Simmer Down

by Sarah Smith

  Picking up Lemon with my free hand, I deposit her on the other end of the couch. Then I swipe Callum’s bottle from him and set both of the bottles on the coffee table.

  “What are you . . .” He loses the rest of his words when I quietly straddle his lap.

  A dizzy spell from the wine hits me, but I steady myself with both of my hands on his shoulders. His eyes lock with mine, and before he can say anything else, my mouth is on his.

  It’s another breathless, desperate kiss, just like all our other ones. But for me, at least, it feels different. For me it’s a silent acknowledgment that after tonight things may change. After tonight, it’s only two days until the festival. After that he’s headed back to Chicago. For sure there will be disappointment and stress, maybe hurt feelings, maybe even anger.

  But tonight there’s no trace of any of those. Tonight, as Callum and I pull at each other with eager hands, yanking our clothes from our bodies, it is perfection.

  Perfect is the way his hands grip my hips, steadying me as I grind myself on his lap, only the thin fabric of our underwear separating us. Perfect is his tongue teasing my tongue, refusing to stop, spurred on by how many times I moan and cry out. Perfect is my hands lost in his hair, his throaty groans every time I tug. Perfect is that stripped-down look in his flawless hazel eyes every time our gazes connect, letting me know that this means something to him too.

  Soon we’ve shed all fabric. Inside I’m burning, aching, begging for release. So I reach between his legs to guide him inside of me.

  “Wait,” he blurts, then reaches to the other end of the couch where his rumpled trousers lie.

  He glances at the empty spot on the couch where Lemon was sitting. “We must have scared her off.”

  We both share a chuckle as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, then he pulls out a condom. I swipe it from him, rip the wrapper open with my teeth, then lean back as I slide it on.

  Callum fists the arm of the couch and grits his teeth as I make my move. “Fucking hell, Nikki, that’s . . .”

  “Perfection,” I let out in a breathy voice. I groan at how he stretches me out in the best possible way.

  With both hands on my cheeks, he pulls me to his face once more. “Exactly.”

  I start out slowly, moving up and down with both of my hands on his shoulders for leverage. It’s barely a minute before Callum flashes that hyperconcentrated look in his eyes. He leans up. With one hand on my hip and the other still cupping my face, the corner of his mouth quirks up.

  “Nikki. I . . .”

  The new angle hits a deep spot, and I fall forward, barely able to contain myself. My lips land on his, cutting him off. I start to kiss him until I’ve got no more air in my lungs.

  I direct my hand down low to that spot that’s been on fire ever since I straddled Callum. Right now it’s begging, pleading for attention. I move my hand softly at first, swirling a slow rhythm until the heat morphs into pressure.

  Callum’s eyes fall to where my hand is. “Yes. Just like that,” he growls.

  Faster and faster I swirl until every blink gives way to blurry vision. Then it comes.

  Through all the convulsing, all the whimpering, all the panting, one thing is clear: this climax is perfection, and the reason why is because it’s with Callum.

  He holds me up as I thrash against him, refusing to let himself break until I’ve gotten mine. When I come down, his body tenses, his jaw bulges, and his eyes go hazy. But somehow he’s still got me. His muscled arms shroud me like a warm blanket. Under them, I’m safe. Under him, everything is perfect.

  We hug each other as we fall over into a lying position on the couch. Our breathing shallow, we take a second to reposition ourselves. He’s the big spoon like always, and I’m tucked tightly against him. It’s my favorite position to fall asleep in. I stretch against him, my eyelids heavy with each blink. I let them close for real this time, the soft lull of Callum’s breath above me soothing me like a lullaby.

  From behind me, he leans his mouth to my ear. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Mmm?” is all I can manage from my drowsy haze.

  “Nikki, I . . .”

  Before he can finish, I’m sound asleep.

  Chapter 18

  Every time I look up, it’s the same sight. A sea of food trucks at the Maui Food Festival. Usually from this spot in downtown Lahaina, you get a clear view of the harbor dotted with dozens of boats, but not today.

  I retie my apron while scanning the crowd. It’s wall-to-wall people, and it’s barely noon. After just two hours, it’s packed to the max. Today there are a million food trucks and booths set up side by side, as far as the eye can see. People saunter at a snail’s pace from eatery to eatery because walking at a normal speed when it’s this crowded is out of the question.

  I relish the nonstop workflow though. It’s the only way to distract myself from my last mind-blowing night with Callum. Since then, we’ve been so busy with festival prep that we could barely find the time to text each other, let alone see each other in person.

  I force the focus back to the chaos in front of me. I can’t think about Callum or how much I’d rather be in bed with him than sweating my skin off and cooking for every stranger that passes by. Our last night together was just that: one night. Today is what matters.

  Today we find out if Tiva’s Filipina Kusina keeps our coveted spot on Makena Road, or if we have to scramble to find someplace new. I’m sweating like a sinner in church. God bless this black tank top and its ability to hide all the dampness leaching from my pores.

  Even breaths and swallows help me keep my composure. All I can manage are nods, polite smiles, and pleasantries whenever I take cash or hand out food, nothing more.

