the kitchen. When I turn to close my laptop, my eyes catch on a comment right under the Chic TV post about us, and my hand freezes midair.
@HungryChaps: What @theFlavorNetwork did was a travesty. @Tivas won fair and square, with zero help from anyone—not even us. Well done, ladies.
Inside I soften at the public congratulations from Finn. It’s beyond gracious of him to make a statement like that on Hungry Chaps’ Instagram account.
And then my eyes fall to the comment below his. A user by the name of @FoodAndFinanceLad. My chest swells when I process it. That must be Callum’s account—the account he said he’s never once used, until today—to leave this comment.
More than well deserved. Nicely done, petal.
A flower emoji ends the comment. I can barely breathe.
I click on the profile, and sure enough, there are no other posts or stories. Just that one comment. No question, this is Callum’s account.
I grip the counter to steady myself. Even after our fight, even after our very ugly and very public demise, Callum somehow found it in him to congratulate me with the Instagram account he never uses—and it’s thrown me for one hell of a loop.
Chapter 20
Everything okay, anak? You seem a little off.” Mom sets a glass of water on the kitchen table for me.
“I’m fine.” I take a long sip. It’s a lie, but I’ve got no energy for the truth.
Because the truth is too painful to talk about. I’d have to admit, like I almost did the other day right before Penelope swooped in and saved us, that I had a secret relationship with our rival, broke up on the worst possible terms, and reeled about it in silence until he left a sweet comment for me out of the blue on social media that had me questioning everything. I’d come off like a traitor and a basket case.
She plops down in the chair to my left, her focused stare fixed on me. “You don’t seem fine. In fact, you haven’t seemed like yourself lately. Want to tell me why?”
I let out a long exhale, saying nothing. It does little to ease the concern painted so clearly on her face. She stares with a furrowed brow, her dark eyes boring into me like lasers.
“Just tired, that’s all,” I say. “It’s just a lot dealing with all those bloggers constantly hanging out at our truck.”
This time when I speak, it’s the truth. This first week of having our food truck spot on Makena Road back to ourselves has been like navigating a paparazzi press line. Every day a dozen bloggers visit our truck to ask me two things. The first is how I feel about being dropped by the Flavor Network only to be picked up minutes later by Chic TV. Penelope was kind enough to give me a heads-up on that one. When we met for drinks, she warned that social media influencer wannabes may pester me in the hopes of getting their fifteen minutes of fame by latching onto the food truck that will soon be in a commercial for a popular network.
The second most common thing they ask about is Callum, our relationship, our fallout, how I feel now that he’s vacated our spot. And every day I serve customers while pretending that I don’t hear their invasive questions float within earshot as they crowd our truck. I never knew ignoring people could be so exhausting.
But it’s even more than that. It’s the fact that every day I park our truck in that spot, I hope against hope that the Hungry Chaps food truck will be parked there. Even though it will never, ever happen. When they didn’t show up that first day back, it was expected. It didn’t ease the knot in my chest at all though.
And every day since, the knot has grown bigger and tighter. Today I can barely breathe when I think of Callum and me sharing that spot, how for weeks we worked less than ten feet from each other during the day, then ravaged each other at night.
Yes, we’re done. Yes, we fought. Yes, we both said terrible things to each other. But that doesn’t erase our passion, our feelings, how he made me happier than anyone I’ve ever been with. How he was the only person other than my mom who I could talk to about my dad.
Another labored breath and my chest feels as though it will collapse under the weight of this invisible agony.