath. Laughter bubbles over to us from a group passing by, reminding me we're in public. "I missed your face."

"What a coincidence 'cause I missed yours."

When I pinch his cheeks, allowing a sliver of space to slip between us, he nudges my hand away with his chin. "Your tan is back. Have you been socializing with actual human beings who don't live in the same house as you?"

"It's called being brown."

He rolls his eyes. "You spend more time in bed than outside. Don't act like I'm wrong."