Chapter 19
“Are you okay, my baby?” Zoe rushed over to her cat.
The cat mewed pitifully. She scooped him up and hugged her fur baby.
“Derek, your shoes!” Zoe gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s Mr. B’s fault. He hates me.” Derek shot the cat an ugly look.
“How can you say that! He rarely throws up. I feed him a very specific diet.” She rubbed the cat’s head and cooed softly to
soothe him.
“What am I going to do about my shoes?”
“I’ll clean them up. Here, hold him.” She thrust the tabby into Derek’s arms.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Derek held Mr. Bobbins awkwardly at arm’s length. The cat mewed sadly as his back feet
swung down.
“You can’t hold him like that. Support his bottom.” Zoe demonstrated with her arms.
Derek begrudgingly complied. As grumpy as Derek was, he and Mr. Bobbins looked cute together.
“He could’ve tossed his cookies anywhere, but he chose the inside of my shoes?” Derek groaned.
“He didn’t do it on purpose. Right, Mr. Bobbins?” She kissed his furry nose.
Zoe dumped the contents of Derek’s shoe into the trash and took it to her kitchen sink to grab some antibacterial wipes.
“What were you about to tell me?” she asked over her shoulder as she scrubbed the inside of his shoe.
“Oh, um, it can wait.”
“You sure?”
“It’s weird to say this after what your cat just did, but I’m starving. I wonder where our food is?”
“It was supposed to arrive half an hour ago. I’ll call the restaurant after I finish cleaning your shoes.”
Mr. Bobbins wiggled out of Derek’s arm and curled up in Zoe’s love seat. He seemed unfazed by his previous incident. Maybe
it was just a fluke that he threw up. She’d call the vet in the morning to make sure.
“I don’t think I can wait that long.” His stomach grumbled loudly in agreement.
“You know I’m a terrible cook,” she reminded him.
“I can’t believe your parents own a restaurant and you can’t cook.”
“I didn’t have to.” Zoe shrugged. “And Má always sent me home with leftovers.”
“Does your fridge happen to have any of those said leftovers?”
“Nope. I ate the last bit of th ? t kho tr ? ng yesterday.”
Derek groaned. “That sounds amazing right now.”
“I think I have some old rice in the fridge.”
“Mind if I dig around your kitchen and whip up something?”
“Are we playing Iron Chef Surprise?”
“Don’t you mean the ‘we’re broke college students so let’s cobble some random ingredients together’ challenge?”
“Your dishes were always better than mine.” Zoe hated cooking but could put together something edible when necessary.
“I’ll never forget your ‘tomato’ soup made from old ketchup packets and elbow macaroni.”
“Don’t forget the bacon bits.”
“How could I? Your secret ingredient.”
“I learned that recipe from my grandfather. I didn’t realize until much later that that was how he stretched his paycheck.”
“It did taste almost like real tomato soup,” Derek agreed. “And it was filling.”
“He still makes it, you know, but with fancy tomato paste from Trader Joe’s. I think it’s a nostalgia thing.”
“I hope it’s okay if we bypass the ketchup packets today. How old are these even?”
“Don’t you dare toss them! They’re my emotional support condiments.”
“Okay, hoarder.” Derek burst out laughing as he shut the drawer with his hip. He held his hands out and backed away as if
she’d hurt him for throwing out her ketchup packets.
“I did my best to scrub out the inside of your shoe but it’s still pretty damp.” Zoe changed the subject. “I don’t think you’re
supposed to toss Converse sneakers in the dryer.”
“Maybe they’ll dry by the time you’re done. I’m not going home until you feel one hundred percent prepared.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should escape now while you still can.”
“Nope. You’re stuck with me,” Derek said softly.
Zoe’s stomach did a tiny flip-flop as the corners of his eyes crinkled with a half-smile. She liked having him back in her
life, but she shouldn’t get used to it. Once T ? m Cám opened, he’d be off to the next thing unless funding came through to take the show to New York.
“I’m going to put the finishing touches on my presentation while you play Iron Chef Surprise,” she said, changing the subject to distract herself from that flip-flop reaction to the way he looked at her.
Zoe carefully unpacked the tote bags she’d left by the door. She tilted her head to the left then to the right to stretch her tight neck muscles. As worried as she was about tomorrow, she was confident in her designs. Both Derek and Th ? o had loved them. Even TJ, who always had constructive criticism about clothing, had been helpful because he asked questions
about things that might come up during the meet and greet.
