is saving the ocean. She got her doctorate degree in biology and works with a non-profit on the island.”
“You didn’t tell me you came from a family of super humans,” I commented. “I mean geez, leave some talent for the rest of us.”
He chuckled.
“How in the world did you end up in real estate?” I asked, shaking my head. “I’m surprised you’re not like… a rock star, or an actor, or a famous politician or something.”
Makoa swallowed, grabbing the back of his neck on a shrug. “I don’t know. Just kind of ended up in this job, I think.”
He pointed to the tree and started telling me about their Christmas traditions, but I didn’t miss the way he changed the subject, or the way his neck was still a little red from my observation. I wondered if he felt outshined by his siblings, if he worried being in real estate wasn’t as impressive. He didn’t talk much about his job, and now that I realized how impressive all his siblings were, I wondered if that was why.
“You know, I think it’s awesome what you do,” I said, cutting him off in the middle of him telling me how they decided who got to put the star on the tree.
He frowned, confused. “What?”
“Real estate is a tough job — and it’s even harder to make a name for yourself the way you have. I mean, to be working with houses and clients of the stature I know you have to have in order to afford a place like this,” I said, sweeping my hand around the room. “That’s not easy to do. You have to be really talented, and knowledgeable, and charming, and a salesman on top of all of that.” I squeezed his arm. “What you do is important, Makoa.”
The corner of his lips curled up, but there was something hidden in his eyes — something that looked a lot like shame.
He blew out a sigh, shaking his head before he pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was too brief for my liking, but Makoa was already flipping the next page before I could try to deepen it.
“Wait, what’s that?” I asked when he flipped past what looked like a greenhouse.
Makoa frowned. “What, this?” He pointed to the photograph, and I nodded. “Oh, that’s Mom’s hanging garden.”
“Her what?” I asked, stealing the book and pulling it into my lap to get a better look.
He chuckled. “I don’t know, that’s what we called it. Mom used to macramé all the time, and she’d make all these holders for plants. Big ones, small ones, ones that hung over and drooped down with these leaf-ridden vines. We had a little sunroom, and she filled the whole space. It felt like a jungle when I was a little kid.”
I shook my head in disbelief, eyes soaking in all the wondrous corners of the room in the photograph. There were plants of all shapes and sizes, all shades of green, some with flowers budding and hanging down, too. There was Burro’s Tail and String of Nickels, Boston fern and a spider plant, Ripple Peperomia and Golden Pothos. My jaw dropped when I spotted pops of color in the background. “Wait… is that… is that a wall of roses?”
Makoa chuckled. “It is. They’re her prized possessions.”
My jaw was still hanging open as I shook my head, taking in every centimeter of the photograph. My eyes found Makoa’s. “We have to have one of these here.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A rose garden?”
“A hanging garden. This is… Makoa, this is beautiful. And it would be a piece of your childhood. We have so much natural light from the windows.” I chewed the edge of my fingernail, thinking. “Maybe we could put it in here, in the corner. Or in the living room?”
“What about the bedroom?”
I frowned, but then the image became clear in my mind, and I gasped. “Oh, my God. That would be perfect.”
In the next breath, I launched myself at Makoa, and he just barely had time to catch me before we rolled onto the plush rug. I straddled him, kissing him full and hard and breathless.
“Wow,” he said on a laugh. “Interior design really does turn you on, doesn’t it?”
“I promise, it’s even weirder than what you’re imagining.” I kissed his next laugh to silence, rolling my hips where they met his. I grinned against his mouth at the feel of his erection already straining against his sweatpants.