“Liam should also show you the Chinese Cookhouse,” Auntie Wang said, smiling pointedly at Liam, then Quinn.

“What is that?” Quinn asked.

“It’s a small wooden shack out back of the museum. Back in the day, it was a community kitchen where my people cooked in huge woks and steamers over wood fires, and many families gathered to eat.”

Quinn nodded. “That’s so interesting.”

“In the Chinese culture as well as the Hawaiian, the kitchen is the center of life,” she said, then hurried away again, only to return with an array of dishes and a kettle of water.

They watched Auntie Wang handle the skillful filling and emptying of pots, cups, and bowls. It was especially interesting when she poured the first steeping over some tiny clay animals that she’d set on her tea board.

“She feeds the animals for good luck,” Liam said quietly. “See how dark her animals are? That means she’s a very experienced tea taster.”

Auntie Wang smiled quietly as she listened to his explanation.

Finally, she set a tiny cup in front of Quinn, then one in front of Liam.

“Sip slowly,” she said. “Tea is not a simple beverage. It is an experience, meant to be appreciated. The small cups are a reminder that truly original tea leaves are scarce, and the tea they make should be highly prized.”

Quinn took a tiny sip of the steaming concoction and let it swirl around her mouth. It tasted light and flowery.

“This is Dragon Pearl Jasmine tea from the Fujian province. If I haven’t lost my touch, it should taste mildly sweet and a bit floral,” Auntie Wang said.

“It’s perfect,” Liam said, nodding his appreciation.

“Very good,” Quinn added. That was the truth. Never a big fan of hot tea, she was pleasantly surprised that she liked it.

“So, Liam, tell me what brings you by,” Auntie Wang finally said.

He gestured at Quinn. “I’m going to let Quinn start.”

Quinn smiled gently at Auntie Wang. “Liam told me that you dabble in genealogy, and I just happen to be looking for any family related to my mother. Or my father. I’ve never known any of my relatives other than my mother.”

Auntie Wang frowned; her lips puckered as though she’d gotten a bad tea leaf stuck in her teeth. She leaned in, all her attention on Quinn.

“That’s a shame. Ohana means ‘family,’ and they are the ones we live with, laugh with, and love with. To be without your family must be terrible. Tell me more.”

Quinn took a deep breath. She hadn’t truly admitted it yet, but since her mother had passed away, the loneliness of having no family had been eating her alive. The old woman was right, and it felt almost physically painful to admit it and let her secrets out.