“Where do you keep your frying pan?”
“Bottom cabinet to the left of the stove.” Zoe placed the costume renderings for the lead actors on her coffee table. “They
look beautiful all in a row like this.”
“Now you believe me? I’ve been saying that for days,” Derek reminded her. “Soy sauce or fish sauce?”
“Um, maybe in the fridge?”
“Already looked there.” Derek continued chopping.
“Let me think.” Zoe walked over to her pantry and pushed aside the bags of shrimp chips and instant ramen her mother always
sent home after their big family gatherings.
“If you don’t have either of those, I’m taking away your Vietnamese card.”
“Don’t you dare!” She reached deep into her pantry and shuffled some jars and bottles.
“Kidding. Vietnamese Americans aren’t a monolith, so it’s okay if you don’t own any n ?? c m ? m.”
“Aha!” She pulled out the two bottles he’d requested. “Don’t monolith me. I’m a Vietnamese American lingerie designer. I don’t
think there’s many of us.”
“We would’ve made awful doctors or lawyers.”
“I don’t want people’s lives in my hands.” She shuddered.
“Same. Theater can be hard, but it’s not life or death.”
Maybe not for him. But a part of her had died when she quit theater only months away from graduation. This musical was her
second chance and she was doing it her way. Not how someone thought her costumes were supposed to look.
“Are you making fried rice?” Zoe asked as she handed him the bottles.
He’d created a mise en place of different leftovers he’d rescued from her fridge. She spotted the slightly wilted bell peppers
she’d bought for a salad and dried shiitake mushrooms rehydrating in a bowl of water. There was also a container of old rice
that her mom had given her a few days ago.
“With fancy canned tuna. Thought I’d stick with our attempted Italian theme even though our delivery never showed up.”
“I’ve never had fried rice with tuna before.” A client had gifted her Italian canned tuna from her trip to Europe. Zoe had
stuck it in the cabinet because it felt too fancy to use for a sandwich, which was the most creative way she knew how to prepare
it.
“I figure if it’s good enough for Mr. Bobbins, then it’s good enough for us.” Derek waved toward the living room, where the
cat was sitting.
“Wait.” Zoe glanced at Mr. Bobbins and back to Derek. She ran to the trash can and dug out an empty tin. “Did you give my
cat tuna with olive oil?”
“Yes, because that’s what you told me to do.” He pointed to the counter where she’d set up Mr. Bobbins’s prep station.
“No, I said this tuna right here.” She opened up the cabinet next to the one he’d pointed at. She pulled out a small stack
of store-brand tuna. “Olive oil makes cats throw up. I only feed him tuna in water.”
“Oh, shit.” Derek’s playful tone completely disappeared. His forehead wrinkled with worry and he covered his mouth with his
hand. “I thought you pointed to the other cabinet. Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t think it’s super serious. I’ll call the vet tom—” She turned back to the living room to find Mr. Bobbins sitting
on top of her sketches. He looked her right in the eyes before vomiting tuna and olive oil all over them.
“No, Mr. Bobbins! No!” Zoe waved her arms as she ran back into her living room. It wasn’t as if she could stop him from throwing up. The tabby jumped off the coffee table and ran into her room. Now she’d scared the poor cat when he was feeling ill.
“Zoe, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”
“They’re ruined! And it’s too late to get more copies made and buy more foam board.” Zoe’s voice cracked.
All the work she’d put into making the presentation perfect was undone. The past two weeks of stress and long hours had finally
caught up with her. Her eyes burned as tears threatened to spill, but she hated crying in front of others, so she forced herself
to blink rapidly to keep them at bay.
Derek turned off the stove and quickly ran over to her. He gently eased her onto the couch and sat down next to her. She leaned
into him as he rubbed her back.
“We’ll get up early and replace them. Or maybe there’s a twenty-four-hour copy center nearby.”
“Why did I think I could pull this off?” Zoe muttered. The tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe. “I should let TJ
do all the talking tomorrow. He’s great in front of people.”
“TJ is a wonderful, vibrant person, but these costumes are your creations. You have to be the person to present them tomorrow.”
“I’m better at talking to people one-on-one. Like the woman I helped find a strapless bra.”
