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Chapters 1-4

Copyright

Edited by Isabel Pettibone

Formatted by Brooke Gilbert.

Published by One More Spoonful Books

The following is a work of fiction. All people, places, names, events, and situations are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, dead or living, is completely coincidental, and is not to be taken as reality.

Library of Congress Control Number:

First Edition

Paperback ISBN:

Amazon Paperback ISBN:

Amazon Hardback ISBN:

www.brookegilbertauthor.com

Dedication

For anyone who has felt the weight of anxiety, the life altering effects of panic attacks, or has suffered with mental health issues. Being brave doesn’t have to mean wearing a mask and being alone with your emotions. Being brave can mean loving yourself and accepting your situation enough to talk about it.

Epigraph

“Why not be yourself, everyone else is taken.” -Oscar Wilde

Content Caution

Hello Friend,

As many of you know, I began my journey writing as therapy and also to see someone like myself represented in fiction. It's my greatest hope you will find comfort and escape in these pages! But I also hope if you battle mental health or chronic illness that you will feel seen. So while I hope to deliver a romance that makes you swoon, I also know there will be topics that may hit very close to home. Hopefully, this book will touch you in some way while also helping you feel less alone. But that’s why I take this content caution very seriously.

I wanted to see mental health representation between the pages of a whirlwind romance set in a tropical locale. And like one of my favorite quotes says, “if you don’t see the book you want on the shelf, write it.”It's my hope that these characters will provide a journey of healing and acceptance for you while finding a special place in your heart. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t note that these characters are dealing with topics that may trigger some, especially since they are based on my experiences. That's why I strongly believe in disclosing potential trigger warnings! I try to do my best with spoilers, but if you’re worried about them, you’re always welcome to skip ahead!

Mental health is such a big part of chronic illness and “spoonie” life, and one that has affected me greatly. So there will be anxiety, depression, and panic attacks discussed in depth, and panic attacks will be included in this novel.***SPOILER ALERT*** And depictions of childhood illness and infertility. ***SPOILER OVER*** However, I hope romance and humor will balance out these heavier topics for you. Masculinity, male toxicity, as well as past emotional abuse will be lightly touched upon. Themes of self-worth, acceptance, and unconditional love are present throughout to balance these important topics.

My door is always open to discuss modifications and areas to skip if a topic might trigger to you. Please be kind to yourself first and foremost, and if now isn’t a good time to read this novel, then I will certainly understand. Perhaps there will be a better time in the future. If you still have questions or specific triggers in mind, I’m available through Instagram (@brookegilbertauthor), TikTok (tiktok.com/@BrookeGAuthor), and email (brookegilbertauthor@gmail.com).

Also, I have taken a few liberties in the novel relating to places that allow our canine companion. Places like Moku Nui are off limits to dogs, but it was so much fun to include Nova in these scenes that I couldn’t resist including her. I appreciate your suspension of reality so she could be included. Also, a ferry route no longer exists between Maui and Oahu. But this mode of transportation worked best for the plot.

I hope you enjoy your time in Maui and Oahu! I can’t wait to discuss this novel with you :)

Sending you endless spoons and much love,

Brooke

Reef - Prologue

In all the many ways I’d imagined her walking back into my life, I was still not prepared for it to actually happen. From my sheltered spot behind the restaurant bar, I watched as a very grown-up version of my childhood love chatted with her ukulele fans amidst the glow of tiki torches and shimmering Hawaiian moonlight. When her head slowly turned to gaze my way from across the outdoor patio, I felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. Time had the viscosity of honey. And my feet liquified in place. All it took was just one look.

Out of all the restaurants in Maui, she had held her ukulele gathering here. At my workplace. I swallowed hard as the glimmering twinkle lights illuminated her figure walking my way. The crisp evening air made the perspiration on the back of my neck feel even cooler. A familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach seemed to intensify with each swish of her gorgeous lavender dress as she glided in the moonlight. Her shoulders seemed to push back with every step she took, chin tilting higher, as if adopting a determined confidence.

And there I stood. Frozen. A glass fused to my hand, making me look like a tropical version of the rusted Tin Man.

Oh my God, I thought to myself, she’s getting closer. My pulse thrummed at the tantalizing way her body moved toward me. Get it together, Reef, get it–

“Aloha,” Luna’s sweet, husky voice emanated like velvet from her petite body. For such a tiny frame, she sure had a luscious voice. Great things did come in small packages. I couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. Stop it, Reef.

“Aloha,” I managed, pinching my eyes shut, trying desperately to break the spell she had cast over me. Because with her, I never knew if the word meant ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’. With me, it sure didn’t mean ‘love’. Finally, I managed to set the glass down from my clenched hand, I immediately started cleaning another one a little too vigorously. It looked like I was going to need a lot of dirty dishes to keep myself preoccupied.

Luna smiled at my casual reply and slid gracefully onto a bar stool. She leaned against the counter, her body seemed to gravitate naturally toward me, just like it had all those years ago.

Her eyes captured mine, and I swung the dish towel over my shoulder, trying to tame my nervous energy. But It was no use; I had been a goner as soon as her eyes had found mine in the crowd.

“It’s good to see you,” Luna ventured.

“Yeah, it’s been a little while. Can I make you something to drink? We have just about every libation imaginable. I even have fancy umbrellas for the piña coladas. If you get a nonalcoholic one, then I can ring it up as a kid’s drink and give you a few extra umbrellas.” Nervous laughter trickled out of me.

“Reef–” A slightly pleading tone colored her voice. No, we weren’t going to talk about it. It had been two decades, and she still had my heart on a silver platter.

Her hand slid across the bar top toward me, and then quickly retreated. An ache pierced me as I saw her hand pull back. Her delicate fingers resting safely on their side of the counter. Would she try to cross over the imaginary line again?

Her beautiful brown eyes dared to look up at me. The ones that always made me melt inside. She spoke softly, “How have you been?”

“Good. Yeah, it’s been busy here. Can’t complain . . .” An awkward tension flared around us. “What about you? I’ve been reading about you in the news. I always knew you’d make it. Congrats. Dreams really do come true.”

“Well, you were the very first one who believed in me. This whole thing has been . . . surreal,” her voice trailed off. “Reef do you think?–”

“Luna, come on!” A loud voice called out, interrupting her question. “Time to get started.” She bit her lip as she gazed over her shoulder.

“Just a moment,” she called back.

