Heat Wave by Karina Halle Page B

silent, her brows furrowing as she thinks that over. “Are you going to talk to Logan about what you know?” she finally asks.
    I sigh, looking up from the phone just as I round the bend and see the hotel creep into sight.
    “I don't see the point,” I tell her. “What's done is done.”
    “Well it might clue him into why you hate him so much.”
    “I'm sure he knows why. I don't have to say anything. He knows what he did. And he's probably always known that Juliet told me. That's why he's been a dick ever since then.”
    “Are you sure he hasn't been a dick because you've been a dick?”
    I glare at her, hoping it comes through the screen. “Claire,” I warn her before switching the subject. I start showing her the hotel as I get closer and eventually we end the phone call with me sitting out on the beach, right in front of the restaurant.
    “I better go,” she says. “Break a leg tonight.”
    I can't help but yawn, a wave of fatigue washing over me. Maybe such a strenuous walk wasn't the best idea when jetlagged and on minimal food. I'm used to eating a lot more than this.
    “Break a leg,” I scoff. “You know how many times that's nearly happened to me in the kitchen? Wet floors are no joke.”
    She laughs. “Then bring a mop. I love you. Talk to you later.”
    “Love you,” I tell her, my words coming out almost in a whisper as the connection is severed.
    Even though I know I'll get sand everywhere, I lay back on the beach, my phone resting on my chest.
    I'd met Claire back in culinary school. She had been just like me, a bright young thing with dreams of being the next cooking superstar. But Claire's talent for cooking only ran so deep and she was easily discouraged. She dropped out before it was over, even though it all worked out for the better. While I stayed with the program, she went on to combine the little experience she had with her love of wine. She's now a sommelier at one of the better wine stores in town and has her eyes on opening a vineyard in the future. As hard as it was to leave my best friend, I know she would eventually do the same to me one day. The woman belongs on a vineyard in Chile somewhere, living out her dream.
    I close my eyes and take in a deep breath through my nose, willing the sweet, sultry air and steady crash of waves to calm my heart.
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SIX
     
     
    It’s not long before I’ve fallen asleep, and once again I know I’m dreaming. My lucidness has been working overtime since I got here.
    But my dream isn’t a new scenario like the sex dream I had about Logan. It still features him, but it’s set in the past, in a real event.
    The Christmas we all spent together. The one the first year they were together, before they were married, before they moved to Kauai. The hotel was in the final stages of takeover and Logan was spending more and more time in Hawaii, but we were all together for the holidays.
    In reality, Christmas was held at my parents’ house. It always was. My mother always went way out—and by that, I mean she hired the same decorator every year to make our home look like a Christmas wonderland. Then the news channels and newspaper reporters would come by and do a yearly special on our place. Christmas in my family wasn’t really about family—it was about showing off.
    And Janice, our decorator, was a fixture around the holidays, popping in a few times a week between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day to add some touches. From the time my mom entered politics, when I was around seven years old, Christmas has always been the largest event of the year. But even as a kid, I could tell something was off. I was the envy of children at school and yet I envied after their tales of Christmas Eve when one of their parents dressed up as Santa, or the ritual of leaving out milk and cookies, or the next morning, ripping into their presents. I always got far more than them, sometimes as many as one hundred presents, which looking back now, was a