“Well, then I’ll sit next to you. You can pretend I’m your customer,” Derek offered.
An image of him in a frilly nightgown popped into her head. She giggled. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as her panic subsided.
“Come on, I’d look great wearing a negligee from Something Cheeky. As long as it was all black, obviously.”
“We do carry a lot of black negligees. You don’t strike me as a lace type person.”
“Maybe not, but I’d look fetching in a murder robe.” He tossed his imaginary waist length hair. “Can you make me one?”
Zoe barked out a laugh. Derek was a pro at cheering her up. He was good at bringing the best out of people, period. Which
was probably why he’d found so much success as a director.
“You look better already.” He squeezed her hands. “Now take a few deep breaths with me.”
Zoe nodded as she followed his lead. She held on to his hands as if her life depended on it and closed her eyes. She inhaled
through her nose and then exhaled through her mouth. He guided her through several more breaths until she relaxed her grip
on his hands. But she wasn’t ready to let go.
“Good girl.” He nodded encouragingly. “Now look at me.”
She opened her eyes slowly and found Derek’s kind and patient dark brown eyes. This man had seen her at her worst during college.
When she’d lost everything that she’d worked for because she dared to stand up to their professor. Even her Boss Babes had
never seen her in such a dark place.
He’d done everything in his power to help her then. And now he was back to help her find her way back into theater. A way
back to the person she’d wanted to be all those years ago.
“I’m scared, too. As beautiful as your sketches are, they’re not why we’re doing this.” He licked his lips and swallowed hard.
“We’re going to make this show so fucking Asian that people will either love it or hate it. No in-between.”
“No in-between,” she whispered.
“Theater is supposed to make people feel something, but we can’t tell them how to feel about it. We can only control what
we put into it.” He squeezed her right hand and placed it on her chest over her heart.
Her stomach did another flip when his fingertips grazed her bare skin. She leaned into his touch. Without breaking eye contact with him, she reached up with her free hand and pushed the hair that had fallen behind his glasses out of his eyes. Derek stiffened at first but relaxed as she ran her fingers down his cheek and then his jawline.
Had he always been so beautiful? She traced the five-o’clock shadow below his bottom lip, the one he bit when he was learning
new choreography or when he was nervous. His expression didn’t change as she ran her thumb over it.
Zoe leaned in and kissed him. His lips were soft and inviting. Like she’d found her way home where she belonged. He kissed
her back gently, as if she might break. Tiny shocks flicked through her body and her chest grew warm. She shivered as Derek
ran his hand over her bare shoulders.
She deepened the kiss. He groaned and invited her to explore his mouth, causing a deep moan to escape her throat. A hunger
like she’d never felt before possessed her body the same way she tried to possess his mouth. She pulled herself into his lap
and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He broke free of her mouth to drop kisses on her neck down to her upper chest. Zoe tossed her head back as each one seared
her skin. She reflexively rolled her hips into him and gasped as his hardness pressed into her mound. They’d never been this
physically close to each other. Not in this way.
Her body was responding to his touch in ways that it shouldn’t respond to your best friend. Derek was her best friend. What
was she even doing kissing him? Zoe pulled back abruptly.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” She stood up and walked to the other side of her living room.
“Zoe, it’s okay.” Derek’s face was red. He seemed as flustered as she was.
“I-I think you should go home.” Zoe’s face was hot, but this time it was from embarrassment, not because his kiss had woken up these new feelings inside her.
“We should talk about this.”
“Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ll be up all night fixing this.” She waved at the mess on the coffee table. Zoe didn’t—couldn’t—talk
to him because she didn’t know what was going on or why she felt compelled to kiss him right then.
Derek stood up and tried to grab her hand, but she backed away. She couldn’t trust herself to touch him. What if she couldn’t
control the desire welling up inside her?
“Here, you can borrow my flip-flops and I’ll put your shoes in a bag.”
He nodded in resignation as she handed his things over. He was silent as she walked him to the door.
“You can always text me,” he said as she shut the door behind him.
Zoe leaned on the door as the kiss replayed in her mind. She touched her lips. With one kiss, she’d ruined years of friendship.
But that moment had felt so... natural. So right. Her life was stressful enough. She’d complicated it even more by crossing
the line with her best friend, who was also her director. This should never have happened.
So why did she want to run down the hallway and pull him back into her arms?