After picking up the dragon fruit, I drive home, running through my mental Rolodex of new recipes I’ve been planning to try out for the festival. I’ve got a festival to prepare for—to win—and zero time to let Callum James faze me.

•   •   •

“So!” I point the pen in my hand at Mom, who sits on a stool at the other side of the kitchen counter. “The veggie pansit seemed to be a hit at the food truck last week, don’t you think? When we tried it with tofu, not so much, so I say let’s eighty-six the tofu pansit and officially add the veggie one to the roster for the Maui Food Festival.”

She sips from her glass of water. “That sounds fine.”

I scribble a note on the pad lying on the counter. “We’ll keep a few old favorites, of course, like the lumpia and the chicken adobo wings. Any sort of finger food will be easier for people to eat when they’re walking around.”

She swats away a fly zeroing in on a nearby basket of ice cream bananas, nods, then rests her chin in her hand.

“What do you think of adding the veggie lumpia to the roster too?” I ask.

Roles have somehow reversed between us. Now I’m the one in full-on work mode all day, every day, our menu for the Maui Food Festival at the front of my mind always. Mom has taken a page out of my book and has been telling me to relax on a daily basis.

She frowns at me. “Sit down.” She pats the stool next to her. I walk over and plop down.

This is the first time since driving the food truck to and from Makena that I’ve sat all day. Energy is coursing through me like electricity. I want to spend every free minute I have perfecting our recipes for the festival. Callum’s blatant pity at the farmer’s market was the boost I didn’t know I needed. I refuse to lose our spot to him. And until we secure victory, I can’t relax, unwind, or think about anything other than our food and how that ties into our future. It weighs like an anvil on my mind.

She puts her hand on top of mine, which rests on the white tile counter. “You’ve been working so hard lately.”

“I want to make sure everything is perfect,” I say. “We’ve got a lot riding on this.”

“When’s the last time you went out and did something fun? Something that wasn’t about work or cooking or the festival?”

I open my mouth, but can’t think of a single thing to say. Other than a handful of leisurely swims at the beach to clear my head, I haven’t taken a break. Not once.