Page 93 of Simmer Down
Slowly walk away! No sudden movements! If you’re not careful, she’ll assault you with carbonated beverages!
The offending vlogger wipes the moisture off his face with his arm. “That’s assault! I’ll call the police on you!”
I step forward so far into his space, he stumbles backward. Good. He’s been in my space—on my food truck turf every day, acting like an entitled and rude asshole. It’s time he gets a taste of his own medicine.
“And tell them what?” I bark back. “That you’ve been harassing me and my customers all morning—all week actually? Please do. You’ll save me the trouble of picking up the phone. I was going to report you to them anyway.”
Mrs. Tokushige walks up next to me, the look on her face something between determined and ferocious. “He elbowed me yesterday when I was standing in line. I think he’s the reason I’ve got this bruise on my arm.”
The stubborn vlogger is now irate. His wide eyes dart from me to Mrs. Tokushige, then back to me.
“So you’ve been physically assaulting people as well? I bet the police would love to hear that.” I glare at him.
Penelope hops over to my other side. “The other day that guy tried to slip me a twenty to get me to tell him secrets about you. Scum.”
“Bribery too?” I say. “Another interesting fact to relay to law enforcement.”
I pat Penelope on the shoulder, thankful that she’s more than just a customer now. We regularly meet up at each other’s places for drinks and chats. I vent to her about the Callum situation andrandom life stresses. I learned her relationship with her ex-boyfriend ended the month after she moved to Maui for him when she caught him cheating. She almost booked a ticket back to her home in Cincinnati, but she decided to try making things work here on her own. So she put her Instagram hobby to professional use and started a social media consulting company, which explains her killer Instagram following and how she’s free most days to take her lunch all the way out at my food truck in Makena. Right now, she’s the greatest friend I could ask for.
I wink at her, then turn back to the offending vlogger, who opens his mouth to speak, but then starts coughing up leftover soda.
“I’d love to see you cited for your shitty behavior,” I say. “Call the police. I dare you.”
Instead of dialing the police or saying anything, he stomps past us and down the road, muttering curses along the way.
I hug Mrs. Tokushige and Penelope. “Thank you both. Seriously. He’s been driving me insane. They all have actually.”
Penelope pulls me into another hug. “I’ve got your back. And nothing will keep me from your delicious cooking, not even some douchebag paparazzi wannabe.”
I turn to address the remaining vloggers. “Anyone else have anything to say?”
They all stand quietly while shaking their heads “no.”
“Good. I have customers to feed. If you want to eat something, line up just like everyone else. If not, please get the hell out of here.”
The remaining vloggers take their place in line.
Penelope walks back to the truck with me. “That’s probably not going to be the last time they’ll try to bother you.”
“I know. But the prospect of being attacked with soda bombs should scare them off for a few days, though, right?”
Penelope chuckles and I hop back into the truck, where I’m greeted with Mom’s disapproving frown. I can hear the words before she speaks them, about how unladylike it was for me to react that way, that she didn’t raise her daughter to act like a barbarian just because someone was rude.
I sigh. “Okay. Let me have it.”
A soft hand lands on my arm. She flashes a smile. “You gave that jerk exactly what he deserved.”
She pulls me into a hug. My phone buzzing in my back pocket interrupts our embrace. Another unfamiliar number.
I muster my newfound boldness, endorsed by my mom, and pick up the phone. “I swear to God, if you call me one more time—”
“Um, is this Nikki DiMarco?” It’s a shaky English accent on the other end of the phone. Not Callum’s though. My chest throbs.
“Who is this?”
“Ted, from Travaasa Hana.” He clears his throat. My face promptly bursts into flames. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”
With my free hand, I cover my eyes. Like that will do much good while I’m dying of embarrassment on my end of this phone conversation. I just snapped at the general manager of the Travaasa Hana resort. Well done me.
