I’m a good eight inches taller than her thanks to my dad’s genes. Emotion lodges in my throat, and I have to swallow. It’s the one physical trait of his I have. I’d give anything for one of his burly bear hugs right now, the kind where I’m engulfed entirely in his broad back and arms, the kind that made me feel like a dainty little kid even in my twenties. I wonder what he would think if he could see us, his wife and his only child, trying to carve a place for themselves in the Maui food truck scene.

I wipe away the thought and turn to help the next customer in line, who orders a basket of lumpia.

“They love Tiva’s lumpia.” I flash Mom a thumbs-up. “Best on the island.”

It’s true. This egg roll–like Filipino dish isn’t a unique dish for Maui, not with the island’s strong Southeast Asian population. But Mom’s mixture of finely ground pork with cabbage, carrots, rice noodle, and secret spice blend is a hit with everyone who orders them.

She glances down at a handful of empty paper trays on the counter, waiting to be filled. “I don’t know about that. Just trying my best.” She shrugs before brushing away a chunk of her hair that’s come loose from her pinned-back style. Her deep brown eyes turn sad. “Now that we have this new competition close by, I have to try harder.”

I un-grit my teeth and flash her what I hope is a reassuring smile. When I broke the news about the obnoxious new food truck business encroaching on our territory, her anxiety was immediate. I could see it in her frown, in the way her gaze immediately fell to the floor when I told her.

“People have been driving from all the way across the island to try our food,” I tell her. “We’ll be just fine.”

Judging by the speedy way she turns back to the fryer without making eye contact, she’s not convinced. And the truth is, as much as I’m willing to wage war on our new competition, I’m not certain we’ll survive either.

An angry, English-accented bark causes us both to twist our heads in the direction of the Hungry Chaps food truck.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Callum booms.

When I stick my head out of the window, I see him stomping out of his truck in the direction of the cardboard sign.

“Mom, take over orders for a bit, okay? I’ll be right back.”

I zoom out of the truck and head straight for Callum, whispering apologies as I bump into people waiting in line to order. By the time I make it to Callum, he’s red-faced, clutching the sign in one hand. The other one he points at me.