“They’re growing anxious.” A man walked over and raised her ukulele.

Luna nodded and turned back to face me. “Uh, I’m so sorry. I’ll come back later.” A nervous energy radiated off of her as she slipped down from her stool. But I didn’t have any plans to be here later. My co-worker, Nalu, had said she’d close-up the bar this evening. And I certainly didn’t have the nerve to wait around for Luna, just hoping. Not anymore.

I allowed myself one more glance over at Luna. People were surrounding her, giving her instructions about her upcoming performance. As soon as I looked in her direction, her eyes magnetized to mine, just as they always had. And for a minute, everything grew quiet as we became frozen in place. And I couldn't help but wonder if her sudden return was more than just a chance reunion.

When someone tugged on her arm, she turned her attention back to the task at hand. She was guided by her handlers toward a makeshift stage. I watched her disappear, just as I had all those decades ago. And just like that, the hollow, familiar ache returned. So strong that it dulled all my other senses. But this time, I knew I couldn’t let her go without finding out the truth.

Chapter 1-Reef-Now

" Some say childhood is when we can be our truest selves. Maybe that’s why this flame burns so brightly. And feels like nothing can ever extinguish a childhood love." -Cece LaRue, When You Were Mine

She materialized like a soaking wet reverie with the first bolt of lightning. Everything from her thick eyelashes down to the hem of her long sundress was heavy with rain. Celeste gazed up at him, getting lost in his eyes as she walked toward him. Her face softened when she reached his front porch steps. Her lips tried to say something, but in the pouring rain, she was too far away to be heard. He took a step toward her, leaving the safety of his porch overhang, allowing the coolness of the rain to soak them as the tropical storm raged all around.

He dared to lock eyes with her. And there was a glint in her hazel ones saying, ‘it’s always been you’. Celeste’s lips parted to speak, and she seemed more like a mirage than anything. He’d been waiting to hear an answer from those lips for so long. And he was instantly swept up in the fantasy before him. Too afraid she wasn’t real. And just like that, time seemed to stand still. When an indistinct murmur from her lips brought him back from his daydreams. “Reef–”

“Châ!” I exclaimed in frustration as my name slipped from the character’s lips. I swiftly crumpled up the cocktail napkin with my messy words scrawled on it. I was blurring the lines of fiction and my fantasy, yet again. And that was dangerous. A heat crossed my cheeks as the familiar feeling of failure rose inside me, sending my fantasy world crashing to a halt.

One of these days, the woman of my dreams would realize she was the reason for my novels . . . that she was my muse. And I don’t think I will ever be ready for that day. Especially since the last time we had an actual conversation together was when we were only twelve years old. Right before she broke my heart.

And yet, I couldn't stop picturing her as my main character. In fact, that’s how my writing career had begun. I’d always wanted to write, but like so many other people, I had let my dreams go. It wasn’t until I came home from an especially hard day at the bar that I picked up my fountain pen. Because I had desperately needed to see her again, if only for three hundred pages. And at that moment, it didn't matter if I’d never measure up. Someone at the bar had reminded me of her and the floodgates had opened. And there was no stopping them. I wanted to escape with her into our world. I needed to belong to a universe where she existed with a ‘happily ever after’. Even if I was just the writer and she was my heroine. Because even in my fantasyland, she still needed to be off limits to me.

It all seemed pretty harmless, especially since my work was only supposed to be a beautiful interlude in my day. I never intended for it to be seen on the printed page or on anyone’s screen. I easily rationalized that everyone had a muse. But that was before my best friend convinced me to query my work and my writing somehow turned into a bestselling novel. Well, novels. So, I lived in the gray now. But, when I became the leading man, my world turned vivid colors. Mostly red warning hues.

From my spot behind the faux tiki bar, I lobbed the rejected napkin into the nearest wastebasket, squeezing my eyes shut to erase my errant daydream. I should be able to pull inspiration from someone–anyone–else. But when I did, my writing turned flat. And I was already up against a deadline . . . a past due one. Daily reminders from my editor littered my inbox. As if I needed a reminder of the high demand for Cece LaRue’s next romance, or that she needed LaRue’s revisions–my revisions. All for a book I never should have written. Maybe this conflicted feeling was the reason for the heap of dejected napkins in the trash can.

I’d come a little undone when my muse walked back into my life six months ago. Decades of bottled up emotions exploded across the page into a burst of colorful imagery, a.k.a a new manuscript. I guess I had a lot of “therapy” work to do. Years ago, my best friend had passed on the sage advice of his grandmother who had wanted to help him with bullies. ‘Write down your feelings and then you’ll be ready to express them when the time is right.’

In all fairness, I doubt he thought my feelings were going to end up being written down into fifteen best-selling romance novels. All under a pen name . . . About a woman I’d pined for since we were twelve years old. So perhaps when my friend said I’d be able to tell her my true feelings after this process, he intended for me to write directly to her, not publish my emotions as cryptic clues in multiple romance novels.

I stared at the trash can, feeling my emotional repression radiating off the ink from here. I was just about to fish the wadded napkin out of the trash when Nalu interrupted my thoughts.

“I bet it was good,” she said encouragingly, while she took inventory of the bar. We were getting ready for the rush of tourists that would soon descend on the restaurant after they had spent a day on the beautiful Maui shores. Until the evening, it was usually pretty dead at the Whalers Village Shopping Center. Occasionally, a thirsty shopper stopped by, but other than that, I normally had plenty of time to contemplate and write. My poor co-worker, Nalu, knew too well about my weird writing habits. With as much time as I spent scribbling, she probably thought I had a manuscript the size of Moby Dick lying here around somewhere.

I stared out past the open-aired patio bar to the sandy shores. A warm glow burnished them, casting everything through a golden hour lens. I’d love to grab my board and go surfing with my best friend, Locke. It would be a great way to get out of my head. Surprisingly enough, bartending helped with that, too. Listening to people’s stories was like a healing balm. In a weird way, it made me feel connected to Luna again. Maybe that’s why I’d begun bartending.

“Nah,” I finally answered Nalu. “The writing was actually pretty awful, but thanks for the confidence boost.”

“When are you going to actually publish something, Reef? I’ve fished out some of your napkins and I think they’re pretty incredible–” she stopped herself, as her olive complexion turned a slight shade of pink.

