The thought’s tempting, but I can’t. As much as it pains me to admit, Callum is right. It’s not illegal for him to park his truck next to mine, no matter how much I hate it. He’s violated zero laws or policies. Even if I gave in and complained about him, it would be more trouble than it’s worth. Food trucks on Maui are required by law to move every thirty minutes, but most don’t to keep a steady business stream during the day. If I tattle on Callum, it could cause authorities to crack down on other foods trucks, costing them business. Getting back at him isn’t worth hurting everyone else.

I politely thank her for the suggestion.

“I’ve heard the food from those British boys isn’t even that great,” she says. “I wouldn’t know though. I’d never dream of eating there out of respect for you and Tiva.”

I smile. “That’s very sweet of you, Mrs. Tokushige.”

We say good-bye and I put the truck in park. When I step out, I spot a sign posted next to the Hungry Chaps food truck, right next to where we normally park. I park, get out, then scan the text.

“. . . surpasses the daily nutritional guidelines for saturated fat and sodium. Though lumpia, turon, and other fried foods are delicious, they should be consumed in moderation. It is not recommended that you include them as a regular part of your diet.”

Lava pummels through my veins. The bastard posted a phony health warning against the food I serve. I should have seen this coming. Shame on me for underestimating the enemy.

I kick over the sign, then crouch down so I can rip it to pieces. It’s a good several seconds before I hear Callum’s angry shout.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He darts from the door of his truck to me. We’re toe-to-toe once more, staring each other down.

I crumple a chunk in my hand and chuck it at him. It bounces off his impressive pec. “You are so out of line.”

He crosses his arms across his broad chest. Smugness dances across the straight line of his mouth. “Nikki, I’m merely giving customers nutritional information about the food they’re consuming.” The cheerful uptick in his tone sounds almost innocent, as if he isn’t trying to ruin my business. “Fried food isn’t the best option for a lot of people’s diets.”

“You serve fried fish-and-chips, you dick!”

A deadpan stare is all he gives me. “We have a grilled fish option.”

Throwing my head back, I growl. “You have no right to mess with my business. You have no idea how hard my mom and I have worked to establish ourselves here.”