by Sarah Smith
“What the . . .” My voice is a rasp. It’s the best I can do while my body struggles to process this influx of information.
Callum will be sitting next to me for the next nine hours.
His eyebrows crinkle together as he shoves the backpack above him. Lowering himself into the seat, he tugs on the seat belt. “Were you expecting someone else?”
His tone reads unamused. I can’t possibly be the only one out of the two of us surprised that we’re seated next to each other. Of all the people on this airplane—of all the people who booked a flight from Seattle to London on this day—how the hell did Callum and I end up seated together?
The universe is a sick bastard with an even sicker sense of humor.
“What . . . what in the world are you doing here?” I finally ask.
“Rushing to make my flight to London. What does it look like I’m doing?” There’s bite to his low tone.
Rushing. That’s probably why I didn’t see him in the boarding area. I purse my lips, once again cursing the universe for allowing Callum to make this flight by the skin of his teeth.
Gripping both armrests, I prop myself up straighter and pivot my gaze around the cabin. Every other passenger is seated. The only ones moving about are the flight attendants.
I fall back into my seat, my head spinning. When I turn my focus back on Callum, the wrinkle in his brow is even deeper.
He tilts his head to the side. “Do you think I somehow orchestrated this?”
I shrug, flipping through random pages of my book. “Out of all the flights to London today, we managed to be on the same one sitting next to each other. Anything’s possible at this point.”
He scoffs. “If you say so.”
I jerk my head toward him, ignoring the flight attendant standing just a few feet in front of us, pointing out the emergency exits while the voice over the intercom explains the safety procedures.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” I say. “We’re stuck next to each other for the next nine hours.”
“We’ll manage, I’m sure,” he mutters. He doesn’t even turn to me when he speaks, opting instead to keep his gaze pointed at the headrest in front of him.
“Well, I won’t.”
I wave down the flight attendant nearest me. She walks up to our row, polite smile plastered across her face. I try to mirror the same friendly expression, but I’m wound so tight that my smile probably looks more like a wince.
“What can I help you with, miss?” she says cheerily.
“Would I be able to switch to a different seat? Whatever empty one you have? If it’s not too much trouble.”
Relaxing, unwinding, zoning out, all of that will be impossible if I have to share an armrest with the guy who’s been a thorn in my side for the past several weeks.
Callum’s chest heaves up as he takes a slow, deep breath in.
“Oh gosh, I’m not sure if I can do that,” she says brightly. “See, this is a full flight. Unless another passenger is willing to trade seats, I’m afraid that can’t happen. We’re about to take off, but if you want, I can ask around once we’re in the air.”
Deflated, I nod and tell her that would be great. After I thank her, she walks away, leaving Callum and me in our bubble of tension.
He finally twists his head to me. A hint of amusement rests behind his stare. “Is a screaming toddler or an obnoxiously chatty seatmate really preferable to me?” he says.
“Seeing as neither one is threatening to put me out of business like you are, I’d welcome them with open arms.”
I lean my head back and close my eyes, steeling myself for whatever comeback Callum has. But there’s no reply. Only the hum of the engines gearing up as we speed down the runway.
We glide into the air, and I wait. For a snide remark, a scoff, anything to signal Callum’s distaste for me. Still nothing. When I twist my head to look at him, he’s staring at the seat ahead of him again. But his face isn’t hard or smug anymore. Rather, something sorrowful taints his otherwise neutral expression. As we cut through the sky, I wonder what he’s thinking.
A minute later, he turns to me. “Can we try something?”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know . . . Can we just call a truce for this flight? No talk about work or the festival or anything else that’s transpired between us.”
Red ignites his cheeks when he looks at me. For a moment, I’m puzzled at his sudden blushing, but then the crystal clear image of him on Little Beach in his birthday suit flashes to the front of my mind. Oh right. I’ve seen him naked. Deliciously, deliciously naked. I tuck away the image. He probably doesn’t want to talk about that either.
“Like a time-out?” I ask.
“Yes. Exactly.”
I rub my face as the heat makes its way up my neck, my gaze falling to my lap. “I can agree to that.”
“Shake on it?” He holds his hand out to me. “We’ll be pleasant to each other for the rest of this flight?”
I clasp his hand in mine and nod. A phantom spark identical to the one that hit me the first time we shook hands glides through me. And then I remember just how quickly Callum let go of me the day we made our Maui Food Festival wager, like I was on fire. Like he couldn’t bear to spend an extra second touching my skin.
This time, I’m the one who lets go first. “Deal.”
* * *
• • •
An hour into our truce, my eyes are blurry from trying to make out the words on the page in front of me. Somehow just being this physically close to Callum has affected my ability to read. The text in this book may as well be Wingdings for as much sense as it makes in my distracted state.
I give up and shove the book back in my purse. I contemplate shelling out the money to pay for Wi-Fi on this flight so I can mindlessly surf the web just to distract myself, but I decide the expense isn’t worth it. I scan through the free movies on the screen in front of me, but nothing catches my interest. And I don’t think I could even begin to focus with Callum next to me.