I smiled warmly at her. The encouragement was really nice. We’d gotten close while tending bar together, but I hadn’t shared my secret identity with her. There was only one person who knew about my pen name, and that was Locke. I’d never had the courage to put my real name on any of my books. Because these days, it seemed the worst thing to be was a romance author. Especially if you were a man. That was even more laughable, not just in the literary world.

Reef - Then - Age 24

“Cece LaRue!” Locke said emphatically, a slight slur to his words. I discreetly slid the drink away from him on our kitchen island. I knew when it was time to cut people off, even if I was new to this bartending thing.

“What are you talking about?” I leaned heavily on my forearms, feeling the world tilt slightly on its axis.

Locke leaned back on his barstool. “Man, don’t you know your porn star name? It’s the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on.”

I choked on the sip I had just taken. While coughing, I looked down at the contracts below me. The ones my agent had sent. How I had gotten one of those was still a mystery to me. But Locke was like a shot of liquid courage.

I exaggeratedly pointed downward in a circuitous manner, as if hitting a bull’s eye. “You want me to put my porn star name on this? Even for a romance author, that name sounds like too much.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s not like we’ve come up with anything better. And remember, you wanted to be totally anonymous. No one is going to think this is you. It’s like the most froufrou name ever. It certainly doesn’t sound Hawaiian.”

Maybe it was the drink, but his reasoning was getting stronger. It sounded as good as one of those courtroom drama shows on TV. I could hear the triumphant music swell in the background. I shook my head . . . maybe that was a bad thing.

He leaned toward me, his fingers thumbing through the pile. “Your family would never know.”

“Give me the pen,” I said confidently, making my split-second decision. That was the deal breaker. My father could never find out. It would kill him.

Chapter 2-Luna

"But love isn't so simple, At least not to a heart like mine. -Luna Manu Mele, The Man I Could Love

My eyes were glued to the page in front of me as I nestled deeper into my swinging hammock. The front porch was my retreat from the world when my senses needed a reset. And my favorite way to escape was through romance books. Especially tropical themed ones with ‘happily-ever-afters’. There was a better chance I’d see someone like myself in between those pages than in other genres on the bookshelves. And recently, I needed those stories more than ever.

The soft island breeze caressed my skin as the printed words enveloped me, pulling me deeper into a beautiful fantasy. Time didn’t seem to exist when I was in this private little universe. No stress lived in this microcosm. And no one created a world in which I could so easily escape better than Cece LaRue.

I could place myself in her main character’s shoes in a way I never had before. Since I was half Hawaiian, I loved how Cece set all her books on the beautiful islands I called home. And from the very first book I read, I felt a special connection with them, almost as if they were written just for me. But maybe everyone who enjoyed them felt the same way. Maybe that was part of the charm.

But there was something magical about our islands and no one knew their heartbeats better than Cece. I’d give anything to meet her, or even know what she looked like. The nondescript logo she used in place of an author photo drove me crazy with curiosity. It seemed a publicist managed all of Cece’s social media accounts. The only thing that seemed to be truly Cece were her books. Well . . . and the P.O. box number I’d magically found.

I’d felt like a stalker when I’d stumbled upon the hidden P.O. box address. I’d been reading about her online–okay, I was doing a little too much research on my favorite author–and stumbled upon it. The webpage had been created so long ago. Probably back when Cece’s first book was published, and she thought she’d only receive a handful of letters from fans.

As soon as I’d sent my first letter to her, I’d immediately begun to think about other possibilities. Maybe it was a decoy box manned by a publicist. I still cringe thinking about how I could have poured my heart out to her poor PR team. But I was shocked at the detailed response I received. It felt like proof Cece was real, and that her responses were too. They were too heartfelt to be fake. Or maybe her PR team was just that good.

I pulled out one of her letters that I kept as a bookmark. It didn’t really matter who had written these letters anymore. They had gotten me through some terrible times when I didn’t know where else to turn. And someone had taken a lot of time to respond, so I was going to live in the fantasy. The stationery felt more like satin sheets than actual writing paper under my fingertips because it had softened so much overtime. My eyes wandered over the fountain pen ink that gracefully covered the pages. The letters glided seamlessly across the paper. I wanted to drink the words in.

Dear Luna,

Do you feel every atom go still when you have a pen in your hand? Does time stand still? Sometimes that’s the only way I know how to make the world right and bring it to a halt. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through or that I’m as strong as you, but I can relate.

I’m afraid I’m a bit of a recluse. Writing ‌has helped me in so many ways. But while it's allowed my introverted soul to shine, it’s also given me even more reason to hide away. It eases the pain and fears, but it’s become a bit of a double-edged sword. Sometimes, what is healing can also be detrimental if we seek too much refuge in it. I now understand the meaning of ‘too much of a good thing.’

I hope you seek your lyrics for solace, but I also hope you continue to push yourself to grow with them. To share them. To share yourself. I have to admit I was curious, so I looked you up. I think you’re pretty incredible. It would be a shame for you to continue to hide away. The world needs more beauty. More love. Think about that every time you're on the stage and take a deep breath for me. I don’t think I’ve ever believed in anyone more.

Let the stars guide you,

Cece

I should have responded right away. It was one of the most beautiful letters I’d ever received, but it took a while to gain the courage to write her back. I felt I’d already taken enough of her precious time. Or maybe A.I.’s . . absolutely not, there was no way A.I. had written that—there was heart and soul dripping off of it. And if I was wrong, then I wanted to stay blissfully ignorant.

And while I knew she wasn’t a ‘Dear Abby’ service, I craved to put pen to paper so I could hear from her again. I felt certain she would understand the pressures I was going through as an artist. And no one gave advice like LaRue.

Romance books don’t get enough credit. Some people call them fluff, but the comfort and escape they provided always helped to inspire my creativity. After I finished a book, lyrics poured out of me. Inspiration striking deep in my soul. I sighed, turning another page of the heartfelt prose before me.

He strode over to her with a fire in his eyes. An urgency had reached his lips. As if the words had to be released from his soul. “Malia, you’re perfect just the way you are. I thought that from the first moment I saw you. I–”

“Am I interrupting something?” A creak startled me, and I grabbed the worn ropes on the sides of my hammock. In front of me, standing on the deck, was my Uncle Louis. His fedora and suspenders cast a cool shadow over my reading nook. “That was an awfully big sigh.” His husky chuckle eased the tension in my muscles.

I let out a little squeal, springing out of my hammock to give him a hug. I always felt like a carefree kid when he was around. Having him back on the island had been one of the biggest blessings. “ʻAnakala, you scared me,” I laughed.

