Quinn took a deep breath. It was ironic how much alone time she no longer had now that she’d bought a house. She gazed toward the cottage door. Her laptop was just on the other side, and she should probably do some more research. And call Ethan. She should contact her boss, too, to ask for another week. There were also nearly thirty more work emails she should answer.

She gazed back at him.

Everything else could wait.

“Fine. Let’s get it over with,” she said. After all, she’d wanted to learn more about her mother’s culture, even if it did challenge her to put her introverted tendencies aside.

Quinn leaned back, taking in the sight before her. It was dusk, and as the sun set gently over the water, she couldn’t imagine a cozier scene. While the grounds on the resort were exquisitely designed and meticulously maintained, the atmosphere didn’t hold a candle to what Quinn was feeling on this tourist-free sliver of beauty that Maria’s family inhabited.

This was the Maui she’d wanted to see. To feel. Not the fancied-up resorts and golf courses that she worked in every day.

Preparing dinner and then sampling all the dishes was a test of endurance that Quinn almost failed. The food was simple, but delicious and plentiful. Her mother had introduced her to a few Hawaiian recipes growing up, but somehow she missed giving her the experience of tasting laulau. Quinn didn’t understand why, because it was now officially her favorite food.

With Maria’s supervision, she’d wrapped small portions of pork in layers of taro leaves, and then Liam had set them outside to cook in the underground hot-rock oven. When it was done, it created a deliciously smoky taste. The leaves had softened, and the meat was so juicy and tender that it melted in Quinn’s mouth.

She went for seconds and wished for thirds.

There were also several different kinds of sushi and the mung bean noodles cooked in chicken broth that her mother had always loved. The table was overflowing with dishes people brought in, as everyone came with something, whether it was a simple fruit or a jug of homemade wine.

The biggest surprise was Maria’s cookies. Quinn had never tasted anything like them. She was glad she’d gotten to have one, as they were the first thing to disappear once the people started arriving. Many of them got the cookies even before their main dishes, just to be sure they had one at the end of their meals. The cookies were small, buttery squares of shortbread—but unlike any shortbread Quinn had ever had. She’d asked what was in them, but Maria wouldn’t tell.

“A secret recipe,” Kupuna had muttered from where he sat at the table.