Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      “You look pretty,” he said.

      His compliment gave her pulse another little jump start, prompting her to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

      “I like your hair that way.”

      All she’d done was tie a satin ribbon around a carefully fastened ponytail, creating a girlish bow. “It’s nothing, really.”

      “I think it gives you an interesting quality. Like a socialite trying to be incognito.”

      So much for her plan to be less noticeable. She changed the subject. “You must be hungry by now. I can get us something and bring it back here.” Although room service was available, there was also an eat-in or takeout breakfast buffet. She didn’t mind packing up their food to go. The restaurant and bar that provided their meals was a short walk along the beach.

      She waited while he balled up his sweaty T-shirt and pondered her suggestion.

      Finally he said, “I’ll take bacon and eggs and a large tumbler of orange juice. Last time I was here, they served seafood crepes in this mouthwatering wine-cheese sauce, so fill my plate with those, too. I’m pretty sure they’ll have them again. It’s one of their specialties.”

      Apparently he’d worked up an appetite. “Anything else?”

      “No. But I have to shower first.”

      Damn, she thought. The outdoor shower she shouldn’t be thinking about. “Go ahead, and I’ll see you in a few.”

      He left, and she watched him until he was out of sight. She finished her coffee, then headed for the buffet.

      As she made the picturesque trek, she admired the purple and pink flowers she passed along the way. They flourished on abundant vines, growing wild in the sandy soil. The garden attached to her bungalow was also filled with them, along with big leafy plants and tall twisty palms.

      After she got their food, she set everything up on her patio table. Inspired by the flora that surrounded her, she used a live orchid from her room as the centerpiece.

      Max returned wearing a Polynesian-print shirt, board shorts and flip-flops. His thick damp hair was combed away from his face, but it was already starting to part naturally on its own. He smelled fresh and masculine, like the sandalwood soap he favored. Lizzie had used the mango-scented body wash the resort gave them.

      He said, “This looks good.” He sat across from her and dived into his big hearty breakfast.

      For herself, she’d gotten plain yogurt and a bowl of fresh-cut fruit. But she hadn’t been able to resist the crepes, so she was indulging in them, too.

      He glanced up from his plate and asked, “Do you want to see a picture of Tokoni? I meant to show it to you before now. It’s of the two of us.”

      “Yes, of course.” She waited for him to pull it up on his phone, which took all of a second.

      He handed it to her. The photo was of an adorable little dark-haired, tanned-skinned boy, expressing a big toothy grin. Max looked happy in the picture, too. She surmised that it was a selfie, snapped at close range. “He’s beautiful.”

      “He’s smart as a whip, too. Kindergarten starts at six here, so he isn’t in school yet. But they work with the younger ones at the orphanage, preparing them for it.” He took the phone back and set it aside. “I’m glad that you’ll get to meet him today.”

      “What time are we supposed to be there?”

      “We don’t have an appointment. Losa said we can come any time it’s convenient for us.”

      “That’s her name? Losa? The woman who runs the orphanage?” The lady Lizzie would be interviewing today.

      He nodded. “The kids call her Mrs. Losa.”

      “So is that her first or last name?”

      “Her first. It means Rose in their native tongue.”

      That seemed fitting, with all the other flowers Lizzie had encountered today. “Is there a mister? Is she married?”

      “She’s widowed. She started the orphanage after her husband died. They were together for nearly forty years before he passed away.”

      She couldn’t imagine being with the same person all that time. Or losing him.

      “She has five kids,” Max said. “They had three of their own, but they also adopted two from their village, orphaned siblings whose extended family wasn’t able to care for them. But those children weren’t adopted in an official way. Losa and her husband just took them in and raised them.”

      “Really? That’s legal here?”

      “Yes, but mostly it’s the country folks, the traditionalists who still do that. They live in small communities where the people are tightly knit, so if there’s a child or children in need, they band together to help. Losa and her husband used to be farmers. But she sold her property and moved to the capital to open the orphanage when she learned how many kids on the mainland were homeless. Her entire family supported her decision and relocated with her. All of her children and their spouses work there, along with their kids. She has two grown granddaughters and three teenage grandsons.”

      “They must be quite a family, taking on a project like that. Do they have any outside help?”

      “At first it was just them, but now they have regular volunteers. And some who just pitch in when they can.” Max drank his juice. “I volunteered when I was here before. That’s how I spent the last three months of my sabbatical, helping out at the orphanage.”

      Lizzie hadn’t realized the extent of his commitment. She’d assumed he’d merely visited the place. “No wonder you know so much about it.”

      He offered more of his knowledge by saying, “Nulah didn’t used to allow international adoptions. But they finally decided it was in the best interest of the children. Otherwise, finding homes for these kids would be even more difficult. There aren’t enough local families who have the means to take them. The older folks are dying off, and most of the younger ones are struggling to raise their own children.”

      He paused to watch a pair of colorful seabirds soaring along the shore. Lizzie watched them, too, thinking how majestic they were.

      Then he said, “Not all of the kids at the orphanage are up for adoption. Losa is fostering some of them, keeping them until they can return to their families. But either way, she devotes her life to the children in her care, however she can.”

      “She sounds like a godsend.”

      “She is. She spent years lobbying for the international adoption law here. Without her, it might never have happened.”

      Clearly, Losa had strength and fortitude, seeing things through to the end. “When we’re on the mainland, I’d like to stop by a florist and get her a rose.”

      “You want to give her a flower that matches her name?”

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