“Yeah, I saw that. Seems like you were pretty invested in that book,” he teased. “I didn’t know the heat affected you so much.” He smiled wickedly as he pointed toward my rosy cheeks.

I swatted his hand away as I sat back down. He took a seat on the porch swing, looking way cooler than anyone had a right to be. Louis had this inherent charisma about him–yet he was always so unassuming, which only seemed to amplify his effect. Even in his mid-seventies, his charm hadn’t wavered. And it carried over to his music career, too. He had such a magnetic stage presence that I’d always admired. I had even tried to imitate his style growing up, but I couldn’t duplicate his charm. Swagger was the one thing he couldn’t teach me.

A couple of years ago, Louis moved back to Hawaii from the mainland when my attacks had gotten worse. But when he was away, he’d always been there to answer questions about my music career or to talk about a lyric that wasn’t working. In short, he’d always shown up for me. He’d given me my first ukulele and then taught me how to play it, helping me find music when I needed it the most. Teaching me the most important lessons of life, such as how to channel the healing powers of music to soothe ‘my nerves’. Which I would later understand was anxiety. When I felt all alone in the world and darkness felt like it was caving in, he and music were there for me. When I felt like an outcast growing up, they understood me in a way no one else could.

When Louis told our family he was ready to retire and move back home, a weight felt lifted off of me. But deep down, I knew he was really moving back because he was worried about me. He wanted to help me navigate this part of my career. And I couldn’t be more grateful to him. For everything.

We fell into a harmonious rhythm, just like he’d never left. My front porch held our ‘privately reserved’ rocking hammock chairs. It was a spot that served as a therapy retreat. And the comfortable surroundings allowed me to open up to Louis about the crushing anxiety I had as an adult. Finally, I felt safe enough to open up about my life: my career, my love life, and especially my panic attacks. I knew Louis wouldn’t think I was ‘being dramatic’ or ‘weak’ when I shared my truth with him.

I closed my book and showed him the cover, knowing he’d be amused by my reading choice. For a book so deep, the cover was . . . surprising. It gave off a sweeping romance vibe like something you’d find on the shelf of an 80s bookstore. But what could you tell from a book’s cover? Looking at it, I sure wouldn’t have thought the book contained any significant issues between its pages. They certainly weren’t mentioned in the blurb. Maybe the point was to disguise some of its heavy content. Maybe they thought that didn’t sell.

Louis’ smile grew when he saw the cover. “I really should get one of those for Kelani, if you don’t think it would make me look too bad.” He nudged me playfully from his swing.

Even though my ‘anakala was in his late seventies, he still had game. ‘Big-time’ game. Maybe it was a musician thing. They never seemed to lose their swag, except for me. I never had any to begin with. I was too shy. Lyrics were how I expressed myself, and the stage was my ‘safe’ social interaction. But in answer to Louis’ question, I knew better than to believe a book could ever make him look bad. The story of how he’d recently been reunited with his first love was more romantic than any of the books I’d been reading.

Louis looked at me with a creased brow. “I’m glad you’re getting some time to relax. But I know you, Luna. You only break out the romance books when things are bad. And you re-read Cece when things are dire.”

Louis knew me all too well. Actually, he knew me better than anyone. Romance books were my therapy. And Cece was the best therapist of them all.

I sighed and fished my phone out. The one I had tried to lose in the plush cushions. Hoping a black hole would magically appear and suck the phone away, along with the people sending me text messages.

Slowly, I handed my phone over to Louis, chuckling when I noticed him trying to unlock it using his facial features. People said I looked like him, so it was a nice try. With a goofy grin, he pointed the phone up at me and I couldn’t help but smile. That Louis charm would always work on me.

But in a moment’s time, I saw a frown appear across his cool and collected features.

“Luna, what are all these notifications about? What exactly am I looking at?”

We didn’t keep secrets, but I knew he wouldn’t search through my phone. He always waited for me to share things with him. I tucked myself beside him on the porch swing and started scrolling through the label’s Instagram feed. Then the text messages from my manager, Steve.

“Honey, why is your ex-boyfriend photographed beside you on these Instagram posts? And why is Steve texting you about boosting your career and doing what is best for the label?” I watched as a protective edge took over his tone.

“It’s complicated.” I sighed.

“Doesn’t look complicated, ku’uipo. Looks like they’re using you . . . again. Because they think they can. Kindness should never be confused with weakness.” He began forcefully pushing up his rolled shirt sleeves as if preparing for battle.

My lips tried to smile reassuringly. “Ever since Azul's big summer hit, he's been the label’s number one star, not just in ukulele. So, they want to promote us together. And they’d like us to ‘conveniently’ get back together for the festival. Apparently, romance sells.”

A grimace crossed over Louis’ facial features. He’d been pushed around more than his share when he was starting out in his career as a Black jazz musician. He’d told me all about his experiences and how important it was for me to ‘stand up’ for myself. Louis had broken into the world of jazz music when playing the ukulele wasn’t a very popular instrumental choice. Louis had been an enormous influence on my music, teaching me most everything I knew, especially jazz. He’d never missed a video call opportunity to teach me new jazz chords. And my musical education came from lying around on our family’s shag carpet and listening to the jazz greats on vinyl while he talked about music theory and music history. The real story behind the music.

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t want you anywhere near that guy. It’s bad enough you have to do the music festival. No.” Louis’ veins began protruding slightly in his forearms. He was the only one I’d confided in about the truth behind my ‘glamorous relationship’ with the ukulele star.

My eyes shyly looked over at him. I hated feeling like I didn’t have any control with my label, especially regarding my music. “It’s just one long weekend. I need this contract. I can’t make it on my own.”

“No.” His jaw tightened. Water started blurring my vision and the vulnerability I felt was pushing me toward the edge. A heavy tightness taking over my chest. The familiar darkness clouded me. He softened and reached for my hand. “No, Luna. Together, we will find another way. One that’s safe for you.”

Luna- Age 32

“Babe!”

I’ll never forget the moment I heard Azul’s ecstatic voice call to me from my living room. I’d been in the kitchen making a snack when his voice called out to me. He’d pretended to be tired of going out in public and ‘getting noticed’, but I think he just enjoyed seeing me be domesticated. Especially since people hardly ever took notice of us or bothered us on the island, unless Azul brought us to their attention. The people here always tried to be respectful of our privacy.

