The word “love” hits like a fiery ember to my skin. It’s what unleashes the floodgates. My face twisted, I let out a sob.

Penelope’s eyes go wide. “Oh my . . . What’s wrong, Nikki?”

I shake my head while holding my hand up, as if to wave her away. It’s the trademark move so many people pull when they’re upset but don’t want to be fussed over. But Penelope stays still, rubbing my arm with her hand.

“It’s okay,” she says. Her stare has flipped from joyful to concerned. “Just take a breath.”

Covering my face with my hands offers only a tad more privacy as I sob out in the open. But I can’t help it. I should be jumping up and down in triumph. I should be texting Mom and Mrs. Tokushige the good news. I should be driving to the nearest bar with Penelope to toast my victory.

But the way my stomach churns, the way my chest aches as if it’s on fire, makes all that impossible. Because there’s only one thought crowding my mind.

I’ve lost Callum forever.

This time when Penelope pulls me in for a hug, it’s gentle. So are her words. “Nikki, what happened?”

When I catch my breath, I tell her everything.

•   •   •

No matter how many times I glance out the kitchen window of my condo, my gaze always goes back to the computer screen. My fingers always type in the same phrase:

Tiva’s Filipina Kusina

The results that pop up on the pages are never the ones I want to see. Nothing about our win at the Maui Food Festival or how good our food is. Just endless comments on Twitter and Instagram about me and Callum. Our secret affair, our very public fight, our very public breakup. It’s only been a day since the festival results were released, and everyone seems to have forgotten that we’re the winners. Instead the topic trending on Maui social media is the disintegration of my and Callum’s secret relationship.

I thought falling into a sobbing pile of tears in front of Penelope yesterday would be my all-time low. How I wish. I hit a whole new low every time I check Tiva’s Twitter or Instagram accounts and read the incendiary comments people leave.

I polish off my glass of beer while eyeing the results page of my latest search. Audio clips of Callum and me lashing out at each other circulate like wildfire. Thankfully, no one was able to get a clear video of the two of us having it out, but the sound they recorded is plenty hurtful. I let myself listen to part of one clip that some newbie food vlogger named @IEatEverything posted, but I muted it halfway through. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t relive hearing my and Callum’s raised voices, our wrenched words, our private pain on display for strangers to listen to, like some demented heartbreak song played on repeat.