When I turn around, he’s got that same pained expression on his face as the day we fell out at the Maui Food Festival. It’s the same pain I feel now at his rejection. I steel myself anyway.

“It’s fine.”

I spin around, shutting the door behind me without another word.

Chapter 21

It’s okay, anak.” Mom stirs a pot of soup on the stove top. “Give it some time.”

It’s barely seventy degrees—hardly soup weather. But the normal fall-like temperatures that compel people to cook hearty soups don’t find their way to this part of the island. So anytime it dips below eighty, she thinks it’s perfectly fine to whip up her specialty: a giant pot of chicken soup with bok choy, wild spinach, and whatever herbs and spices she has on hand.

She throws in a handful of pork rinds, and my mouth waters. The salty strips get all chewy in the broth, lending a yummy texture and flavor. Usually, she’s right. Her soup has never failed to turn my mood around. But I’m not sure if it will work this time.

“Mom, I appreciate your pep talk and the soup, but you don’t have to coddle me. I know how grim things look.”

She pours a few ladles full of soup into a large bowl and sets it on the counter by the kitchen bar. I dip my spoon in, blow on the steaming liquid, and take a sip. The salty, satisfying liquid coats my throat. I close my eyes and hum in delight. She’s right. My problems haven’t magically disappeared, but having this soup to enjoy is the comfort I need right now.

Spinning around from the stove, she frowns. “No negative attitude allowed. You think you could magically make things better in one day?”

She shakes her head, turning back to the pot of soup. Carrying her own bowl of soup, she takes the stool next to me. “He told you he loved you, and you rejected him. That cuts deep. It takes time to earn back trust after that. Be patient.”

We finish our soup in silence. I let her words soak in, wondering if she’s right.

I do a mindless scroll through my phone. Chic TV has tagged our food truck in another Instagram post, and I smile reading all the congratulations from commenters. Tweets and messages inquiring about my and Callum’s relationship are sprinkled throughout the mostly positive comments. I roll my eyes every time I come across an especially snarky one. But then I skim a few rebuttals from Penelope and smile to myself. It feels good to have a friend again.