Relapse In Paradise. Roxanne Smith
then, I suppose I’d better come clean now.”
Money, Boston. You need the money. “Hit me.”
“I lied at the airport. Your van definitely creeps me out.”
Boston bit his lip to keep from groaning. It was going to be a long two weeks.
* * * *
“Wow.” Emily hadn’t meant to say it out loud but wow.
The tree house, which she’d expected in spite of Boston’s warnings to resemble the botched plywood attempt in her childhood backyard, seemed like the majestic jungle abode of a lost Disney princess. Most of the house was hidden behind chaotic foliage, but she noted fantastic narrow windows that spanned both stories and created an unbroken view toward the ocean to the north. The view from the balcony had to be incredible.
To find out, she had to survive thirty stone steps and a winding wooden staircase Boston had conveniently neglected to mention in his babbling about yoga. He’d probably been afraid to scare her off with the idea she might have to work to reach her enchanting miniature chateau. As if he knew her well enough to make the assumption.
Emily skirted a bush bursting with skinny, bright pink flowers as she followed Boston higher and higher up the mountainside and into the canopy. The long tube-like petals reached out for her like pink alien fingers.
It was one thing to gaze out a window at a world of green. Quite another when it wanted to get touchy-feely. California’s clusters of foliage generally came from the careful hand of a landscaper, or yards were left to their natural desert scrub, which made plain its desire to remain untouched with things like thorns and cactus spines.
She gripped the strap of her purse with both hands and called after her guide. “You might’ve warned me about the chummy vegetation.” She scanned the strange pink flowers a final time. “It’s like they want to get to know me.”
Boston didn’t slow his ascent or seem in any way burdened by her laden suitcase he lugged up the stairs behind him. “They probably sense how friendly you are.”
Emily let that one go. “What about bugs? Spiders and snakes, that kind of stuff. Anything I should know?”
“Lucky for you, Animal Planet trivia is part of my package deal.”
Had it been anyone else, she’d have gone in for the kill. Instead, she let his “package deal” continue unfettered.
“You see,” he said in a tone that would do a professor proud, “snakes ain’t a thing here.”
“What does that even mean? A thing? A thing like they aren’t poisonous here? Or a thing like people on the island eat them so they aren’t considered a nuisance but a rare delicacy.”
Boston stopped on the landing before the final set of stairs. “Look, you want an encyclopedia, I’m the guy. But I’m afraid I’m fresh out of dull personality today.”
“Should I check back tomorrow?” She glanced up with a smile in time to catch his. He might be sort of cute if he cut that awful ponytail and did a little wardrobe overhauling.
“Snakes aren’t a thing here because they’re illegal to have on the island.”
“Huh. Like billboards. Really?”
“No, I made it up. Just now, Johnny on the spot. That’s how I’m so good at my job. Keeping the lies straight gets wicked tough, so I log a journal. I’ll show it to you sometime. Reads like an X-Files episode, but you tourists really eat that shit up.”
If he thought to throw her off guard with his response, he failed miserably. No one could compare to Emily’s brother-in-law when it came to absurd flippancy. Boston had nothing on Quinn’s husband. “The fun never stops with you. Why are snakes illegal?”
“Don’t give me the credit. You’re the fun one, sweetheart.”
“Call me sweetheart again.”
Boston paused a beat at her tone, which she’d expected, for it had been her intention. He studied her face carefully.
Emily kept her expression neutral. She’d let him figure out on his own how to decipher the veiled dare in her remark and decide if he wanted to test her or not.
Apparently, he chose not. He smiled thinly and slowly started for the last flight of wooden steps. “Snakes aren’t indigenous to Hawaii. I’m not saying there isn’t an escaped fugitive here and there. It might be illegal to own them, but people smuggle them in and out like anything else. Since they aren’t part of the original ecosystem of the islands, they don’t have any natural predators. No population control. Snakes would decimate the local bird species, species known to live only here. It happened like that in Guam. Hence, the legislation.”
He was no Encyclopedia Brown, but Boston certainly seemed to know his stuff when it came to the island. As he should, given his job. She tried not to sound too impressed. “All right, no snakes. Great. What else?”
The final set of stairs brought them to a large covered veranda. Big, leafy hands closed in on the porch from every side, on top and underneath, but frightened Emily less now. No eastern green mambas were likely to slither onto her shoulder as she brushed by.
Boston approached the glass front door and fumbled in his pocket. “Only the common sense stuff. Don’t play with centipedes, avoid sea urchins, look both ways when you cross the beach so you don’t get hit by a jogger. They can be a real nuisance. Unless you jog. Then joggers are delightful.” He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. He stood back with a flourishing bow for Emily to enter first. “Welcome to Kumu Pili. Literally translated, it means ‘tree touch.’ Some haole like me probably named it.”
He sniggered, and Emily guessed it had something to do with the funny island word. She stepped inside the bamboo foyer and huffed at having to ask. “Well? You want to let me in on the joke?”
“It’s nothing. Just a wisecrack my friend Hani would appreciate, that’s all.”
Emily turned back to Boston. His eyes weren’t visible from behind his dark, reflective sunglasses, but she stood close enough to behold the crow’s-feet collected at the corners, an indication of a smile. “Tell me anyway.”
Boston shrugged and seemed to grow contemplative. “I probably should, actually. Living in L.A., you understand a thing or two about how touchy race stuff can be.” For the first time in her company, he became something resembling serious. “You’d better invite me in.”
“Oh.” Emily realized she’d stepped inside and stood as though answering the door while Boston remained on the other side of the threshold. “I have a natural tendency to take point. Sorry.”
“No worries.” He stepped around her and strutted toward the kitchen. “I’m not a vampire or anything. You just looked poised to send me off.”
“Not while I still have questions.” She closed the front door. The natural light coming in through the multiple glass panes kept the foyer bright and airy and cast a dappled design across the light wood. “By the way, I do jog but please quit being a suck-up. It’s exhausting. I have a dozen assistants back home I could’ve brought along for brown-nosing.”
Boston searched through the cupboards with his head tilted at a curious angle like he didn’t know what he’d find. He located a cabinet with a set of six matching tumblers and filled one with water from the tap. “Are any of them as charming as me?”
“No, but none of them have the brass to call me sweetheart, either.”
His lips thinned. “I knew we’d come back to that. I’m sorry, okay? It’s an old habit.”
“It’s one you should try real hard to break, Mr. Rondibett.”
“Ah, crap. We’re back to the mister and missus stuff again?”