I lowered the kitchen utensils slowly, reaching for the drinks I had prepared, and breathed out as I strolled into the living room. There, I found Azul hunched over my coffee table, papers in hand. His grinning face immediately looked up at me.

“Babe, this is amazing! You’ve got a great start here. And I’m . . . Wow . . . I’m so flattered.”

My stomach bottomed out. I felt like the glass tumblers I was carrying were going to slide right out of my hands as perspiration etched their rounded surfaces.

I set the glasses on the coffee table as quickly as I could, a loud thud resonating from their hard contact, and swept up the rest of the loose papers. Completely oblivious, Azul began reading what was left in his hands. His glee not diminished in the slightest.

Always been told what I needed in life

Always been told how I should be loved right

But love isn't so simple

At least not to a heart like mine

Never been treated right

Not by those type of guys

Never been much of a woman to stand by a man's side

Just for the status, just for the privilege, just for the right

Because behind closed doors is different

And there I'd blissfully evaporate into the ether

I stay because I'm loyal, because I’m a ‘healer’

because I'm a pleaser, because I'm stuck in a fever

But with you, everything is new

With you, I feel I've come unglued

In a room full of people, no one is equal

I see everyone else has just been the prequel

Because here I realize

You'd never push my dreams aside

Or expect me to compromise

And I'll never be able to hide it

As much as I've been told to fight it,

You are the only man I could love

Forever and always

He looked up at me as he stopped reading. An emotional look clouded his features. One I’d never seen before. “Luna, what’s the title? This is such a great start,” he repeated.

“It’s nothing.” I tried to downplay the situation as I reached for the papers again. A frustrated sigh escaped me when he pulled the papers away from me. An internal heat filling me like a ball of shame. I’d been at a restaurant with my family when I’d seen my childhood love. He’d been working behind the bar, serving drinks. I doubt he saw me, but all my childhood feelings about him came flooding back. I knew I was playing with fire when I wrote this song. And now I knew what it felt like to get burned. But maybe I’d wanted to feel the flame. To feel something, anything again.

“Babe.” Azul tipped his head and snapped his fingers impatiently in front of my face.

“The Only Man I Could Love,” I told him slowly. Painfully.

He murmured the title back to me as if English were new to him. Then he pulled me toward him. Sweetly softening his booming tone. “This could be such an amazing duet. We could finish it together.” Finish? My mind was screaming as I looked at the pages in his massive hands.

I shook my head, a visceral response overcoming me. This was sacred territory, a piece of me he wasn’t getting. But I was frozen yet again. Like Ariel, whose voice had been taken away. That’s how I felt with him.

He looked at me, determined to change my mind. Or to conveniently interpret my response as a lack of self-confidence. “Don’t worry, Babe, it will be amazing. We’ll make sure of it. I’ll change my section to ‘the only woman I could love’. It will be such a beautiful ballad for the summer. The label will eat it up.” He pulled me onto the sofa beside him, crinkling my papers. As if the thought of him changing the words to my song was supposed to be this huge romantic gesture from him. As if a musician like him admitting his feelings in front of the world was the ultimate gift for a woman like me.

And I continued to stay frozen as he kissed me to celebrate, pushing me further into the sofa and his victory. As his body and a crushing anxiety weighed on top of me, I could only wonder . . . What had I just done?

Chapter 3-Reef

With love, he wanted to trust his gut, but it felt broken. That’s why he needed lightning in a bottle to wake him up. And from that very first moment, she was it. -Cece LaRue, Pacific Pulse

I crouched below the bar, taking time to restock, when I heard a familiar deep voice. I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. And when I felt a napkin hit me on the back, my suspicions were verified.

“Locke,” I said before I even got eye level with the counter. I knew my best friend’s signature greeting by now. He was one of the few people who preferred coming to the bar during off hours. And he came even less now that he had found his special someone. I had to admit, I was a little jealous. Okay, maybe a lot. Locke had gone out of his comfort zone to meet his fiancée, so I hoped I could do the same. I wanted the type of relationship he had with Guin. Locke had been waiting on the right wahine, but that wasn’t my problem. I was just too scared to try . . . Again. I preferred my safe “what if” fantasies. Freud would love analyzing me.

“Hey, man, I see you’re throwing away perfectly good manuscripts again.” He eyed my sad, rejected wads in the waste can.

“Shhhh.” I could already feel my neck burning and he’d only been here for two minutes. We’d known each other since we were babies. We literally had our diapers changed together by our grandmothers, who were the best of friends. So, he knew how to paint shades of red on my face better than anyone. And he took great pleasure in this talent of his.

“I don’t understand. You’re super-talented. I mean, you’re a bestseller. Isn’t it time to just come clean, Cece?” Locke grinned as his voice grew.

“Lawa, Locke.” I shushed him, knowing my whispers of ‘enough’ would never work. The last thing I needed was for people to overhear him saying my pen name. But my plea only made Locke’s laughter boom louder.

“Man, I know women already flock to you, but seriously, you wouldn’t be able to keep them away if they knew. We could have a bartending bachelor show. The YouTube royalties would be pretty outstanding.”

Locke continued with his newfound confidence. “It would be nice not to have to keep this secret. Unless you think women wouldn’t want to buy romance from a male author, I don’t really see a downside to it. Plus, the person you’re writing about could finally see—”

“Alright, Locke. Hâmau.” But I knew my attempt to ‘silence him’ wouldn’t do one iota of good. “Just because you’re feeling cocky enough to come back to the bar now that you have Guin doesn’t mean you can spill all my secrets.” I fired my brotherly shot back.

Before Guin, Locke had a Pavlovian aversion to the bar. I’d kept trying to rip the bandage off and plunge him into the dating world, but it was like trying to swim against a riptide. Now, he was obviously feeling way too comfortable here. I’d take it though, considering the alternative. Honestly, if we weren’t giving each other a hard time, then something was wrong. And Locke had been pretty great about the Cece thing. He could have done some serious damage with that one. That was the nice thing about Ohana, ‘family’ always knew what was too tender to touch.

“Well, I’ve read all of your work, Cece . . . Or do you prefer Ms. LaRue? “He teased. “And it still seems very apparent what island girl you’re writing about,” the volume of his voice only increased, and I scowled at him. It had been such a mistake letting him read my books. Although with Locke, there really was no ‘letting’. He’d probably read the books aloud to Guin, too, while she was recovering from transplant surgery.

