Page 37 of The Billionaire's Paradise

“Also true.”

“But your heart is already halfway to the baby. That’s what matters.”

At that moment Kimo wandered in, now looking even hotter in a grass skirt and seashell armbands around his biceps. “Hey, anyone wanna do an ocean blessing later? I’ve got seaweed and some volcanic quartz I charged under a rainbow.”

“You’re wearing that? Again?” Leilani asked.

“It gets me tips if a tourist happens to walk by. So… you coming?”

“No,” Leilani and her father Nakoa said in perfect unison.

Makani didn’t even look up. “Use the good seaweed this time, Kimo. Last time it smelled like something a blowfish threw up.”

“Will do, Tutu,” Kimo beamed, giving an excited thumbs-up and backing out of the room like he was planning something sacred and absolutely chaotic.

We stayed for hours. There was laughter, more tea, and a steady warmth that settled into my chest like something old and good. At one point, the conversation grew quiet, and Nakoa turned to Cal with the kind of stillness that made everyone else fall silent too.

“What kind of father do you hope to be?” he asked—not confrontational, just open, man to man, heart to heart.

Cal didn’t rush to answer. He looked down for a moment, then over at me.

“We want to raise a child who knows they’re safe,” he said. “Loved. Seen. We want them to feel free to become exactly who they are, and know we’ll never stop showing up for them.”

Nakoa studied him, then gave a single, thoughtful nod. “That’s the only kind of father worth being.”

When it was finally time to leave, Makani stood and kissed me on the cheek. “Babies born of great love always find their way. Whether by blood, or by spirit. You just have to be ready.”

When we left the house, we stepped out into the late afternoonsun, dazed, glowing, and slightly sticky from mango juice and prophecy.

Cal reached for my hand.

I didn’t say a word.

But in that moment, I knew it.

This was the start of everything.

We stood there for a moment before getting into the car, just holding hands and looking out at the distant sea.

Then suddenly Doug crowed.

Loud. From up on the roof.

I jumped. “Jesus!”

The rooster glared at us from a sun-warmed gutter, let out one more honk of judgment, then casually began cleaning his wing like he’d achieved his goal of scaring the crap out of us.

“That bird,” I muttered. “He’s not here for ambiance. He’s here for blood.

CHAPTER 15

The next morning,we hit the street market early, mostly to keep Mrs. Mulroney from bursting into flames.

“I’m melting,” she announced as soon as we stepped out of our chauffeur-driven van at the markets. “I’m like a custard tart in hell. This kind of heat is not normal.” She dabbed her forehead with a damp handkerchief then sat it on top of her head, tying it at the corners to keep it in place. “Ah, that’s better.”

“That’s notbetter,” commented Rashida, wide-eyed. “That’s a crime against fashion. First item on the list for you is a hat. Preferably one that doesn’t look like a wet rag.”

“I don’t need a hat,” Mrs. Mulroney said, adjusting the corners like it was couture. “I need a medical-grade ice bath and an IV of gin.”