Page 35 of Shadowing You

“I’m not hungry.”

Another look, then a sigh. “Well, I am. And you need to eat.”

He stopped outside a restaurant and looked at her for guidance. “Does it look okay? What do they serve?”

She peeked through the glass door and spied red plastic stools, a tile floor worn down in the middle from decades of scraped chairs, and a sizable crowd for the time of day. She couldn’t see the menu but figured she’d be safe in saying, “Chinese food.”

“Haha.” Ethan pulled the door open and let her precede him to the counter. He skimmed a laminated menu and then pointed at one of the pictures. “Will this be good?”

She read the description. “It will be spicy.”

He considered that, then said, “Would you order me something you think I’d like?”

She chose a dish similar to the one he’d pointed at—noodles with smoked pork but fewer peppers and, after getting a nod from him, told the woman.

“And something for you,” Ethan said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Humor me.”

That was one of those Western expressions that didn’t make sense. He wasn’t saying tell me a joke. He was saying do it because I asked.

She ordered a bowl of soup.

The meals were at their table in minutes. Though she knew she needed food, the protein bars Ethan had given her were enough to last until past dinnertime.

Ethan ate like a man who hadn’t seen food in a week.

She managed a few noodles and a single piece of pork. The broth was rich and salty, and it tasted wonderful, but it was a lot.

When she set the chopsticks down, Ethan’s gaze flicked to her bowl, then to her face. He said nothing, but his lips pressed tight.

“It is okay.” She was going for a lighthearted tone. “You ate enough for both of us.”

His mouth moved into the shape of a smile, but his eyes didn’t match. “If you say so.” He returned to his lunch.

What did you talk about with a husband you hadn’t seen in six years? There were so many questions between them, and they’d stacked up like a wall. Was she supposed to lob some incidental remark over it?

How’s the weather on your side of the elephant in the room?

An elephant in the room—another Western saying that had confused her the first time she’d heard it. It made sense to her right now.

They finished their lunch in silence, then walked eight blocks in more silence.

The city’s concrete and neon gave way to polished stone and iron gates as they left the touristy area for a residential neighborhood. Ethan approached a doorman and gave a name—not his own—and the doorman bowed and let them pass. An elevator in the quiet lobby carried them to the fifth floor.

Ethan unlocked a door at the end of a carpeted hallway.

She stepped inside, then stopped.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city, which seemed to be sitting in a bowl ringed by mountains, sharp green ridges climbing into pale clouds. The room had white walls, a gray sofa long enough even for Ethan to sleep on, a low dark table polished to a shine, and art that probably cost more than her parents’ house.

“Whose is this?”

“Ours for the night.”

It was so much…luxury.