Milo pulled over and cut the engine. “This is where I leave you. There are no roads from here. Follow the path. The rock stacks will let you know you’re on the main trail. You can’t miss the bungalow. It’s bright green, and it’s stocked with tons of food. I delivered the groceries myself. And there are a bunch of different flavors of ice cream and everything you could want to make hot fudge sundaes.”
Hot fudge sundaes?
Her mother used to make those for her.
“And the other thing?” Raz asked.
The teen flashed a knowing grin. “You can’t miss that either. You’re expected.”
Raz and Milo continued talking about boxing, but she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. As if in a trance, she stared ahead at the water. It glistened a glorious blue-green in the early morning light, matching Sebastian’s eyes and the aquamarine stone Ida had given her. The color greeted her like an old friend. But the color wasn’t the only familiar sight. She slid her gaze from the water to the shore, and a wave of energy sent a tingle through her body. This wasn’t just any beach. A tree spread its limbs into the air near the water’s edge—a tree with a rope swing hanging from a knotty limb.
She stared ahead, expecting the mirage to disappear, but it didn’t. The swing swayed in the breeze, a testament to its permanency.
She pressed her hand to her heart as gratitude flowed through her veins.
There was no doubt about where Raz had taken her—not anymore.
Twenty-Eight
Libby
Moloka’i.
Her beefcake had brought her to the Hawaiian Island of Moloka’i—the same place where Shandra had filmed her yoga program years ago.
Raz helped her out of the Jeep, and she stared at the stack of rocks at the entrance to the trail.
“Just like at home, yeah?” he said, following her line of sight.
Home.
She couldn’t speak. She could only nod as he took her hand, scanning the landscape, waiting to wake from this dream.
But it wasn’t a dream.
They followed the path, and the leaves of the dense, fragrant shrubs lining the trail brushed against her arm in a hypnotic swoosh. She allowed her fingertips to slip across the smooth surface as the dirt trail changed to one of sand.
It was almost too much for her to take in. She surveyed the beach then stilled when a woman came into view—a woman she’d watched over and over again on television.
Shandra.
She observed the graceful yogi, her hair blowing in the ocean breeze as she moved from posture to posture. With her yoga mat spread out on the sand next to the tree with a weathered rope swing, Shandra raised her arms into the air as she flowed into tree pose.
“Are you okay, plum?”
She shifted her attention from the woman to Erasmus. “How?” It was all she could get out.
He smiled a sweet, boyish grin. “I told Briggs about the show and that we needed to get to the island of Moloka’i and find the tree with a swing. His team scoured the internet and made the arrangements.”
She studied his face—a face she once couldn’t stand, but now she couldn’t imagine life without him. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“I remember everything when it comes to you, plum.” He released a shaky breath. “After you left with Doug, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I was asking Landon for advice.”
“Landon?”
He shrugged, his cheeks growing pink. “He writes love songs. I figured he’d know more than a knuckle-headed boxer when it came to getting the girl.”
Getting the girl.
She loved the sound of that, but it still didn’t make sense as to how Raz had made this happen.
“Landon couldn’t have suggested coming here. How would he know about this place?” she pressed.
Raz’s blush deepened. “He didn’t. He suggested the flowers, but the idea of whisking you away to Moloka’i came together when I saw Sebastian on a swing with Phoebe and Oscar. The first thing that came to mind was you telling me about Shandra and the beach with a swing and how it brought you comfort. Then I remembered you saying that your mum used to know when you needed a hot fudge sundae. I put it together, and everything inside of me told me I needed to take you here, so I could tell you…” he trailed off.
“What did you want to tell me?” she whispered.
His gray gaze intensified like nothing else existed but her. “I want you to know that you’re not Libby Lamb, the little girl sitting in the dark watching a woman do yoga on television—a worried little girl caring for her brothers and waiting for her father to come home. You’re Libby Lamb, the creator of Pun-chi yoga, the woman my son adores, and the vibrator-throwing crazy lady who’s stolen my heart.”
She blinked back tears. “I have?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He cupped her face in his hand. “I love you, plum, and this is where I needed to tell you that. You’re not alone in the dark. You are the light, Libby. You’re my light and Sebastian’s light. You make everything better. You make me better. When I’m with you, my pain disappears. The chains that weigh me down crumble to dust when I see you smile.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Remember when I told you I felt bad for calling you a beefcake?”
“Yeah.”
“Now I really feel awful,” she said, laughing through tears. “No one has ever done anything like this for me, Raz.”
His misty gaze gave way to a cocky glint. “Good.”
“Good?” she repeated.
“Good, because I want to be the one who takes care of you. I want to eat ice cream sundaes with you. I don’t want to be without you. I need you. I don’t want to lose this feeling. And…” his heartfelt expression changed to one awe. “I don’t believe it! Libby, look,” he said, gesturing toward Shandra.
The woman stood on one leg with the bottom of her other foot pressed against her inner thigh in the tree pose, with one exception. Instead of extending her arms into the air, Shandra knocked out a series of punches.
“She’s doing a set of the jab-cross tree combo,” Libby said, wide-eyed.
“She’s doing your Pun-chi yoga, plum,” Raz corrected.
Shandra completed the punches, lowered her leg, then turned and pegged them with her gaze. “Namaste,” the woman said, her hands in a prayer position as she bowed.
“Namaste,” Libby repeated, frozen in place. “We didn’t mean to intrude,” she blathered, utterly starstruck. She couldn’t count how many times she’d seen the woman look at the camera and speak the word. Still, never in a million years did she think she’d hear the woman say it in real life.
“It’s no intrusion. You must be Libby and Erasmus. I’m Shandra.”
It really was her!
The woman’s rich flowing voice washed over her like a fragrant breeze. Like on television, the yogi wore a flower in her hair, tucked behind her ear. And today, the color of the plumeria adorning her wavy hair was a brilliant blue-violet.
Blue-violet.
“I know who you are. I watched your sunrise yoga program every morning when I was a girl. It changed everything for me. You changed everything for me. I’m a yoga instructor now. I don’t know what else to say other than thank you.”