Page 80 of The Billionaire's Paradise

“Me too.”

And that was how the friendship of a lifetime began.

We stayed for an hour. Maybe more. I don’t even remember what was said—just that it felt good. Right. Natural. Like the pieces of something precious falling gently into place.

By the time we left, Tilly had her feet in a bucket of warm water, Leilani was stringing fresh flowers into a lei for her new friend, and the two of them were already deep in a conversation about indigenous reef systems and whether or not babies can hear protest songs in the womb.

Cal nudged me on the way out and whispered, “Told you they’d get along.”

He didn’t need to. I could already see it.

A new branch growing on this strange, beautiful tree of ours.

And somehow, it just made everything feel steadier.

Warmer.

More whole.

CHAPTER 29

Leilani had started waddling.

She hated that word. I hated that word. But there was no other way to describe the less-than-majestic, side-to-side momentum she now carried into a room like a small battleship determined to dock near the fridge.

“I’m not waddling,” she muttered as she lowered herself—grunting—onto the couch, having grabbed a tub of ice cream and a spoon from the kitchen. “I’m gliding. You’re just looking at it wrong.”

Kimo handed her a cold guava juice without a word. He had driven her over for a visit, or more accurately, a break from her father.

I noticed how good Kimo was getting at reading her moods. Some might call it perception, others would describe as a basic survival instinct.

We were all there. The whole gang. Half -dressed from the heat, restless from too much time indoors, and starting to wear on each other like flip-flops that had lost their grip.

Angus was pacing.

Rashida was reorganizing the cutlery drawer for the third time.

Mr. Banks had been scanning the beach with his binoculars and complaining that “surveillance is a lost art” because no one would take shifts with him.

Tilly kept drifting between her notebook and the window, clearly missing the quiet rhythm of study halls and solitude.

Cal had spent the morning stress-comparing baby monitors like he was drafting a UN treaty, muttering things like “infrared night vision is non-negotiable” under his breath.

Mrs. Mulroney ripped another page out of a puzzle book, screwed it up and tossed it across the room screaming, “Bugger you, seven across! You can stick your cryptic crossword up your cryptic sphincter for all I care!”

And me? I was two clicks away from crying over an avocado seed that refused to budge. “How is anyone supposed to get these things out? Nature can be so cruel.”

Cal gave me an annoyed look. “Matt, you’re being weird. Please don’t cry in front of everyone over food… again.”

Leilani exhaled loudly and fanned herself with a takeout menu. “I swear to God if everyone doesn’t calm down, I will launch this baby into the ocean and let her raise herself among the sea turtles.”

That’s when Kimo stood.

He looked around at all of us—flustered, fried, mildly unhinged—and nodded like he’d been waiting for this exact moment of collective breakdown.

“You people,” he said, stretching his arms in the air. “You need the ocean.”

“We’re already at the ocean,” Rashida replied, pointing out the window. “It’s literally right there.”