“Your lumpia, pansit, the adobo wings. Finn and I also asked a customer to order from your truck one day to size you up. We waited till we closed one night and inhaled it all in minutes. I drove home with steam coming out of my ears because I was angry at how amazing you and your mum’s cooking is.”

I grin down at our joined hands. It’s one of the best compliments I could ever want, when my biggest competition admits how good I am.

Competition.

The joy is gone when I remember what’s at stake, how we’ve upped the ante by sleeping together last night and spending all day together.

And then I remember that promise I made to myself a little over a year ago, when I lost one of the most important people in my life.

“Listen, we should—”

The mad scientist sandwich maker returns, a wax paper–wrapped sandwich in each hand. I thank him, then stare at the table. Callum starts to tear open his sandwich, some delicious-smelling creation with kimchi, bulgogi beef, and fried sweet potato noodles. But when he notices me fumbling with my paper, he stops.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t mean to spoil this day. Spending it with you has been the best, but aren’t you concerned about what’s going to happen when we go back home and this time-out officially ends?”

When he frowns, I clarify. “We’re competitors, Callum. When we get back to Maui, we’ll be going head-to-head with each other every day, just like before. The Maui Food Festival is in less than a month. One of us is going to lose at the end of it. We can’t exist like this when so much is at stake.”

He frowns. “What exactly is at stake?”

I peel the wrapper off my sandwich. “My mom’s retirement savings. My career. Our livelihood.”

My feelings, my emotional well-being, the fact that I can’t have anything close to a relationship because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I won’t have the strength to make it through the inevitable end.

“How exactly?” he asks.

“Don’t you remember what Matteo said about last year’s winner? They lost the prize money when everyone found out they buddied up with another restaurant. You think they’d just let it slide if they found out about us?”

He squints at me, like he’s waiting for me to explain further, but I can’t fathom how he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.

“Look, twenty thousand dollars could change my and my mom’s life. I don’t want . . . I can’t afford to lose out on that if somehow we win, and people find out that Tiva’s and Hungry Chaps were screwing around with each other.”