I looked around, relieved that Nalu had gone to the back, leaving Locke and me alone at the open-air bar. The salty Maui breeze was providing my ever-growing warm skin some cool relief.

“Locke, why did you come to the bar today?” I sighed. I loved this guy like a brother, but something was up. He usually just texted if he wanted to go surfing or to hang out. Locke was a man of few words and activities.

“Can’t a buddy just come by—”

“You’re ridiculously transparent, Locke. I know you. You never just ‘drop by’. You’re out surfing or with Guin, so what’s going on with you?” I looked around nervously, anticipating Nalu’s return.

“Ok, fine. But Reef, you really should just tell her. That’s my sage advice.” I eyed him because I was pretty sure we’d had this same conversation at the beginning of his relationship, when he hadn’t been ready to share anything with Guin about his physical disability. I lobbed a raised eyebrow right back at him. Most of our conversations were like a Ping-pong match at a heated family game night.

“Fine,” he heaved in surrender. “I’m here because Louis is worried about Luna and he asked if we, well, you, might help.”

Luna. Her name shot through me like a jolt of electricity. My senses amplified, noticing the starburst of colors from the sunset's glow wrapping us in its warm buttery hues. Images from our childhood flooded my memory, and it felt like I’d entered a golden haze. Everything else around me was suddenly eclipsed by this warm glow. Until Locke burst through it.

“Reef?” He waved a hand in front of me.

“Why me?” My eyes snapped into focus as tidal waves of emotion rushed through me.

“Well, Louis is hoping to find someone who can look out for her. She has this upcoming ukulele festival, and things have gotten out of control. He’s really concerned about her. Louis thought maybe I could help, but I don’t want to leave Guin. And since my grandmother needs more help right now, Louis wants to stay with her. So, I suggested you might help. Louis wants someone Luna will be comfortable with. So you’re perfect. What better person to be her bodyguard? You’ve certainly been memorizing her body for long enough,” he finished cheekily.

I rolled my eyes upward, hoping to find my dignity there. “What part of me says bodyguard Locke?” I spread out my arms so he could survey my lanky frame. My thick, black-rimmed glasses completed the look. “And what makes you think this is a wonderful idea? We haven’t even talked to each other since we were kids. Recent pleasantries hardly count. Not for something like this.”

“Says the man who is writing romance books about her. Hoping he’ll get another shot. I think a wahine could get pretty comfortable with that pretty quickly.”

“You don’t know Cece’s intentions. That’s why they call it fiction,” I barbed back.

But he just stared at me with his penetrating gaze. “Oh, come on, everyone is comfortable with you. That’s why you’re such a great bartender. Plus, she always holds her ukulele welcome gatherings here. Seems to me she’s finding reasons to come here–”

“We have fantastic food and drink–”

He cut me off right away. “No. You’ve done this for way too long. I see the way she looks at you. It’s obvious she wants to reconnect. Now, here’s the perfect opportunity. The chance you’ve been waiting for. You’ve been writing about it for so long, I guess you willed it into existence.” He smirked.

I hesitated. As much as I hated to admit it, I wanted to see if he was right. So, I finally asked, “What exactly is the opportunity?”

“Uh, I think it’s best for Luna to tell you.” I raised my eyebrows at him as if saying ‘no deal.’ He sighed, relenting. “She’s been struggling. It’s one reason Louis moved back here. Those two have always been close. But her manager is pushing her to do a concert she doesn't want to do, with a pretty personal song. They’re determined to turn it into a romantic duet and a publicity stunt with another musician who is under the same management contract. And it sounds like she could really use some help with the situation.”

I nodded, as if I knew anything about her world. The closest I came to her world was being managed, and enduring the pressure of editing deadlines. Not exactly the same. But I knew what it felt like to lose control over your creative license–not having the final say on your work, and not being able to spark new material. However, that probably paled in comparison to what was happening to Luna. She was a big name in the world of ukulele. Scratch that–she was a ukulele icon. Little girls all over the island wanted to be just like her.

“I still don’t see what I’m supposed to do.” My eyes looked down at my rolled-up shirtsleeves. They certainly didn’t stretch tautly across my forearms like Locke’s did. I wasn’t a bodyguard. I’d always been the nerdy, awkward guy. And I made up for it with my friendly–albeit quirky–personality. Locke was the one to fill the role of protector. He was the ripped bodybuilder. They had this all wrong.

Locke could see my wheels turning. “Louis is afraid of how far management will push things. They don’t seem to take her well-being into consideration. She’s more of a commodity to them. Merchandise. And as you know, romance sells. The song she wrote is pretty hopelessly romantic. Sounds like somebody I know,” he said cheekily. But then Locke turned serious. “Perfect for their marketing schemes.”

“One More Hour,” I uttered without hesitation. Locke eyed me curiously. But of course, it was the song. That one would make a perfect duet. Embarrassingly enough, I knew all her music. Especially the ones she had written when we were kids. Sometimes, I even listened to her discography as I wrote. Because I was a masochist, apparently.

“Reef–” Locke’s chocolate eyes showed enough empathy to weaken me.

“Locke, just continue,” I said in defeat. I threw a bar towel over my shoulder–one of my nervous ticks–and tidied up.

But he reached for my arm and easily stopped me. Growing up, my gawky stature had been highlighted next to him. Locke, a hulk of a guy, and I, the stereotypical poet. Surfing with Locke helped, but I still felt like the unathletic nerd who’d rather be discussing a literary phrase.

“Reef, why don’t you just talk to her?”

“Not what we’re discussing, Locke.” I pulled away, continuing to tidy up.

He sighed. “Fine.” Ironically, the advice tables had turned since he had found Guin. Now, he was the one giving dating advice. The guy who had run from all women. “Well, Louis says publicity stunts get out-of-hand fast, and he thinks they will want to market her and this guy as a couple.”

The glass in my hand dropped and shattered across the patio floor as I remembered the photos of her with other men in the press. The glass landed as hard as that news had felt against my heart. I could feel my chest constricting.

Luna had always been a free spirit, but she was so sweet that her polite, people pleasing nature always won out, even above her own well-being. I knew she’d do whatever the label asked. That guy could probably take whatever advantage he liked of the situation. But I don’t look like the type of guy to step in and stop it. No one will believe it for a minute. Luna is such a beautiful woman. She had her photo splayed across ukulele and musician magazines. And those copies sold fast. Who would buy that she would have such a nerdy, dorky guy as a bodyguard?

