in an action movie whispering threats to the main character who’s tied to a chair.
He chuckles before letting his gaze fall along the length of my body. Is he seriously checking me out right now? A deep, seconds-long inhale and exhale is the only way I can cope.
I will not punch this douchebag in the face.
I will not punch this douchebag in the face.
I chant the silent mantra in my head while gritting my teeth.
“Hey,” I bark. “Are you kidding me? Eyes up here.”
His shoulders jolt slightly at my demand. At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. But a beat later it melts from his face, leaving behind a steely frown. He takes a single step forward, leaning his head down toward me. “Listen, petal. I don’t care one bit if you think this is ‘uncool.’”
When he makes air quotes with both hands as he says “uncool,” I swallow back fire. The bastard called me “petal.” Where the hell is this guy from, Downton Abbey? Who the hell calls anyone petal anymore?
I open my mouth to unleash a tirade of expletives and “how dare you,” but he cuts me off.
“I have just as much right to park here as you do. I’m not doing anything illegal, and I’m not moving. Get over it.”
He spins around and saunters behind his food truck, leaving me standing there with my jaw on the ground, my fists clenched, and nothing to say.
How the hell did this happen? How was this guy able to shift from charming stranger one minute to insufferable bastard the next? How did he just destroy years of island food truck etiquette in minutes? How did a complete stranger leave me a mess of frustration and outrage?
The window of his truck slides open, and a man with a younger, friendlier version of the hostile stranger’s face sticks his head out.
“Are you all right?” he asks in that same melodic English accent, his own hazel-green eyes glistening with concern.
At least this one’s polite. I slap my hands on the metal countertop lining the window. His shoulders jerk up. “I’d like to speak with that ball of sunshine you work with.”
His eyebrows jump up his forehead. “Um . . .” He twists his head back. “Oi, Callum!”
Callum walks up to the window, still sporting that sour, unfriendly expression on his face. Does this guy suck on lemon wedges before engaging other human beings?
When I wag my finger up at him, he doesn’t even blink. The polite one does though before flashing him a panicked look.
“You want to defy local food truck etiquette by being a complete asshole? Fine.”
The words punch out in a firm, steady tone. My fuck-off tone. Callum’s disrespectful attitude is the last straw in my already shit-tastic morning—in my already shit-tastic life. I can’t take one more thing working against me right now. So I won’t.
“From this moment on, I’m going to make your life a living hell.” I tilt my head to the side. “Deal with it.”
In the split second after I speak, all I see are his eyes. Strangely, they still read kind, and it’s enough to make me question for the briefest moment if I’ve been too harsh. But his brow furrows, his nostrils flare, and his mouth twists into the tightest purse I’ve ever seen. Never mind. If he were truly kind, he wouldn’t have met my politeness with outright dickishness. I spin around and march back to my truck.
“Bloody hell, what did you say to her?” the polite one asks as I walk the six feet back to the other side of the clearing.
The only tidbit I hear before I’m back in my truck is Callum barking the name Finn. Judging by their resemblance, I’m guessing they’re brothers. And Callum would do well to listen to his little brother Finn next time, as it might keep him out of trouble. Too late now though.
I tie on my apron and start prepping for lunch. Sunlight shines through the open window, illuminating the blade of my knife as I chop heads of cabbage. The adrenaline from our fiery exchange is a surprise source of energy. I shred the whole tray in half the time it usually takes.
All he had to do was show one ounce of courtesy. But no. He wanted to start a war. With a total stranger who was perfectly polite to him until he played dirty. A total stranger who’s been through hell this past year and a half, who is tired