Meet Me in Hawaii Georgia Toffolo (tharntype novel english .TXT) 📖

it up too, but she couldn’t. Instead she’d hidden it from them, and thus had begun the separation: their life and hers.

Her friends had been her lifeline. Zoe hiding Malie’s board for her so that she could sneak out on the waves. Sometimes with Zoe. Sometimes alone.

And then the accident had happened, and life had changed for them all.

They’d been buzzing that night a decade ago, on the way to the school’s summer ball, not realizing that life was about to change for ever. And then bang… literally.

Malie had come away with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, Lils’ injuries had been similar. And to see their best friends, as close as sisters, suffer as they had… survivor’s guilt was a real thing.

First, she’d experienced it with Koa, and then the accident had thrown her in deep again.

Working hard to help others, particularly those considered disadvantaged or vulnerable or disabled – or for whatever reason in need – was the one way she knew how to climb out of it.

By helping them, by opening their eyes to what they were still capable of, to face what life throws at them and keep on trucking, the ocean made all that possible.

Surfing was therapy. It had helped her to cope and now she used it to help others. She’d taken inspiration from Zoe. When her friend could easily have wallowed, closed in on herself, she’d fought, she’d made something of herself.

All Malie had to do now was get Zoe back on a board and she would be happy. Which is exactly what they would do later this month when Zoe came to stay. Finally, her friend would be here, in Malie’s world of surf, sea and sand, and nothing would stop them getting out on the boards then.

She gave an excited little squee, twirling on the spot and… stopped dead. Oh dear.

Her fabulously airy apartment with sea-facing views looked more like the before scene from one of those domestic goddess SOS TV shows. It would likely send Zoe into a flat-out tailspin and she’d start pulling out mops, cloths, bleach… that’s if she didn’t refuse outright to stay and check in to the nearest available hotel.

Yup, she would have to find time to clean from somewhere.

But right now, she needed to get her hair sorted.

She picked up her brush and tried again. And again. It wasn’t having it.

She turned back to the mirror and let go of the brush handle. It didn’t move. It sat on the side of her head like some random accessory – great. Just, great!

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection and flung out her hands in surrender.

Look, you are you, she mentally reasoned, you can do a good job selling the work that you do without perfect hair. You can channel Zoe’s can-do attitude and get it done.

It was the reminder she needed. Tonight’s cocktail party wasn’t about looking the part, it was about representing the surf school and making sure that the charitable foundation knew that the programme was in safe hands with her. That investing in Surf Therapy was the right way to go for the disabled and disadvantaged children they helped.

And if she could pull it off tonight, and over the course of the next few weeks while representatives from the charity were visiting, then hopefully they would send more groups her way.

She yanked the brush out and tossed it onto her bed to join the mountain of discarded outfits, and scooped up more coconut oil, smoothing it through her hair as best she could. Au natural it was going to be!

She washed her hands and picked up the dress she’d decided on. Victoria had made it for her especially, the baby blue fabric with its delicate white swirl was so light against her skin and perfect for the Hawaiian climate. Its halter style and loose skirt complimented her frame, or as her friends would say enhanced her fabulous assets which to her were just a royal pain in the proverbial.

She stepped into it, tied the neck and returned to the mirror. Not bad. Even with the wild hair.

Just a sweep of lippy, mascara and… hmm, maybe just a little blusher wouldn’t hurt. It was the most made-up she’d been in… well, months… not even for Christmas Day had she gone this all-out.

Kalani would be pleased. And that’s what mattered. He was her godfather, her boss, the owner of the surf school in which she worked and the man who’d said he would back this venture of hers. He believed in her so she would too.

She grabbed her silver sandals and slid them on – they weren’t the heels her friends would have told her to wear but hey, she still had a beach to cross. She could take the road and go with heels, but it wouldn’t be half as atmospheric or soothing, and she wanted the latter. Nerves weren’t really her thing, but so much depended on tonight being a success, of making the right impression, that the belly-butterflies were rife.

She headed out into the night, knowing her route like the back of her hand. Coincidentally, the private residence where the function was being held bordered the stretch of beach she’d surfed at earlier that evening. Tucked away. Usually deserted.

Not today though. She felt the flutters ramp up and pressed her palm against them. It’s just nerves. Not him.

She was used to ripped, surfer types. Long, shaggy bed head, tanned, god-like bodies, abs to die for. Not pale-skinned, trainer-wearing, hoity-toity rich dudes that looked like they’d been plucked out of Victoria’s upmarket wine bar back in Chelsea. Not that he’d sounded rich. In all fairness, his accent had sounded more South London to her. But there’d been an air about him, it hadn’t just been his clothing that had spoken of a definite affluence. And when he’d looked at her, when they’d been so close on the beach… even now she felt her body heat up.

It was a good