  Behind me, Mom fries endless orders of lumpia and chicken adobo wings.

  “Three orders of fruit salad, coming right up! Two orders of chicken adobo wings, coming right up!” She practically sings every order.

  A group of regulars stops by to say hello and welcome her back after the health-related hiatus she took.

  She pats my hand. “I was under strict orders from my daughter and my doctor to rest for a few days. But now I’m back and I’m ready to feed my folks. Now who’s ready for some lumpia?”

  Soft cheers boom from the small crowd.

  Every time she hands a customer their order, she beams. Not an ounce of hesitation is traceable in her cheery attitude. She’s a fitting balance to my nervous energy.

  She taps my shoulder. “Isn’t this great? So many people want to try our food.” She looks up at a customer as he takes a bite of chicken wing. “How is it? Good?”

  He nods, sauce smeared across his lips. “So, so good, Tiva. I already voted for you ladies online.”

  She gives him a thumbs-up while I offer a soft “thank you.” The Maui Food Festival website has an active poll for attendees to vote on their favorite eateries. My hand itches to grab my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and check the results every five minutes. The Hungry Chaps truck is all the way on the opposite end of this row. I can’t see them, which means I can’t gauge how they’re doing. Checking the results as they come in would be an easy way to satisfy my curiosity.

  Instead, I clench my fingers into a fist and resist. Obsessively checking the poll two hours into the festival will do nothing other than send my blood pressure to the mesosphere. We have the whole rest of the day left to work, and I can’t lose myself to distraction. My only goal for the next six hours is to cook the best dishes possible so every person that eats our food votes for us.

  Penelope saunters up to the booth, her wide smile so bright it rivals the unrelenting sun beating above.

  “Nikki! You’re kicking some serious ass!” She holds up her phone to me. “So many people are raving about your food on social media. They’re hashtagging Tiva’s left and right!”

 
Mom turns as soon as she hears her name, beaming when Penelope shows her all the photos of our food that people have been posting to Instagram and Twitter.

  “You’re killing it, Tiva!” Penelope high-fives her before ordering a halo-halo. “It’s so hot and I’ve been craving this.”

  I dispense a generous serving of crushed ice, ube, sweetened beans, coconut, and evaporated milk into a paper cup and hand it to her. She tastes a spoonful, closes her eyes, and moans. The “mmm” she lets slip sounds more like a growl than a hum. Leaning over the counter, she whispers in my ear, “Your boy toy is in the zone. I went over to wish him luck. The look on his face was intense.”

  A high-pitched chuckle falls from her lips. All I can do is say, “Oh wow.”

  She leans back, keeping her tone low. Tipping her spoon at me, she gives me a knowing smile. “I told him I was coming over to say hi to you, and he got all flustered. His cheeks got pink and everything. He’s so into you. It’s adorable.”

  When I glance up above Penelope, I freeze. Callum stands front and center, just a few feet from me. I wasn’t expecting to see him at all today.

  Penelope twists around to sneak a peek, then turns her megawatt smile back at me. “Looks like someone misses you.” She winks before walking into the crowd.

  Callum approaches the counter, his hazel eyes on me, making me feel like the only person on the planet.

  “Can we talk?” His face is a mess of worried lines.

  “Is something wrong?” I manage to sound mostly composed.

  I notice he hasn’t shaved since I’ve seen him. The scruff on his cheeks looks like the beginning of a beard. I don’t even like beards, but on him it is scrumptious.

  He runs his tongue along the glorious thickness that is his bottom lip. “I need to tell you something.”

  Leaning around him, I hand a waiting customer their order of wings.

  “Can it wait?” I say, my eyes veering in every direction other than in front of me.

  I’m not strong enough to tell him no when he’s standing so close, his body heat skimming my skin, his gaze making my knees go weak.

  “No. I need to talk to you now.”

  I glance around. No one else is at our truck right now, making this our first lull of the day. It also means no one is paying attention to our exchange, which I’m silently thankful for.

  “Meet me behind my truck in a minute,” I say.

  When we reconvene, we’re out of sight of the bustling crowds.

  “What is it?”

  He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out the stick of ChapStick I usually keep in my purse. “You dropped this at my flat the other night.”

  I swipe it from his palm and put it in my apron pocket and almost laugh, confused as to why he chose now of all times to give it back to me. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to give this to me today. You could have waited.”

  Shuffling his feet, he glances at the ground. “I thought you might, um, need it. For your, uh, lips.”

  “Okay . . .”

  I wait another second, but he says nothing. His eyes dart from me to the ground to the side and then back at me.

  “Well, thanks.”

  I turn away to walk back, but then he speaks, stopping me.

  “I’m not going back to Chicago. After the festival, I mean.”

  I take a step toward him. “What?”

  “I’m staying here in Maui.”

  “You are?”

  He nods.

  “Don’t you have a job and an apartment waiting for you?” I’m stunned at how hard my voice is in this moment. I should be happy. The guy I have feelings for, the guy I fantasize about on a regular basis, the guy I want more than anyone else in the world is staying here. But all I can process is shock.

  Despite what I’ve said, the expression on his face reads tender. “I don’t care about any of that.”

