The Last Lilikoi
The
The Last Lilikoi
-A Wiki Wiki Heartfelt Island Romance-
The line at Nani’s Shave Ice snakes down the sidewalk, flip-flops slapping, voices buzzing like bees. The air is thick with the sweetness of plumeria, the scent rising from the heaps of fresh leis draped around the window. People have been bringing them all day, piling them high to celebrate Auntie Nani’s last shift. The blossoms spill over one another, soft crowns of pink and gold, a living tribute that makes the whole stand glow.
And Auntie herself—oh, she’s almost hidden under them. Leis piled around her neck, up over her shoulders, her face nearly buried in flowers. Only her sparkling eyes and her bracelets jangling as she works peek through. A queen in her throne of blossoms.
Today’s the last day. After fifty years, Auntie Nani is closing her window for good. And I promised myself I’d taste her famous lilikoi before it’s gone forever.
By the time I reach the counter, sweat prickles at the back of my neck, but my heart beats victorious. “One lilikoi,” I say, my voice breathless but determined. “The last one.”
“Actually,” a voice interrupts, low and confident right behind me, “I was here first.”
I spin and find him—sun-browned skin, damp hair curling from under a faded cap, T-shirt clinging like he just came from the ocean. His smile is easy, too easy, like he’s used to getting away with things.
“No,” I say, holding my ground. “You walked up. I’ve been in line. Big difference.”
He gestures at the counter, where a half-empty bottle of sunscreen stands stiff like a soldier. “I had a placeholder. SPF 50 counts as a person. A very pale one.”
I almost laugh, but I catch it before it escapes. “If sunscreen counts, I should’ve left my flip-flop here an hour ago. At least it has more personality.”
From behind the counter, Auntie Nani shakes her head, her tower of leis trembling. Her bracelets jingle as she scolds, “Ethan boy, shame on you—stealing dessert from a young wahine. You’re just like your grandpa, always making trouble.”
His grin falters, sheepish, but he doesn’t argue. So that’s his name. Ethan.
Auntie digs the scoop down with exaggerated drama. “And this is it. One more pour of lilikoi syrup.”
My pulse kicks up. “Perfect. I—”
“Or,” Ethan cuts in, leaning closer, the scent of salt clinging to him, “we could share.”
I blink at him. “That’s—”
“Romantic?” His grin dares me to agree.
“—tragic,” I finish. “But fine.”
“Tragic is my specialty,” he says.
Auntie laughs, her voice muffled by flowers. “Two spoons. Best seat in the house. Under the plumeria.” She sets the paper cup down like it’s a crown jewel: shaved ice shimmering gold from lilikoi, drizzled with creamy haupia, a dusting of li hing like red stardust.
Our fingers brush when we both reach for it. The shock is quick and warm, and I pull back too fast. “Fine,” I mutter. “But I’m taking the first bite.”
We sit under the plumeria, blossoms scattered whole across the ground, their crowns soft against the dirt. A mynah bird struts at our feet, cocky as if it owns the place. I take my bite—cold and sharp, the lilikoi exploding on my tongue with a tang that makes my eyes sting. Sunshine. Sour candy. Summer itself.
“This,” I say, pointing my spoon at him, “was worth the fight.”
He closes his eyes as he tastes his spoonful, like he’s letting it melt through his whole body. “Glad my suffering is delicious to you.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’ll survive. Unless you choke on your half—then technically it’s all mine.”
His laugh is low, surprised. “You’re ruthless.”
“And efficient.”
He shakes his head, amused. “Your first Nani’s?”
“Yeah. I promised myself I’d get here before it was too late.”
He nods, quiet for a moment, and the humor slips into something softer. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Summers with my grandpa. He swore Nani’s lilikoi could fix anything.” His mouth quirks. “Except my math grades.”
I smile before I mean to. “And you? Visiting?”
“Sort of.” I turn the spoon in my hand, the cold handle slick with condensation. “My grandma was born in Kalihi. But my mom left for the mainland and… we lost most of the roots. I came back to see if I could find them again.” My chest aches saying it out loud. “She passed last year. I feel like I’m chasing pieces.”
His eyes meet mine, steady, like he understands. “My grandpa too. Kaimukī. He told me stories, cooked the food, but…” He shakes his head. “Stories are just fragments, you know? I wanted to see the whole picture before it fades.”
