I’m talking to the ceiling with my eyes closed. This won’t do. When I finally connect with his hazel stare, he’s no longer smiling. It’s a frown, but also something more. Something hungry and desperate.

“I just . . . I want you to say you’re sorry . . . for how mean you were . . . when we met.”

It’s a struggle among struggles to get the words out when all I want to do is press his face between my legs and relieve the fire inside me.

His brow lifts a touch, and his expression softens all the way to tender. And then he lowers his face right where I want him. “This is how I say sorry, petal.”

Shrill beeping hits my ears. I open my eyes and turn my head to the alarm clock on my phone.

Alarm. That explains the unwelcome noise. I shut it off, press a pillow over my face, and groan. Cockblocked by my own phone.

“Damn it,” I half yell, half groan.

My bedroom door whips open to reveal Mom peering at me with worried wide eyes. Her hair is pulled back, and she’s donned one of my dad’s old T-shirts, tied into a loose knot at the waist, and a pair of gray leggings. I’ve interrupted her morning calisthenics routines with my sex-dream-induced shouting, it seems.

“Anak, are you okay? Why were you screaming?”

Sitting up, I clutch a pillow to my chest. Why was I screaming? Well, I almost got what was most certainly mind-blowing dream oral sex from my nemesis, but my alarm so rudely interrupted.

I opt for a white lie instead. “I’m fine. I just had a leg cramp. Sorry to wake you.”

Her hand falls against her chest and she nods, then pads out the door. Lemon scurries after her. Mom wishes Lemon good morning in a cheery voice, then there’s a sound of cat food hitting Lemon’s metal dish.

Great. I’m lying to my mom on top of having sex dreams about a guy I don’t even like. And now I’m left with a phantom ache between my legs that I can’t do anything about because I share a home with my mother.

I toss the pillow back on the bed and waddle to the bathroom, wondering how the hell I’m going to get through today’s shift with the star of my hottest sex dream ever working ten feet away from me.

•   •   •

I weave through the maze of stalls at the Aloha Maui Farmer’s Market near Kula. The pathways between the vendor stalls are bustling with shoppers checking out the mix of fresh local produce, prepared meals and snacks, and other random goods.

“Do they have any apple bananas?” Mom asks on the other end of the phone.