“Reef?” Locke called out to me, but I couldn’t quite hear him. He sounded so far away. I felt him trying to unclench my fist as he said, “Well, that was quite a response. I’m guessing I can tell Louis you’ll do it?”

I heard Nalu’s footsteps coming closer to see about the loud commotion from the dropped glass. That snapped me out of it, not wanting her to clean up my mess. I quickly took the broom and dustbin from her, explaining that Locke and I were just fooling around. But she looked at me curiously.

I bent down to collect the little shards, feeling equally broken. This was Luna, the only woman I’d ever truly loved. I looked up at Locke as I picked up the fragile pieces.

My voice came out soft yet firm. “What do I need to do?”

Reef- Age 12

The Hawaiian sun was burning brightly in the sky as its rays beat down on me. The heat only intensified the longer I sat watching and waiting on my tiny front porch steps. My anticipation was building like the humidity before an intense thunderstorm. And the more I waited, the stronger the storm brewed.

I’d only received short text messages from Luna this week, and no letters. My heart had sunk a little lower each time I went to my mailbox and found it empty of song lyrics waiting for me. But Saturday was always our day. It was as dependable as the sun rising.

But soon the fiery ball in the sky started dropping, and my legs began to go numb. When I saw Locke walking down my driveway instead of Luna, I couldn’t hold back the burning in my eyes. No.

“Reef, I–” Locke began, twisting his hands, his muscular build towering over me.

My throat went dry. “She could have told me herself–If she doesn’t want to–”

“Reef, it’s not what you think. Her family left for the big island today. I’m not sure for how long. I overheard my parents talking about it. Apparently, her family isn’t telling anyone. Maybe they fell on hard times.”

“So, she’ll be coming back? When things get better . . . Why didn’t she?–” But the look on his face told me exactly why.

I swallowed hard. This was a ‘clean break’. Except my heart felt splayed across the dirt driveway. Already collecting debris.

My head kept shaking as Locke reached for me, grabbing my arm as I began running down the road. “Reef! There must be a reason she wanted it this way–”

His voice became muffled as the blood pounded in my ears. My breathing was ragged and labored when I reached her house, burning legs slowing only as I neared her windows. All of my cells screamed not to look inside, but I had to know. And when I did, everything looked as hollow as I felt. She was gone, and it suddenly felt like the best parts of me left with her.

Chapter 4-Reef

She slips in and out of my memory

Like a distant reverie,

A word, a sound, a smell

All brings her back to me

She's my everything.

-Reef Akua, The Muse

Once I agreed to hear Louis’ plan, Locke stayed at the bar for the rest of my shift. I guess he thought I was a flight risk. He must have texted Louis that he would secure me, like I was an “asset” that needed to be contained. But Locke knew I’d do anything to help Luna. So, I wasn’t going anywhere.

Although, ‘plan’ seemed to be a very generous use of terminology. Locke had been pretty cryptic in his details. He just said we could meet with Louis after my shift to sort it all out. I should have known these two were up to no good. They were known for their imagination and matchmaking. Well, at least where Locke was concerned. He had such a good heart, but his hair-brained ideas didn’t always execute well.

Since I was too busy wondering about his disastrous matchmaking, my shift became an utter disaster. I couldn’t focus on anything except for the beautiful Hawaiian woman of my dreams, and from my romance pages, too. And from what I had seen, time had been extremely kind to her. Luna emanated an undeniable elegance and grace. She was like a classic movie star with a tropical twist.

Gone was the young girl who used to race down to the beach for sand castle competitions and who started mud fights in the streams. Before me stood a sophisticated woman. My mind instantly flashed back to humid Hawaiian days from long ago, filled with memories of her. A contagious grin spread across my face at the thought.

Finally, Nalu took mercy on me. “Reef, I’ll cover the rest of your shift.” She eyed a Bloody Mary that didn’t have any “blood” in it. I guess she realized something was off and we wouldn’t make any tips this way. Or maybe she thought I was just rushing to get through my shift.

“No, I don’t want to leave you alone.” I reassured Nalu as I eyed Locke.

“Yeah, because we have such a rush,” Nalu said sarcastically, looking around. “And because you’ve been so helpful,” she smirked, and I blanched. My distractions had led to an array of wrong cocktail mixes tonight. Nalu continued, “It’s fine, Reef, go on. I think the patrons would really appreciate it, too.”

I thanked her and handed over my apron. Nalu glanced my way with a raised brow when Locke led me out of the bar with his hand firmly grasped on my shoulder. Even Houdini would test his limits trying to get out of Locke’s hold.

“Locke, I have a car,” I said as he pointed towards his Jeep. This would be the one time I didn’t want him to be a man of few words. But as he led the way, I just shrugged, knowing it was pointless to argue with him.

Taking the path of least resistance, or the one without a Thor-sized-obstacle, I got in his car. My mind whirled at my impromptu decision. Only an idiot would do such a thing in my position. It was like putting an amateur in the ring with John Cena. I winced as I rubbed my chest where my heart rested, still feeling the sting from the last round. Wounds that hadn’t healed, and probably never would.

Locke was driving the winding roads at his usual breakneck speed. But the evening air felt soothing as it whipped around us. The celestial charm of the night sky called to me, the moon reminding me of my first love.

It didn’t take many hairpin curves for me to realize that this wasn’t the way to Louis’ house. A screeching kettle sound went off in my brain. It coincided nicely with my head popping out of the sunroof just as Locke took a bump too quickly.

“Locke, seriously, when are you going to drive more like a regular islander? You know, drive on relaxed island time? It’s not like I’ll jump out of the Jeep to escape if you slow down. There’s a reason I don’t write thrillers.”

Locke began laughing. “Yeah, you aren’t naturally inclined to be adventurous. I could go five miles per hour and that still wouldn’t happen. You can cross ‘stunt man’ off your career list.”

“Thanks. I guess that’s why I’m a writer. I live through things from the comfort of my chair. The only action going on is the wear and tear on the page.”

His laughter only grew. “Good to know you’re getting action somewhere.”

“That’s not what I meant. You sure can turn anything around.”

“Seriously, man, you haven’t dated in forever. Come to think of it, you’ve never really dated, unless I missed something. How do you manage to write bestselling romances?”

“Hilarious, just watch the road, Batman.” But he kept glancing over at me for clues, and that, along with his frantic driving, made me nervous. This was certainly a creative way to get people to talk. Gives new meaning to ‘interrogation’.I responded, “No, ok. I haven’t. Not really. But at least I've wing-manned plenty of people. Same thing.”

