“The only reason we managed to land that spot in Kahului is because another food truck had just closed. It was all luck and timing. Everything in that area is so full already.” He sighs. “We drove around the island right after the festival to find a decent spot. It was bloody awful. I can’t believe Finn did that for months before I came here. And I can’t believe you did it, too, before you found that spot on Makena. Now I know why you were so territorial when I first parked next to you.”

He takes a step toward me. We’re inches apart now. His body is so close, I can feel the heat radiating from him, skimming my skin. Like a soft kiss, a whisper. I’d give anything to hug him, to touch my hand to his skin. But I can’t. He’s not mine. He almost was though.

I will the thought away. At least I can talk to him, at least I could apologize to him face-to-face. And now I can move on.

When I blink this time, no tears fall. “I’m really happy for you and Finn, Callum. I’m glad business is going well for you. It was really good seeing you.”

I turn to walk back to my towel, but then he grabs my hand and I’m on fire. Even though it’s just our palms touching, I feel the flames over every inch of my skin. That delicious warmth I’ve missed so much, that I’ve ached for every single day. Nothing feels as good. Not sunlight, not my favorite fuzzy blanket, not a warm ocean breeze. Nothing can compete with Callum’s simmering warmth. It is bliss on my skin.

When I look up at Callum, my gaze latches on to those perfect hazel eyes. I couldn’t break this stare if my life depended on it.

“I finally watched your video on Penelope’s Instagram,” Callum says. A swallow moves down his throat. “You love me?”

My breath catches, but I steady myself. “I do. So much. I’m sorry.” I stop before my voice can break.

He looks at me like I’ve started barking instead of speaking. “Sorry for what?”

Pulling my hand out of his is the single hardest physical act I’ve had to complete in recent memory. But I have to. Because Callum isn’t mine. He’s someone else’s. And if he were with me and some other woman confessed her feelings to him, I’d rage. It’s not right what I’m doing, going on like this. I have to stop.

“I’m sorry that I’m doing this, that I’m saying this to you. It’s not right.”

“What do you mean it’s not right?”