  My heart lodges in my throat. It also ceases beating. “What are you . . .”

  His chest heaves with a single breath, and his hazel eyes lock on me. He steps forward and takes my face in his hands. Instantly I’m calm, I’m soft, I’m at ease.

  “I want to be with you, Nikki. I want to stay here in Maui and give us a proper shot.” His voice is a cross between a whisper and a growl. Soft and scratchy.

  “But that’s not what we agreed to.”

  His hands fall away from me. Confusion takes over his formerly affectionate expression. “I know that, but . . . Don’t you feel this thing between us?”

  I feel it every time I see him, every time he’s in the vicinity, every time I see his name light up my phone screen. It’s all proof of just how much this thing between us has grown. I care for Callum more than I’ve cared for anyone I’ve ever been with.

  But I can’t do more than what we’re doing now. That would require a commitment, an emotional investment. It would require me steeling myself for the inevitable day that I lose him. And I don’t have the strength to do that.

  Callum continues to gaze at me, eyes hopeful, waiting for me to say that yes, I feel every single thing he feels right now.

  But all I do is shake my head.

  “I know you feel something for me, Nikki.” His stare and his voice turn determined. “I can tell by the way you melt against me every time I touch you. I can tell by how happy you are every time we’re together. I can tell by the way you looked at me in the hot tub that night, when I started to tell you how I felt about you—about us. I can tell that I mean something to you. You’re just scared to commit because of what happened with your dad.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s so bloody obvious you’re scared of getting close to someone, of losing someone again.” He tugs a hand through his hair, an outward display of the frustration that’s clearly coursing within him.

  “Don’t!” My voice booms through the festival noise. Callum has no business bringing up my dad in a situation that’s strictly me and him. I can’t believe he would even try. “Don’t say another word about my dad. And don’t try to armchair diagnose me.”

  In two steps he’s close to me again. “It’s okay to be scared, Nikki. I’m scared too.” His face, his tone, it’s all soft now. “But fuck it, I want to give us a shot. Because that’s what you do when you lo—”

  For a split second, his eyes widen, but then he reins it in quickly when he furrows his brow and pulls his lips into his mouth.

  I can’t unhear what he said. The beginnings of the “L” word.

  “What did you say?” My voice is a scratchy whisper.

  His chest heaves when he takes a breath, and then he takes my hand in his. “I . . . I’m in love with you,” he finally says.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Just a shudder of a breath. My hand goes limp in his. It’s lucky he’s holding on to me, because his words are an invisible truck hitting me at full speed. I’d be facedown in the dirt if I were standing on my own.

  Callum is in love with me.

  Callum is in love with me.

  No matter how many times I silently repeat it to myself, it still rattles me to the core.

  “You . . . you’re in love with me?”

  My brain flashes back to our last night together, to the last words he spoke before I fell asleep.

  I hold my hand up at him. “Wait. The other night . . . did you say . . .”

  He nods. “I said I loved you. But you were asleep.”

  The words send shock waves through my body and brain that are so powerful, all other sensations are rendered null and void. He leans forward until our bodies press together, and then he runs his hand through my hair before settling back onto my cheek.

  It’s a long moment of us standing and staring. Opening and closing my mouth does no good, because zero words materialize. It’s his touch. It has some sort of mythical
hold on me, and I need to think clearly in this moment. I step back and out of his reach.

  The wrinkles in his forehead deepen. “I can’t take another second of pretending like I don’t love you. Fuck this bloody contest, fuck all this food truck nonsense. I don’t care about this ridiculous festival or who wins or loses or the money or where I’ll be able to park from now on. I couldn’t care less about some random place where Finn and I can sling food. All I care about is being with you. Can’t we . . .” He pauses, his chest rising with a single breath, his throat moving with a single swallow. “Can’t we just forget about all this and be together?”

  His words take a moment to soak in, but once they do, I want to scream until my lungs implode.

  All these months I’ve spent working to perfect my recipes, those weeks I drove around when I first moved here trying to find the perfect spot for our food truck, the hours I’ve spent worrying about money and my mom and how in the world I’ll make a life in a place I never thought I’d be, every late night, every early morning, every dollar I spent to keep this business running . . . the promise I made to my dad before he died. I’m supposed to forget about all that? No.

  I swallow, barely able to keep from yelling. “Maybe running a food truck was a fun little hiatus from your finance life, but it is everything to me, Callum. I came here to help my mom and keep a promise to my dad, not abandon my family the moment I catch feelings like some lovestruck teenager.”

  The harshness in my voice makes me cringe. This conversation needs to end. If I keep going like this, I’ll say something even worse.

  “Let’s talk about this after the festival,” I mutter.

  The expression in his eyes runs hot. I can tell by the way the veins in his neck bulge that he’s trying to keep himself in check. Still his tone remains hard, desperate.

  “Are you honestly telling me that you can’t fit me into your life, Nikki?”

  My head spins. It’s like a million invisible walls are closing in on me. “I can’t do this right now, Callum.”

  I dart around him to walk back to the truck. He catches me with a hand on my bicep before I can make it more than a few steps, spinning me to face him. “You’re willing to throw us away? Because you’re scared?”