Blame It on Paradise by Crystal Hubbard

offhandedly, the younger man’s use of the word “sir” making him feel like an old man. Jack wasn’t so old that he couldn’t read certain clues. Whether it was Cape Cod, Daytona Beach or Darwin Island, Jack recognized the key piece of equipment needed for a beach party. He picked up his pace and followed the red cooler. It wasn’t until he heard distant laughter and music that he broke into an easy run and sped past his unwitting guides.
    * * *
    “Mr. Coyle-Wexler Representative,” said a voice behind Jack’s right shoulder. “It’s good to see you getting out and enjoying the island instead of chasing down J.T. Marchand.”
    Jack had been watching the festivities from a reasonable distance, within the cover of a stand of nikau palms. He stepped into the open at the greeting from Marchand’s receptionist. “Good evening, Miss…?” He felt the slightest twitch of shame that he’d never gotten her name despite his interactions with her.
    “Kiri,” she said with a coquettish tilt of her head. It was a practiced move that allowed her long black hair, which she wore loose, to fall from one shoulder, revealing a narrow floral bandeau top that barely contained the ampleness of her bosom. “And do you have a name other than Coyle-Wexler Representative?”
    “You can call me Jack.”
    “Now that we’re finally on a first name basis, Jack, let’s enjoy the party.” She looped her arm through his and pulled him toward the buffet tables. Jack’s appetite roared to life at the sight of the strange and colorful foods before him. He had sampled exotic cuisine before; it was one of the perks of work-related travel. But he recognized none of the foods displayed before him. He was grateful for Kiri’s patience in introducing him to the new fruits and vegetables.
    She plucked a few black-purple orbs from their arrangement upon a sheet of paperbark. “These are Illawarra plums.” She offered to feed one to him, but he took it from her and fed himself. The sweet flesh was firm, and a rich berry flavor exploded in his mouth. Kiri pointed to each fruit as she described it. “The pale lemon ones are aspen fruit, and these yellow-green fruits are Kakadu plums.”
    Jack glanced at an arrangement of halved kiwifruits. He was very familiar with the green ones; his mouth began to water in memory of his introduction to the gold variety. He grabbed a couple of bunya bunya nuts, examined them closely, and then popped one into his mouth. After chewing it for a moment, he said, “They look like a cross between hazelnuts and macadamias, but they taste like chestnuts.” He took a few more with him as Kiri led him farther down the long table.
    He sampled the native raspberries, which were smaller, fuzzier and juicier than the variety he knew from home, and the velvet succulence of the sweet flesh reminded him that he’d gone in search of Lina. He bided his time with Kiri, hoping for an opening to bring her up.
    The fruits gave way to a raw bar complete with oyster shuckers. One of the nut-brown young men shook back a head full of long, wavy black hair before addressing Jack. “You’re the bloke at the Te Taniki homestay,” he said in an accent that made Jack think of the Australian sitting behind him on his flight from Sydney to Christchurch.
    Since he was slurping down one of Darwin’s famous sweet rock oysters, Jack could only nod.
    “Well, that’s al’right!” the shucker said merrily.
    Jack discarded his empty shell in the bin provided. “This is some hootenanny,” he remarked, taking up another oyster and scanning the crowd for Lina. “Looks like the whole island turned out.”
    “ ‘Hootenanny?’ ” The oyster shucker nudged his co-worker with an elbow. “Did ya hear that, mate? ‘Hootenanny!’ ” He turned back to Jack. “You Yanks sure got an odd turn or two of phrase.” He laughed as he wiped his hands on the front of his apron before he untied it and balled it up. “Good to see you Kiri, doll.