“It’s fine,” I manage finally, and immediately want to kick myself. Fine? It’s a masterpiece, and I’ve reduced it to “fine” like I’m commenting on a slightly above-average sandwich.
Mei raises one eyebrow. “Just fine?”
“No.” I shake my head, trying to find words that aren’t completely inadequate. “It’s the broth. How did you get it so...?”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “That’s a chef’s secret. But I’m glad you approve.”
She turns back to her work, but not before I catch the pleased set of her shoulders, the slight lift at the corner of her mouth. She’s proud of the dumpling, of course she is, it’s incredible, but there’s something about her reaction to my approval that makes my chest tight.
I finish my coffee, trying to focus on the bitterness rather than the memory. It doesn’t work. My brain keeps circling back to the same moment. Heat flooding my mouth, Mei’s eyes on my face, the perfect balance of flavors that made everything else fall away.
We work in silence for a while, the only sounds the soft thud of knife against cutting board and the occasional hiss of steam from the stove. I’m checking the delivery order against our inventory when I realize I need a dish towel to wipe a smudge of ink from my hand.
The towels are hanging on a hook behind Mei, just past where she’s working at the prep table. I reach past her, careful to keep my distance, and then she shifts, turning to grab a spice jar from the shelf, and suddenly she’s closer than I expected. Her back almost against my chest, the top of her head level with my sternum.
We both freeze. I’m close enough to smell the shampoo she used this morning. Something with ginger and citrus. Close enough to see the fine hairs at the nape of her neck where they’ve escaped her bun. My hand is suspended in mid-air, not quite touching her but close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin.
For one long, impossible moment, neither of us moves. The kitchen is silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the sound of our breathing, slightly quicker than it should be.
Then Mei reaches up, takes the dish towel from the hook, and hands it to me without turning around. Her movements are careful, deliberate, her face carefully neutral when she finally glances over her shoulder.
“Service in four hours,” she says, her voice only slightly too controlled. “I should finish these before the delivery comes.”
I take the towel, our fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. “Right. I’ll get out of your way.”
I back up, putting what feels like a safe distance between us, and head for the stairs.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing under a spray of water that’s definitely colder than necessary, and it’s not helping.
At all.
I’ve tried thinking about inventory. About the broken ice maker that needs replacing. About literally anything except the way Mei looked at me when I tasted that dumpling, or the smell of her shampoo, or the fact that her back was almost pressed against my chest and I could have wrapped my arms around her waist and?—
Yeah. The cold water is doing absolutely nothing.
My body has apparently decided that now is a great time to remind me that I’m attracted to my business partner. The business partner I need to not scare away. The business partner who’s trusting me with her career and her safety and definitely does not need me being a creep about the fact that she fed me a dumpling.
I press my forehead against the tile, water streaming down my back, and try to think about something, anything else. It doesn’t work. My brain keeps replaying the moment. The careful way she held the chopsticks. The way she watched my face. The pleased little smile when I couldn’t hide my reaction.
My hand moves almost without my permission, and I’m already halfway there before I can talk myself out of it. Which is probably for the best, because the alternative is walking around all day like a teenager who just discovered the internet.
It doesn’t take long. I’m wound tight enough that just the thought of Mei’s flour-dusted collarbone, the way her leggings hug her hips, the soft sound she made when I startled her this morning, is enough to push me over the edge.
And then I’m standing there, water going cold for real now, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
Because that’s what you do when someone trusts you, right? Jerk off to them in the shower like some kind of creep? Mei is here because she needs help. Because she’s desperate and I offered her a lifeline. And I’m here doingthis.
I shut off the water with more force than necessary and grab a towel. My reflection in the mirror looks about as disgusted with me as I feel. Great. Fantastic. This is exactly the kind of professional boundary-respecting behavior that’s going to make this partnership work.
The worst part is that I know it’s normal. I know that attraction is normal, that physical responses are normal, thatwhat I just did is something literally everyone does and it doesn’t make me a monster.
But knowing something intellectually and feeling it are two very different things, and right now I feel like I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross.
Mei deserves better than this. Better than me standing in the shower thinking about her like that. She deserves a partner who can keep it professional, who can separate business from a fan boy crush.
I’m pulling on clean clothes when I remember the conversation I had with our produce supplier yesterday. The guy had been unusually chatty, asking questions about our new menu and whether we were planning to expand our hours. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, just small talk while he unloaded crates of ginger and garlic, but something about his tone had set off warning bells.
“You know Grishnak’s been asking about you,” he’d said casually, hefting a sack of rice onto his shoulder. “Wanted to know if you’d hired someone new for the kitchen. Seemed pretty interested in the details.”
