He points his thumb at his truck. “It’s all ready for you. Just be careful when you walk in because I tripped and knocked over a few metal bowls on the way out here.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Afraid I’m still getting used to navigating my tall self within the confines of a van. Sorry, I mean ‘truck.’” He holds a hand up. “I can assure you, everything is up to code.”

I squint up at him, thoroughly confused. “That’s great, but why are you telling me all this?”

“Well, I thought you’d like to know. You’re the health inspector after all.”

“Oh . . . no, I’m . . . I run a food truck.”

I point to my truck, which is parked behind his. He pivots his frown to it, narrowing his stare, like he’s just now noticing the giant food truck parked nearby.

“You’re not the health inspector?”

I shake my head, hoping the movement comes off as good-natured and not dismissive. “Sorry, I’m not.”

A long moment of silence passes where he takes another long look between me and Tiva’s truck. I count to ten before the silence starts to turn awkward. New guy is clearly confused. Best to use a gentle, cheery approach when I inform him of the unofficial rules he’s breaking.

I clear my throat. “I know this is probably awkward timing, but, um, you’re not actually supposed to park here.”

He whips his head around to me. A glare replaces his confused frown from before, and it is downright lethal. My mouth goes dry. It’s a struggle just to swallow.

Silently, I remind myself that he’s the newbie. He’s just confused, and some people get annoyed when they’re confused. I just need to explain myself, and then he’ll understand. I power through the awkwardness permeating the air between us.

“See, I’ve had this spot for the past several months, and it’s kind of an unspoken rule on Maui that food trucks don’t park this close to each other if they’re not in a parking lot or at an event. And seeing as I was technically here first—”

He turns around and walks back into his truck before I can finish speaking. My jaw hangs open in the salty ocean breeze. Did he seriously just do that?

I stand for several seconds, arms dangling at my sides, processing the moment. Maybe he’s embarrassed and needs a bit of time before he moves his truck. I can certainly understand. I’ve made plenty of mortifying mistakes while learning the food truck ropes. This morning’s menu mishap is small beans compared to the time I lost the credit card reader and could only take cash for a handful of days, or the time I mistakenly filled the sweet chili sauce bottles with sriracha.