Turning slightly against the headrest, I sneak a peek at him. He’s staring at the screen of his phone, earbuds in his ears. What kind of music does this hot young curmudgeon like to listen to?
A different flight attendant walks by, eyeing him like a porterhouse steak. I roll my eyes, even though I sympathize with her appraisal. Jet-setting Callum is quite the eye candy in straight-cut trousers and a snug long-sleeve T-shirt the exact same shade as his hazel eyes. When she offers us drinks from her cart, I decline. Callum asks for ginger ale, but the smitten flight attendant says in an overly sweet tone that they’re out.
“Can I get you anything else? Sprite? Coffee? Pepsi?”
“No, thank you.” He focuses back on his phone.
She tucks her light brown hair behind her ears and leans closer toward him. “You sure?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Not even water? I’d hate for you to go thirsty.”
Good Lord. Only one of us is thirsty, and it’s definitely not either of the people currently seated.
“Um, Sprite is fine. Thanks.”
She leans her hand on the seat in front of him. “I absolutely adore your accent,” she says through a giggle.
His cheeks catch fire. “Oh. Thank you.”
“I could listen to you talk all day.” She grins, pours him a drink, then points to the call light. “Don’t hesitate to flag me down if you need anything else.”
She stares at him two seconds too long before finally walking on and helping the passengers behind us.
I can’t contain the scoff that escapes my lips when I gaze out the window.
“Something funny?” Callum asks.
I turn to him. “Just amused at how obvious she was being with you.”
“Glad my discomfort is funny to you.”
&
nbsp; His scowl lingers on me for one long second. Then it falls back to his phone.
That lethal look. That same dismissive glare he flashed me during the farmer’s market when I dared to smile and wave at him. When I mistakenly thought we could be decent to each other for just one moment.
I bite down so hard, my jaw aches. “You’re one to talk.”
He squints at me.
“Don’t talk to me about discomfort.” I steady my voice so I don’t cause a scene. “Your entire existence has made me uncomfortable. Ever since I met you, life has been a million times more unpleasant for me and my mom. Do you have any idea the kind of uncertainty you’ve sown into our jobs by taking over our spot? That thought is more than just uncomfortable.”
When I pause to take a breath, I feel like I’ve finished the hill sprint workout at spin class.
“There you are every single day, parking right next to us, reminding us that in a few weeks we could lose it all. You wouldn’t even listen when I tried to explain everything to you the day we met. I was just trying to be nice . . . Some trucks were awful to us when we started out, snapping at us because we didn’t know the rules. Finally, someone clued us in, and things were so much better. All I wanted to do was help you, like someone helped me.”
My heart is racing and I’m practically panting as I unload these words, these words I’ve been aching to say to him for weeks, but I’ve never had the nerve—until now. Now that we’re trapped together in a metal tube with no clear escape, I may as well lay it all out.
“Remember the farmer’s market? I was just trying to be nice again, and you glared at me like I was the vilest thing you had ever laid eyes on. You walked by me like I was nothing. Any idea how uncomfortable that made me feel? And how you refused to take that money I offered you at the vet’s office and when you jumped my car? God, you were so condescending about it. I guess hard-ass Callum has no time to be even the tiniest bit decent to his competitors.”
I stop before my voice has the chance to break. Why did I ever think he could be anything other than brash and cruel? That’s all he’s ever shown me.
Only one hour into this flight, and already our attempt at pleasantry is an epic fail. I death-glare at a cloud outside my window while quietly deep breathing my way to something resembling calm.
“I’m sorry, Nikki.”
His quietly spoken words are a shock to the body. Good thing I’m already sitting, because if I had been standing, I would have fainted.
Pushing up his sleeves, he shrugs. “I didn’t know you were trying to be nice. At the farmer’s market, I mean.”
“I was smiling and waving at you. Jesus, what’s your version of nice?”
He sighs and fixates on the headrest in front of him. Then he whips his phone out and spends several seconds swiping before leaning over to show me. In an instant, warmth coats my arm closest to him. That’s some powerful body heat he possesses if I can feel it despite the inches of space between us. I swallow to collect myself and look at the screen.
It’s the selfie I took at the farmer’s market with Penelope, the adorably enthusiastic fan of our food truck. Underneath our smiling faces is a caption: Just met the amazing Nikki from @Tivas and OMG what an absolute doll! Can’t wait to see her and her mom smash the competition at the #MauiFoodFestival! You’re going down, @HungryChaps! Muahaha!!
A devil smiley face ends the caption.
Callum rubs his forehead with his free hand. “I saw that right before I spotted you at the market.” He runs a thumb across his cheek and chin, which are covered in thick golden stubble. “I thought you had something to do with her posting that. And then when you smiled and waved at me, it felt like you were mocking me. That’s why I didn’t acknowledge you.”
“Oh.” The realization takes a second to soak in. “I thought she just wanted a selfie. I didn’t know she was going to post that.”
“So all that was a misunderstanding,” he says. He lets out a half groan, half exhale before pressing back into his seat.
“Looks like it.”
