Chapter 4 #2
Everything around us buzzed with lazy late-afternoon energy—the scent of spice and exhaust mixing in the humid air, a man calling out to sell fresh coconuts from a stall nearby, the faint clang of temple bells drifting from somewhere ahead. All of it faded into background noise.
Right now, all I could see was Dannie.
He tried to straighten but doubled over again, clutching his abdomen. My heart lurched.
“Hey, stop being stubborn,” I said, more sharply this time. “You’re in no shape to go temple-hopping.”
He gave me a crooked grin. “You’re bossy when you’re worried.”
“And you’re an idiot when you’re sick.”
He chuckled, but the sound cut short as pain bent him forward again.
That was enough. I waved for our driver with one hand while steadying him with the other. “You’re done for the day,” I said, no room for argument in my tone.
This time, he didn’t fight me.
I was a little disappointed that the food tour had to end early—I’d only just started enjoying myself.
For the first time, the city felt like somewhere I could belong.
None of the museum visits gave me that feeling.
If anything, they reminded me I was a tourist, a stranger trying too hard to understand a culture that wasn’t mine.
The food museum had fascinated me, but it hadn’t encouraged me to try local dishes.
If it weren’t for Dannie, I never would’ve tasted anything beyond my usual American fare.
I didn’t even dare to step into a Chinese restaurant in Penang before—too afraid someone might start speaking to me in Chinese or one of the local dialects.
It seemed like such a common thing here.
Dannie refused to see a doctor, insisting I “play doctor” instead. Jokes aside, I performed a simple check-up—making him promise to go to the hospital if his symptoms got worse. After some paracetamol and a few trips to the toilet, he went for a nap.
I curled up in the recliner in the corner of the living room, reading the book I’d been looking forward to all morning. The breeze wasn’t strong, but it was pleasant, the sky now a soft blend of orange and deep blue. The view of the sunset was breathtaking.
There was no sound from Dannie’s room. There wasn’t even a time difference between Hong Kong and Malaysia, so no jet lag to explain his exhaustion. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to wake him.
I picked up my phone and automatically opened Instagram.
Chloe had posted photos of Lily at her piano recital.
Lincoln had been thrilled when she showed interest in music—so much that he replaced his upright piano with a Steinway there was no reason to keep pretending we were married. Unless… Beng was connected to the triad. And word could travel fast.
Beng stepped inside and handed me the two large bags, bowing slightly. But as soon as I took them, I felt something move.
I dropped the bags instantly. A sharp, involuntary scream ripped out of me—so loud it startled even myself. Eyes squeezed shut, I started hopping on my toes, unable to stop the wild instinct that something might crawl onto me if I stood still.
Dannie wrapped his arms around me from behind, his voice soft and teasing as he made pew pew sounds in my ear.
“It’s okay, Doc. Just some crabs. Beng brings them every time I visit.”
“What?” I blinked up at him, heart still hammering.
“Crabs,” he repeated, fighting a smile. “It’s just some crabs.”
“Okay…” I peeked one eye open, hesitating before daring the other. Beng had already scooped up the bags and was waving them in the air as he disappeared toward the kitchen. “They’re alive?”
“Yes,” Dannie chuckled. “Beng’s going to cook them for us. I forgot to tell you we had a guest today. I passed out right after messaging him.”
I wiggled out of Dannie’s arms, heat rushing to my cheeks as the realization of my overreaction hit.
“Great. So he probably thinks I’m some hysterical foreigner.”
Dannie shrugged, grinning. “It’s okay. Beng’s seen worse.”
“Did he expect me to cook? Why did he hand me the bags?”
“Tsk.” Dannie clicked his tongue, that familiar mock-serious look spreading across his face. “You’re not gonna like this.”
“What won’t I like?”
“Well…” He scratched his jaw, pretending to weigh his words. “Beng’s pretty traditional. A lot of Asian guys are, especially around here. They assume the lady of the house runs the kitchen. It’s… instinct. He probably thought you’d want to check what’s inside—or maybe even cook it yourself.”
I stared at him. “You’re actually not making that up?”
He grinned wider. “Nope. It’s a thing. But you should’ve seen your face earlier, though.”
“What? Stop it!” I nudged him, a reluctant giggle escaping despite myself. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Adorable, actually.”
I hid my face with the backs of my hands, trying to cool my cheeks that were now as hot as the tropical evening air. Our laughter tangled together, the tension dissolving into something light and warm.
“I can cook a little,” I admitted, lowering my hands, “but handling live seafood? That’s… out of my league.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky to be married to a man who can cook better than you?” His grin turned devilish.
“Baking cookies doesn’t count,” I shot back, trying for sass but ending up smiling too hard to pull it off.
“It counts, and you know it.” Dannie winked before turning toward the kitchen. “I’m going to check on Beng. You can handle a little heat in your seafood, right?”
“I can.”
“Perfect.”
“But are you sure spicy food’s a good idea?” I called after him, my tone softening. “You might have a mild fever.”
He just raised a thumbs-up over his shoulder without looking back.
Typical Dannie—too stubborn to admit weakness, even when his steps were a little too slow and his shoulders sagged more than usual.
I watched him disappear into the kitchen, listening to the clatter of pans and the faint hiss of something being washed under the tap. The air soon filled with the sharp scent of ginger and chili, mingling with the salty ocean smell from the crabs.
Somewhere between the laughter and the lingering warmth on my skin where his arms had held me, a thought settled quietly in my chest: if this was what “home” was, maybe I’d already found mine.