Free Jeremy (Broken Angel #4) by L. G. Castillo

food.
    “What’s a Sammywich?” he asked, biting into the juicy burger.
    “Oh, you’ll love it. It has peanut butter-and-hazelnut spread and banana. Mom throws it into the deep fryer.”
    “And Sammy drowns it in chocolate syrup and powdered sugar,” Leilani added. “Actually, it is pretty good.”
    “Would you like some, Jeremy?” Lani asked as she picked up Sammy’s empty plate.
    He shook his head. “You’ve been too kind already. This is great.” He gestured to the hamburger.
    “Anytime.” She smiled.
    “Can I have his Sammywich, then?” Sammy asked as he followed his mom.
    When they disappeared into the kitchen, Jeremy turned to Leilani. “Okay, I have to know, what’s a haole?”
    She looked back to make sure her mother was out of earshot. “It’s what the locals call people who aren’t from around here. It’s meant to be an insult.”
    “Oh, really.” He arched an eyebrow.
    Her lashes fluttered when she realized what she’d called him. “I . . . I didn’t mean—”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a haole. It just slipped out. I was being stupid.”
    He looked into sincere eyes. He knew exactly how she was feeling. He messed up too. Who was he to judge?
    “Don’t sweat it.”
    “Sammy doesn’t mean anything by it when he calls you that. He doesn’t know any better. The kids in school call him haole because his father isn’t from around here.” She frowned as she tapped her fingers on the glass.
    Jeremy waited for her to say more. There was something about the sad expression on her face that drew him to her. It was like he was looking at a reflection of himself. She seemed lost—like him.
    “Stepfamily?” he asked.
    “Yeah,” she said softly.
    “Stepfamilies can be hard.”
    Soulful brown eyes flicked to his. “Do you come from a broken home too?”
    “Yeah, you could say that,” he said.
    “Really? I thought you were a golden boy.”
    He let out a laugh. “Golden boy? What do you mean by that?”
    “Look at you. You are all”—she waved her hand—“with the hair and the teeth and the hot bod.” She flushed. “You know what I mean. You’re like . . . perfect.”
    “I’m far from it,” he mumbled under his breath.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. What about your stepfather?”
    She let out a breath. “It’s not that bad. Samuel’s nice. It’s just we get stared at whenever we go out as a family.”
    “Why?”
    “It’s obvious he’s not from around here. He’s pale with red hair and freckles all over his face. He’s the total opposite of my father. My dad was a champion fire dancer.”
    “Wow.”
    “Yeah, it’s in our blood,” she said, her face beaming with pride. “It’s a Keahi thing.”
    “Keahi?”
    “My last name.”
    “Oh.”
    “It means the fire. You’d think my mom would let me try. Nope. She freaked out after my dad . . . well, that’s over now.”
    “What happened to him?”
    She paused, and glistening eyes stared down at the table. She bit down on her lip for a moment before looking up at him. Then she cleared her throat and scooted her chair back.
    “I have to get back to work, and you look like you could use a refill.”

12
    J eremy walked through the crowd of lei-wearing tourists surrounding the dozens of tented booths. The farmers market was alive with bright colors, delicious smells, and live music. The happy laughter and the welcoming smiles were contagious, and he found himself smiling too. This was so much better than wallowing around, walking mindlessly up and down the beach. He was so glad Bob and Susan had told him about it.
    He rubbed his face, feeling the roughness of his cheek. He hadn’t shaved or washed in days. He could only imagine how raunchy he’d looked when he’d first met Bob and Susan. He’d always been meticulous about what he wore and how he looked. It was a miracle the young couple hadn’t called the cops on him when he’d approached them with the For