Something shifts inside me, like the tide pulling back. We’re strangers, but his words land too close.
I glance toward the collage of old photos taped to the stand. One catches my eye—a team of teenagers in dusty uniforms, clutching a dented trophy, grins wide and messy. In the center, a boy and girl lean into each other, their names scrawled underneath.
I lean closer. My throat tightens. Lila Iona. My grandmother’s name.
“That’s her,” I whisper.
Ethan squints at the photo, nodding slowly. “That’s my grandpa. I’ve known this photo my whole life—he never shut up about that team.”
I turn, my pulse jumping. “Wait. Lila Iona was my grandmother.”
His eyes widen, surprise breaking across his face. “You’re kidding.”
Before I can answer, Auntie’s voice floats over, muffled by her mountain of leis. “Eh, so you’re Lila’s granddaughter?” Her eyes widen above the blossoms. “Girl, your tutu gave me gray hair before my own kids did!”
I let out a startled laugh, a little too loud, a little too shaky.
Auntie leans her elbows on the counter, her smile tinged with memory. “Lila and Ethan were my troublemakers. Always here, dripping sweat and dirt from the ball field. Best friends. Until they weren’t.”
“Weren’t?” I ask. My chest feels heavy.
She sighs, bracelets chiming like wind chimes. “Pride. Misunderstandings. Words said wrong. You know how it goes. They were young. Sometimes young turns into never.”
Ethan stares into the cup, spoon resting on the edge. His jaw tightens. “My grandpa used to say his biggest regret was not fixing one conversation.”
I swallow, the taste of lilikoi sharp on my tongue. My grandma never told me this story. But maybe that small smile she had in one old photo wasn’t just about memory. Maybe it was about loss.
“What if we fix it?” I blurt.
He looks up. “What do you mean?”
I nod toward the photo. My voice wavers, but I push through. “We can’t rewrite their story, but we can… I don’t know. Write a better last chapter.”
We borrow a marker from Auntie, and my hand trembles as I add three words under their faces: Always was ʻohana. My throat burns, but in a good way, like I’ve set something free.
Ethan adds his own words: Next game: us. His smile tilts, uncertain but hopeful. And for a heartbeat, I think maybe this is why I came to Hawaii at all.
We walk the empty cup to the recycling bin together, fingers brushing again, this time lingering.
“To letting go,” I say.
“To starting over,” he answers.
“Ahem,” I add. “Also to me winning custody of the next shave ice.”
He smirks. “You’re an only child, aren’t you?”
“Middle,” I fire back. “Why?”
“Explains everything.”
A single plumeria crown tumbles from the tree above, landing near the bin, whole and perfect, as if the island itself is blessing this strange, sweet moment.
I glance at him and stick out my hand. “I’m Maya, by the way.”
His palm closes around mine, warm and certain. “Ethan.”
Behind us, Auntie Nani calls, her voice muffled by flowers but sharp with joy. “Come on, Maya, Ethan—last picture for the wall!” She snaps one with her instant camera and clips it beside the old team photo. MAYA + ETHAN — LAST LILIKOI, her handwriting declares.
When we leave, the sky is painted in gold and rose, the ocean glittering like it’s holding secrets. We walk side by side toward the beach, the silence between us full instead of empty.
“So,” he says, his arm brushing mine, “next time—what flavor?”
“Lilikoi,” I answer instantly. “Obviously.”
He grins, eyes catching the last light of sunset. “Tradition.”
The word feels like a promise.
🍜 THE END 🍜
Author's note
Hawaiʻi is a magical place—full of little moments that feel almost miraculous. The scent of plumeria drifting through the air, the taste of lilikoi on your tongue, the way the ocean light shimmers like it’s keeping secrets… it all has a way of making even ordinary days feel extraordinary.
That’s the spirit I wanted to capture in The Last Shave Ice. While this story isn’t spicy like my novels, it carries the same heart: humor, connection, second chances, and the promise of Happily Ever After. These Wiki Wiki stories are my love letters to fleeting, powerful moments—the kind that remind us love can surprise us in the most unexpected ways.
I hope this little tale brings you a smile, a spark of wonder, and maybe even the sense of being wrapped in the magic of the islands. Thank you for reading and for sharing this journey with me.
Love, Summer
Love, Summer
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MAHALO from Oahu!
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