We say nothing for a solid minute.
He coughs, then clears his throat. “I’m sorry for the way I made you feel at the vet’s office. And with your car. I don’t . . . I was truly just trying to help you. I didn’t mean anything disrespectful when I told you to keep your money. When I help someone, I never, ever accept money when they offer it. I always tell them to keep it, that it’s better off with them than with me because all I want to do is help.”
With his clarification, the residual anger burns away like clouds dissipating after a storm.
“Huh.” It comes out like a bewildered huff of breath. “I thought you were taking a swipe at me because of my financial situation.”
He squints at me. “Your financial situation?”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to pretend, Callum. From the state of my car and my food truck, it’s obvious money has been a bit of a struggle.” When I look back up at him, his hazel eyes are bright with concern. My resolve starts to soften. “I mean, it’s not as bad now. We’re not rolling in the dough, but ever since this unofficial competition started, business is picking up. I guess everybody wants to eat at our trucks just to see if we’ll go off on each other. Crazy, huh?”
I let a small laugh slip; he does too.
He glances back down at his phone and clicks on the Instagram story for Hungry Chaps. A silent video plays of Finn plating up a basket of fish-and-chips against a glittery star filter.
“Glitter and stars? I didn’t know that was your guys’ style.” The words are out of my mouth before I can catch myself. But I can’t help my curiosity. Callum was obviously the one who filmed the video, since Finn was in it, but I would have never pegged him for a guy who would choose such a flashy filter.
When he looks up at me, I fully expect to be scolded for peering at his phone. But then he just shrugs. “Finn thought it would be funny. He runs all our social media accounts and seems to know well what customers like to see. I’m not really into Instagram. I have my own account, but I lost interest the day I made it.”
There’s a muffled announcement from the pilot about a bit of rough turbulence ahead.
“Would you be up for playing a game?” he says, out of the blue.
I squint at him.
Stretching up out of his seat, he tucks his phone into his pocket. “There’s a game Finn and I used to play when we were youngsters. The Question Game. We’d take turns asking each other questions, and we’d have to answer them, no matter what.”
“Okay . . .” I have no idea where this is going.
“It might be nice to talk about something other than work and us fighting about work.”
Can’t argue with him there.
“We can try to be quiet,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “You really think we can make it for the next eight hours saying nothing to each other?”
No. “Yes.”
His gaze glides to my collarbone, then back up to my face. I wonder what that long glance was about.
“Don’t you want to at least try to see if we can get on temporarily?”
It’s a weird idea, using a childhood game to keep the peace between us. But it’s better than my strategy of stewing silently next to each other for the rest of the flight.
“Fine. I’ll play.”
He points at me. “Ladies first.”
“Okay. How does an English guy like you like living in Hawaii?”
He clears his throat. “It isn’t how I thought it would be.”
“How did you think it would be?” I try to sound as sincere as possible. I honestly want to give this attempt at civil conversation a fair shot. And I honestly want to know.
“A lot less yelling at people in public during work hours, for one,” he says.
I snort a laugh. “Wh
at else?”
“Three questions in a row? That’s impressive for someone who didn’t want to talk at all a minute ago.”
“Easy, tiger. If you keep hassling me, it’s back to loaded silence.”
His grin morphs into a smirk. “I was hoping for more days spent on the beach.”
I nod and try not to picture him walking out of the ocean like a naked ripped sea-god.
“Join the club,” I say. “I never in a million years thought I’d be living in Maui and running a food truck with my mom.”
He relaxes into his seat, his head lolling against the headrest as he turns to me. The gesture makes this feel like some strange brand of pillow talk.
“You’re not from Maui?”
I shake my head. “Born and raised in Portland, Oregon. My parents lived there until they retired. They wanted to live someplace warm year-round and chose Maui.”
“So you moved to be closer to them?”
“Sort of. Not at first.” I heave a sigh, wondering if it’s the smartest thing in the world to be so vulnerable in front of my competition. I opt for a shortened, sanitized version. “My dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer not long after they moved. He didn’t have much time left when they figured out what was wrong with him. So I dropped everything to be with him until he . . .”
I don’t say the rest. I don’t have to. By the pained look on Callum’s face, he knows exactly what happened.
“At the time I was managing my friend’s restaurant in Portland, and I loved it. But I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t leave my mom alone in Maui, struggling in her grief under a mountain of medical bills. My dad’s treatment wrecked a lot of their savings.”
“So you gave everything up to take care of your mum?”
I nod, easing through a slow breath. As long as I stay measured and even in my tone of voice, I won’t break down.
“I promised my dad before he died that I would. And even if I hadn’t, I couldn’t have lived with myself if I had just abandoned her to fend for herself. I’m an only child, and the rest of her family is scattered all over the place. Her sister, my aunt, is the person I’m visiting in London actually.” I look down at my lap when I speak. I clear my throat, taking the extra moment to collect myself. “Plus, running a food truck was my parents’ dream. They always talked about doing it when they retired. But now it’s a way for my mom and me to spend time together while we support ourselves.”
