“Hippie parents?”
“Total hippies. I’m talking marijuana smoking, peace-sign throwing, Fleetwood Mac junkies.”
Makoa smiled. “They sound awesome.”
“They really are. They’re big into traveling and missionary work, so when I was younger, we moved around a lot. I even lived in Africa for a year when I was ten, but I don’t remember much of it, other than the animals and the music. God, they had the best music. We would just sit around a fire at night and listen to the locals play for hours. Everyone would dance and laugh…” I smiled at the memory. “It was amazing.”
“That sounds incredible.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the big fires, the drums, the smiles of the locals as they danced and sang. “That was the first place that inspired me. I remember coming back to America and begging my mom to let me redo my entire bedroom with African-inspired design.”
“At ten?” Makoa asked with a chuckle.
“Eleven, by that time,” I corrected. “But, yeah. It was my first big project.”
“And your parents were down for it?”
“Oh, they loved it. This was me stepping into my creativity in their eyes. They bought me whatever I wanted, within a budget, of course. They even let me paint the walls. And from that moment on, they were my biggest cheerleaders. They’d let me go wherever I wanted each summer to find new inspiration. They sent me to summer camps, to study-abroad programs, to visit family members and family friends wherever we could find them.”
“That’s really awesome that they supported you that way,” Makoa remarked. “I mean, I know my parents have always supported me like that, too. And it makes it easier to go for the dreams that feel impossible.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. Lucky for you and me, we’re in a business that almost always thrives, huh? Not like your parents could really be upset with you wanting to go into real estate.”
He smiled, taking a big gulp of his beer before he asked, “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope, just me. Hence why I’m such a brat,” I added with a wink. “You?”
Makoa grimaced. “Four sisters.”
“Four?!?”
The DJ interrupted us with the answer to the last question, along with the updated scores, and with another correct answer, we were up to third place with just three questions left.
We submitted our best guess for the next question, what is lectamia?, before Makoa ordered us another round.
Just as the waitress walked away, a short, nervous, fidgety guy in a Cubs jersey approached our table. He looked nervous as he smiled at me first, and then turned his attention to Makoa.
“Welcome to Chicago, man,” he said, a huge smile enveloping his face. He reached out a hand to shake Makoa’s. “I’d really love to buy you a beer.”
Makoa looked at me before forcing a smile and taking the stranger’s hand. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that, but we just ordered a round, so we’re all good here.”
“I just know you’re going to do big things for the team. We’ve had—”
Makoa shot up out of his chair, throwing his arm around the guy. “Alright, alright, you can buy me a beer. Come on, let’s hit the bar.” He looked over his shoulder at me as they made their way across the room, mouthing sorry before they elbowed up at the bar.
I frowned. How the heck did that guy know who Makoa was? Maybe he was more famous in real estate than I realized. I made a mental note to Google him when I got home.
The team…
What did that mean? I glanced at the guy at the bar with Makoa, noting the Cubs jersey again. Maybe Makoa was working with them, finding a new stadium or training facility?
My wheels turned until Makoa was at the table again, and as soon as he sat down with his new beer and nodded to the stranger who’d bought it for him, our waitress dropped off our other order.
I cocked a brow at the two beers in front of him. “Looks like I’ll need to catch up.”
He shook his head. “Sorry about that. That’s Randy, he works in the marketing department for the firm.”
Ah, the real estate firm. Now that makes sense.
Makoa’s eyes found mine then, bright and wide with his matching smile. “Alright, now, where were we?”
I rolled my lips together, debating questioning him more on Randy and the firm, but the way he watched me told me it was the last thing he wanted to discuss. And when he’d come into my office that first day, he’d seemed pleasantly surprised that I didn’t know who he was.
Maybe there was more to that part of his story, and maybe there was a reason he loved that I didn’t have a clue.
I decided to cross Googling him off my mental list. If he wanted me to know him only through what he showed me, I was more than down for that. I knew what it was to be judged, to be put in a box according to who people thought you were, and I kind of liked getting to know him the old fashioned way.
“You had just blown my mind with your Brady Bunch family bomb drop.”
Makoa laughed.
“How the hell did you survive with four sisters?”
“I learned early on to avoid them during that time of the month and to never give my opinion on their haircuts.”
I laughed. “Smart man.”
“No, honestly, we’re all really close. I have two older sisters and two younger sisters, and my parents are big on family. We spend every holiday we can together, and growing up, the house was always full of kids, always loud and chaotic.” He smiled, thumb sliding over the condensation on his glass. “I never thought I’d miss it, but when I moved out on my own, I realized there’s a lot of comfort in the noise. When it’s quiet…”
“It gives you too much
