It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. The full amount, the complete picture of the disaster that is my financial life. I’ve been carrying it alone for so long that putting it down makes something in my chest loosen.
“I’m sorry,” Tovek says finally. “That you’ve been carrying it alone. That you’ve been afraid to tell me.”
The words hit hard. This is what I’ve been afraid of—the way he sees me, really sees me, in all my failure.
“It’s not your problem,” I say, the deflection automatic after months of careful editing. “It’s mine. I got into it, I’ll get out of it. Somehow.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes on my face. Then he says, “You could have lied.”
The statement is so unexpected that I actually laugh. A short, surprised sound that has nothing to do with humor. “What?”
“You could have lied. When it happened. Could have claimed the email was real, that you were frustrated, that the pressure got to you. Could have apologized, made a donation to culinary education, done a special episode on ‘handling criticism with grace.’” His expression is thoughtful, almost wondering. “It would have been the easy way out. But you didn’t. You told the truth, even when it cost you everything.”
He’s right. I could have lied. Could have taken the easy way out, saved my career with nothing more than a carefully crafted apology and a promise to do better. But I didn’t. The lie would have eaten me alive.
“I’m not that good a liar,” I say, which is both true and a complete evasion.
“You’re not a liar at all. That’s the point. In an industry built on image and perception, you refused to play along. You chose integrity over convenience, even when it cost you everything.” He reaches across the table, his hand warm on mine. “That’s what they lost, Mei. That’s what I found on the Strip that night. A chef. A social media presence. A woman I can’t stop thinking about. And someone who sees the world clearly and refuses to look away, even when it hurts.”
My throat tightens.
“I want to offer you a partnership,” he says, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. “A real one. Fifty-fifty in The Drunken Dragon. The bar, the kitchen, the apartment upstairs if you want it. Creative control over the menu, equal say in business decisions, the security of knowing it’s yours regardless of what happens between us personally.” He meets my eyes directly. “I’m doing this because what we’ve built together is worth protecting. Worth making official. Worth fighting for.”
The offer hangs between us. A recognition of what we’ve built, a commitment to keeping it regardless of what happens between us personally.
“And I’m in love with you,” he adds, the words coming out slightly rougher than the ones before. “You’re complicated and fierce and completely unwilling to compromise on the things that matter. The woman who walked into my bar four months ago and changed everything without even trying.”
My chest tightens. The feeling of being seen, really seen. Four months of working beside him, building something real in a kitchen that wasn’t mine.
And now he’s offering me everything. The bar, the kitchen, what happens when we work side by side. As a partner. An equal. Someone who matters to him.
“I accept,” I say, the words coming out more forceful than I intended. “The partnership. All of it. Yes.”
Relief flashes in his eyes before his expression settles. “And the other part?” he asks, his voice gentle. “The being in love with you part? Where do you stand on that?”
It would be easy to say it back. To match his declaration with one of my own, to give him the words he’s clearly hoping for. But easy isn’t the same as true, and what I feel for him deserves more than the simple fiction of “I love you too.”
“I’m here,” I say, meeting his eyes directly. “I’m not running. I’m choosing this. You, the bar, whatever we’re building together. With my eyes wide open.” I squeeze his hand, hoping he can feel the weight of the promise. “That has to be enough for now. The words will come when they’re ready.”
He nods. “It’s enough,” he says, and means it completely. “More than enough.”
We sit in silence for a moment, our hands linked across the small table. Around us, the tea house comes to life. Mrs. Lin moving between tables, the occasional customer arriving for their morning fix, the soft tick of the clock marking the passage of time. This moment of quiet in the middle of chaos, this chance to put down the weight I’ve been carrying and see what happens next.
“We need to talk about the debt,” Tovek says finally.
I tense, but he’s already shaking his head. “It’s not your debt anymore, Mei. It’s The Drunken Dragon’s. Ours. Fifty-fifty, remember?” His hand tightens on mine. “You shouldn’t have had to carry it alone in the first place. Not the money, not what the Alliance did to your reputation. None of it.”
My throat goes tight. “Tovek?—”
“I mean it. We’re partners now. That means the debt is mine too. We handle it together.”
I blink hard, surprised by the sudden sting behind my eyes. “Okay,” I manage. “Together.”
He nods, then waits. Like he knows I have more to say.
I take a breath. “When I went to Wyvern’s Dawn Convention when Sunny competed and won Best in Show.” The memory of her standing on that stage, trophy in hand, makes me smile despite everything. “Watching her up there, I kept thinking...we could do that. Not Wyvern’s Dawn, but something like it. Something big.”
“The New Vegas Annual Cook-Off,” Tovek says, his eyes lighting up.
