Almost two weeks back home in Maui and our no-strings-attached arrangement is still intact. To my surprise, we haven’t crashed and burned. Days are spent like they were before the trip to London that changed everything. We cook and serve food parked next to each other, never exchanging a word during work hours. It’s a huge disappointment to the food bloggers and social media fans who visit our trucks daily to enjoy a meal, phone in hand, ready to catch our next squabble and upload it. But there’s nothing salacious to capture.

Our evenings, however? Our evenings are very, very salacious. We take turns sneaking to each other’s places. Things are tricky since we both live with other people, but we’ve worked out a system. When Mom’s at mahjong or book club, Callum comes to mine. When Finn is out, I go to his. The minute we shut the door, clothes are off, and we’re a tangle of limbs and skin and hot breath until we realize what time it is.

The anticipation of seeing Callum outside of our food truck battlefield is what powers me through most days. It’s why I’m standing at the front door of his condo in Wailea this evening, shuffling my feet, stomach in a million happy knots as I wait for him to answer. I knock for the second time, cardboard cat carrier clutched in my other hand.

He answers, his smile wide when he sees me. Then his gaze drops to the carrier, and he full-on beams.

“Lemon!” he practically squeals.

We walk inside, he shuts the door, and I let her out of the carrier. At first her eyes dart around the space, conveying the typical hesitation all cats have when you bring them to a new place. But then Callum scoops her up and scratches under her chin. She’s purring instantly.

“Thought it was time she visit her co-owner’s home,” I say.

Callum mock frowns at me. “It’s impossible to own a cat. They own us.”

He sets her down on the floor, then points to the nearby dining table where four bottles of pink champagne rest.

“Wow. Do you woo all the ladies like this?” I joke.

He rolls his eyes. “Finn helped a chef friend cook at a private party in Kaanapali the other night and they went home with all of the leftover alcohol. He’s gone on an overnight hike, so he asked me to get rid of a couple bottles.”

“The perks of private dining. Damn, I miss those days.”

“Well, I’m chuffed to bring you a taste of the past.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up, showcasing the hottest slanted smile I’ve ever seen. I lean against the nearby kitchen island to keep myself steady as I quietly swoon.

“Wondered if you were in the mood for a champagne-drinking contest?”

I chuckle. “Why, exactly?”