Page 28 of Simmer Down
Only one hour into this flight, and already our attempt at pleasantry is an epic fail. I death-glare at a cloud outside my window while quietly deep breathing my way to something resembling calm.
“I’m sorry, Nikki.”
His quietly spoken words are a shock to the body. Good thing I’m already sitting, because if I had been standing, I would have fainted.
Pushing up his sleeves, he shrugs. “I didn’t know you were trying to be nice. At the farmer’s market, I mean.”
“I was smiling and waving at you. Jesus, what’s your version of nice?”
He sighs and fixates on the headrest in front of him. Then he whips his phone out and spends several seconds swiping before leaning over to show me. In an instant, warmth coats my arm closest to him. That’s some powerful body heat he possesses if I can feel it despite the inches of space between us. I swallow to collect myself and look at the screen.
It’s the selfie I took at the farmer’s market with Penelope, the adorably enthusiastic fan of our food truck. Underneath our smiling faces is a caption:Just met the amazing Nikki from @Tivas and OMG what an absolute doll! Can’t wait to see her and her mom smash the competition at the #MauiFoodFestival! You’re going down, @HungryChaps! Muahaha!!
A devil smiley face ends the caption.
Callum rubs his forehead with his free hand. “I saw that right before I spotted you at the market.” He runs a thumb across his cheek and chin, which are covered in thick golden stubble. “I thought you had something to do with her posting that. And then when you smiled and waved at me, it felt like you were mocking me. That’s why I didn’t acknowledge you.”
“Oh.” The realization takes a second to soak in. “I thought she just wanted a selfie. I didn’t know she was going to post that.”
“So all that was a misunderstanding,” he says. He lets out a half groan, half exhale before pressing back into his seat.
“Looks like it.”
We say nothing for a solid minute.
He coughs, then clears his throat. “I’m sorry for the way I made you feel at the vet’s office. And with your car. I don’t... I was truly just trying to help you. I didn’t mean anything disrespectful when I told you to keep your money. When I help someone, I never, ever accept money when they offer it. I always tell them to keep it, that it’s better off with them than with me because all I want to do is help.”
With his clarification, the residual anger burns away like clouds dissipating after a storm.
“Huh.” It comes out like a bewildered huff of breath. “I thought you were taking a swipe at me because of my financial situation.”
He squints at me. “Your financial situation?”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to pretend, Callum. From the state of my car and my food truck, it’s obvious money has been a bit of a struggle.” When I look back up at him, his hazel eyes are bright with concern. My resolve starts to soften. “I mean, it’s not as bad now. We’re not rolling in the dough, but ever since this unofficial competition started, business is picking up. I guess everybody wants to eat at our trucks just to see if we’ll go off on each other. Crazy, huh?”
I let a small laugh slip; he does too.
He glances back down at his phone and clicks on the Instagram story for Hungry Chaps. A silent video plays of Finn plating up a basket of fish-and-chips against a glittery star filter.
“Glitter and stars? I didn’t know that was your guys’ style.” The words are out of my mouth before I can catch myself. But I can’t help my curiosity. Callum was obviously the one who filmed the video, since Finn was in it, but I would have never pegged him for a guy who would choose such a flashy filter.
When he looks up at me, I fully expect to be scolded for peeringat his phone. But then he just shrugs. “Finn thought it would be funny. He runs all our social media accounts and seems to know well what customers like to see. I’m not really into Instagram. I have my own account, but I lost interest the day I made it.”
There’s a muffled announcement from the pilot about a bit of rough turbulence ahead.
“Would you be up for playing a game?” he says, out of the blue.
I squint at him.
Stretching up out of his seat, he tucks his phone into his pocket. “There’s a game Finn and I used to play when we were youngsters. The Question Game. We’d take turns asking each other questions, and we’d have to answer them, no matter what.”
“Okay...” I have no idea where this is going.
“It might be nice to talk about something other than work and us fighting about work.”
Can’t argue with him there.
“We can try to be quiet,” I say.