“No. Um, not at all. And how is that possible? Women throw themselves at your adorable puppy dog face. Every time I’m at the bar, you get at least a couple of numbers a night. Not all telephone numbers, either.” Locke looked at me curiously, completely bewildered.

“I’m just not interested. Who wants a one-night stand? Or to be someone’s holiday fling? Only tourists come through here. Not all of us are interested in tourists.” I looked at Locke pointedly.

“Don’t judge until you try it. Mine stayed. And there are some really nice island girls. I see the way Nalu looks at you. Or is she just not the right island girl?”

I was getting annoyed by his accuracy. Since when did his mixology analysis get so . . . so annoyingly insightful? I countered, “No comment. Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

“I remember one summer when you sort of had a girlfriend,” Locke said in his sing-song tone, completely ignoring me.

“Locke, I was twelve. Doesn’t count if you’re not even through puberty.”

“Yeah, it does, especially if you kissed her. Apparently, that’s all it took.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but not a sound came out. Because I finally realized where he had taken me. And I was looking at a lavender front door. A cozy porch with twinkling lights, a large porch swing, and matching hammock chairs invited you to stay. An eclectic little townhouse shouted her name. Luna. And my body went rigid.

Reef- Age 12

“He’ll never get down from that tree! Whatcha wanna bet me?” a boy down below bellowed.

“It’s Reef, so I’m not taking that bet. I’m not losing my Gameboy to you again,” another boy called out, as if this was a foregone conclusion.

Locke had gone off in search of an adult to help with the situation and I prayed the adult would be his grandma and not my father. I could envision my dad now: hand in pockets, shoulders painfully straight, as he stared up at me and shook his head. I could even hear his words: ‘Stop embarrassing me, even your sister could do better. Get yourself out of that tree like a man. Now!’ The ‘now’ would be sharp and laced with warning. Letting me know every last shred of his non-existent patience for me was gone. My little stunt would ‘wreck’ his weekend and I’d pay for it.

My eyes searched the crowd, praying for a miracle, hoping that Locke would magically appear. After all, he was the one who had dared me up here. He was officially responsible for getting me down. I didn’t care if it was his birthday party.

The boys' cackles became louder, but I had gotten pretty good at tuning them out. My dad’s lack of faith in me had been excellent practice. It was like they had smelled my insecurity from day one; the quietness I’d adopted was like a beacon drawing them to me.

Just as I had made peace with the idea that I might be sleeping up here, I saw a tiny figure appear out of the corner of my eye, climbing up the trunk of the tree. I squinted harder, shielding my face from the rays to see who it was. . . a tiny girl in a purple floral dress. And she was moving quickly, using everything she had to her advantage to get to me. I caught a flash of her determined expression and knew instantly who it was. Luna. The girl from our housewarming party. And she was coming for me. Me.

Down below, I saw Locke appear in the crowd with his tutu. He and his ‘grandmother’ were both staring up in awe. Before I knew it, Luna was at the base of my tree branch. Her chocolate eyes, peppered with green, were sparkling with the most magical safety flare I’d ever seen. There wasn’t any pity or disappointment in those gorgeous pools. And I wanted to get lost in them.

But all I could do was cling more tightly to the tree branch like a scared little monkey, my eyes wider than a bush baby’s. Without breaking eye contact, she delicately extended a small hand to me. Unfurling each of her tiny fingers like a life line being flung out into a raging sea.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered when I didn’t move. Her rose-colored lips moved seamlessly. And that’s when I knew. She was different from anyone else I’d ever met. I’d known it from the second she’d made that fairy crown with me. But this . . . she was obviously special. Someone very rare to find. And my soul tethered itself to hers.

“Reef?” she said when I didn’t blink, consumed by her beauty. Now ready to stay on this branch with her for eternity. It didn’t seem so bad anymore. Definitely not scary. Not with her.

“Stay with me.” The words slipped out so quickly that they escaped my soul in an exhale. An inaudible whisper. Only my lips made the shape, feeling them out. Not even knowing what those words would mean for me.

“What?” she asked as she tried to inch closer to me and everyone gasped down below. I guess I’d officially made Locke's party memorable.

“Thank you,” I said, clearing my throat as I took her hand. A symphony of serotonin overtaking me.

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He writes love stories she'll never read. She sings love songs he can't forget. When childhood sweethearts reunited after a decade, their fake romance might prove that reality outshines any fantasy.

Reef has been in love with Luna since they were kids exploring the treasures of Maui's tide pools together. Now he channels his unrequited feelings into the books he writes under a romance pen name, creating the happy ending they never got. But when his best friend shows up with an unbelievable offer, Reef must confront both his darkest fears and deepest dreams.

Luna never stopped loving Reef, even when she broke his heart to protect him. Music became her sanctuary as she battled invisible demons, and fame only complicated her journey. When her record label plans a romantic PR stunt between her and her musician ex at the Oahu ukulele festival, Luna's uncle hatches a plan: Reef will pose as her boyfriend to thwart their scheme. After all these years, Luna finds herself face-to-face with the one person who truly understands her.

Beneath Maui's swaying palms and starry skies, their fake relationship awakens feelings that never truly died. As they revisit the mermaid coves and lavender fields of their youth, they'll discover that sometimes the most extraordinary love stories aren't found in fiction, but in the quiet moments of understanding and acceptance. What began as a charade might be their last chance at the love they were denied—if they're brave enough to embrace it.

When their truths come to light, will love heal their broken pieces, or will they wish they'd left the past buried in the sands of time?

The Heartbeats of Aloha is a touching, swoon-worthy standalone in the International Soulmate series featuring:

A soul-stirring second chance between childhood sweethearts
Maui's breathtaking landscapes and cherished memories
A fake relationship that becomes all too real
Compassionate portrayals of anxiety, depression, and invisible illnesses
An adorable therapy dog who helps mend broken hearts

If you love emotional journeys filled with tender moments, gentle chemistry, and the healing power of understanding, Brooke Gilbert's moving story belongs on your shelf.

Let the rhythm of the islands guide you to a romance that speaks to both heart and soul. Grab The Heartbeats of Aloha today and discover how Reef and Luna's love transcends both time and pain.

Content note: This book contains thoughtful discussions of anxiety, depression, panic attacks, and childhood illness.