Page 27 of From Beijing, With Love

“It’s not the food,” Daniel tried to explain, but he stopped before he could finish his sentence—it’s me.

There were about a thousand competing thoughts buzzing around in Daniel’s head, but the thought that finally won out was that Yang had taken him here, and he trusted Yang.

The simplicity of it was shocking.

Not used to being on the winning side of his mental battles, Daniel picked up a strand of noodle and raised it to his mouth. No alarm bells rang. He tried a bite. The thick wheat noodle was satisfyingly bouncy, with just a trace of that sauce—salty and sweet.

“You know what’ll make it even better? Actually mixing it up.” Yang mixed the noodles together with the sauce, his lips curling into a half smile that betrayed his grumpy facade.

Daniel had the good sense not to hold one chopstick in each hand and toss the noodle like a salad (man of the world, he was). After a diligent mix, Daniel dug in.

If that first bite of plain noodles was good, the next bite with the noodles thoroughly coated in the brown sauce was nothing short of phenomenal. The sauce started sweet but ended with an umami punch. The ground pork (not mystery meat) added an extra layer of richness, but it wasn’t the star of the dish. It was playing second fiddle to whatever gave the sauce its deep-brown hue.

“I need the recipe for this,” Daniel said between bites. At that, Yang’s lips curled up at the corners.

Daniel made a mental note of Yang’s smile before stuffing his face with the chewy noodles one big mouthful at a time. Just when he thought the sauce was teetering on the edge of being too rich, he’d bite into a piece of crisp cucumber or a sliver of sharp scallion that balanced it out. His mother would die if she saw Daniel eating like this in public—big mouthfuls, slurping (just a little), and in general behaving like he wasn’t above food.

For the record, he wasn’t. Food was the one true love of his life.

When he was done, Daniel stared at his empty bowl wistfully. “That was … fucking amazing.”

“That good, huh?” The smile had never left Yang’s lips. Yang was only halfway through his own bowl, because he, of course, did not eat like he was raised by a pack of wolves. “Here comes the best part.” Yang smiled conspiratorially at Mrs. Wang as she whisked away Daniel’s empty bowl.

Before Daniel could even wipe his mouth in a way that his mother would approve of (a gentle dab with the interior side of the napkin), another bowl of noodles appeared in front of him like the best kind of déjà vu.

“That’s the secret to this place: free refills.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Daniel said, wide-eyed.

“Nope.” Yang grinned, and shallow dimples dotted his cheeks. How had Daniel never noticed them before? “But save room for the—”

The plate appearing between them on the table finished the sentence for Yang. On it were two golden wraps held together with bamboo skewers.

“Roasted duck wrapped in a scallion pancake, a twist on the traditional Peking duck that you find at restaurants all over Beijing. It’s on the secret menu,” Yang said with a wink.

Daniel’s stomach was full, but it hadn’t gotten around to sending the memo to his brain yet. That gave Daniel a narrow window to stuff his face more. This wasn’t his first rodeo. The perks of punishing his body at the gym (for mental health) and being an absolute glutton for food (also for mental health) meant he excelled at eating.

Pushing the noodles aside with a silent promise to come back to them later, Daniel bit into the wrap. To his surprise, the wrap crunched under his bite, the crispy exterior giving way to a layered chewy center dotted with scallions. Inside, the sliced, skin-on duck breast was juicy and succulent, complemented by the sharp bite of scallion and a sweet sauce.

Perfection.

“Oh my god.” Daniel washed down the last morsel of food with beer. The crisp brew was light, bitter, and seemingly endless, as Mrs. Wang had diligently replenished it throughout the meal. “If I eat another bite, I’m going to throw up.” Then he was going to die of embarrassment and fly home immediately in a self-imposed exile.

Though … hadn’t flying home early been Daniel’s plan all along? He wasn’t as attached to the idea now. All it had taken to change his mind was two tours with this grumpy tour guide and the noodles of his dreams in a restaurant hidden in a maze of alleyways in Old Beijing. Huh, who knew?

“I take it you enjoyed the food?” Yang asked with an amused smile Daniel couldn’t stop staring at.

“Not at all,” Daniel said. He meant for it to be a joke, but because he’d spent so long staring at Yang like a total weirdo, the comedic timing was nonexistent. Mercifully, Yang laughed. Daniel grabbed his phone. “Can we take a photo?”

Yang nodded after hesitating for just long enough to make Daniel feel self-conscious. Precisely why Daniel didn’t often ask for what he wanted.

Raising his phone to his best selfie angle (hello, bone structure), he beamed at the camera and snapped a selfie of the two of them. The photo came out blurry but kind of cute—Daniel’s big dumb grin that showed too many teeth and Yang’s dark brows giving mirth.

“I do for you.” Mrs. Wang wiped her hands on her apron before taking Daniel’s phone. “Where?”

Daniel wanted to take the photo in front of the restaurant with the stone-paved road beneath his feet and blooming jasmines in the backdrop, but he didn’t say that. The thing about being someone who sometimes—or oftentimes—needed to make requests to keep his worries at bay was that his life was a bargaining system, lest he be thought of as difficult.

“Let’s do it outside. In front of the restaurant,” Yang said, stealing the thoughts right out of Daniel’s head.