Worth Fighting For (Meant To Be #5)

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

I n the afternoon, we pack for the camping trip the next day.

“I don’t know about the wisdom of sleeping in tents,” Mushu grouses. “What if we get ambushed?”

I’m comfortable with the idea of camping, having done it several times growing up and a couple times in college, but the thought of doing it with Shang’s family admittedly makes it a tad more intimidating. Still, camping is camping is camping. “And who would ambush us?”

Mushu gestures vaguely. “I don’t know, fellow whiskey competitors? Or something in the wilderness? We are kind of off the grid here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

I shake my head. “We’ve got 5G internet and fifty people working the ranch and distillery. I’d hardly call us off-grid.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to go even deeper into the wilderness, so then we’re going to definitely be off-grid. If I were a whiskey competitor, that is when I’d choose to strike.”

“Why would you choose to strike at all—You know what? Never mind. It’s fine.” I zip up my overnight bag and brush my hands off. “Done! I’m gonna go for a walk.”

“You’re not going to help me pack?” Mushu whines.

I eye the mountain of stuff she has laid out on the bed. “Why are you taking like five different serums with you?”

“Mulan, we are going to be in the sun the entire day. I need skin protection.”

“It’s an overnight trip. We’re literally only going to be gone one night.”

“Just because you’re okay with getting age spots this early in life doesn’t mean I am.” She glowers at me. “If you’re going to stand there judging my very sensible choices, then off you go. I don’t need your help.” She puts both hands on my back and nudges me out of the room.

“Okay, okay.” I laugh. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

As I walk down the hallway, I see that the various uncles and aunties are also packing. “Zhou!” Auntie Jiayi calls out. “Are you done packing?”

“Yup. Just going to go on a w—”

“Maybe you can help Shang out with dinner,” Auntie Jiayi says. She straightens up and smiles at me with eyebrows raised.

“Uh.” Do I have to? But Auntie Jiayi has been the only member of the Li family who’s been consistently kind toward me, and I find it impossible to say no to her. “Sure.”

“Oh, good. I feel guilty because he didn’t let me help him, you know. You go to the backyard, he is prepping the meats there.”

My stomach turns. Oh no. Does that mean he’s butchering them? With renewed dread, I make my way down the stairs and out of the farmhouse. I follow the sounds of the cleaver thwacking into wood and find Shang bent over the chopping block. Sure enough, he’s descaling a large fish. Next to him is a box with two other fish, still alive.

I open my mouth to say, Need any help? but instead what comes out is:

“What is with your family and killing your food?”

Shang barely glances up, but he smiles and says, “What do you think?”

“Some kind of alpha male thing? To prove that you’re the alpha-est of the alphas?”

Shang chuckles. “Why are you obsessed with this alpha male thing?”

“Ask James that question,” I mutter, at which Shang laughs out loud.

Then he pauses and finally looks at me, wiping his brow with his arm. It’s a move that is way hotter than I would ever admit. “Did you just come here to judge me, or did you want to help? I mean, I’d be happy either way.”

My mouth stretches into a thin, flat line. “Aside from a sudden, and very brief, interest in making sourdough bread, the most elaborate meal I’ve made is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and it was a failure.”

“How does one mess up PB and J?”

“I didn’t have grape jelly, so I used leftover cranberry jelly from Thanksgiving.”

“That sounds like it would be a nice combination, actu—”

“And what I thought was peanut butter turned out to be leftover gravy.”

For a moment, Shang falls quiet. Then he opens his mouth, throws his head back, and laughs. It’s the best laugh that I have heard, pure and filled with so much unadulterated joy, I can easily picture him as a little kid. I drink in the way his eyes turn into crescent moons, his entire face going soft and tender when he laughs, and the way he places one large hand on his chest. My god, I am in so much trouble.

When Shang next meets my eye, I get the sense that something has changed between us. Just a small shift, but I can feel it. He’s looking at me in a new way, like he’s seeing me properly for the first time.

“Slide some leftover turkey in there and you’ve got yourself a great sandwich,” he says finally.

“Agreed, but I’d been expecting a PB and J, and when I bit into it and my brain registered that Hey, this isn’t peanut butter , it was so disconcerting. Ruined the entire thing.”

“Tell you what,” Shang says, “I’ll make sure to guide you every step of the way.”

“Ah!” I squeal, clapping both hands to my cheeks. “You mean,” I say breathlessly, “you’re going to mansplain everything to me? I can’t wait!”

Shang levels a flat gaze at me. “I sense sarcasm.”

“Good, because I meant to be sarcastic.”

Shang flips the cleaver in his hand and holds it out to me, handle first. “Here you go. Start with something simple—finish descaling this carp.”

I take the cleaver, then look with open distaste at the fish on the chopping block. I place my fingertips on it, resisting the full-body shudder that threatens to run through my entire being.

“Hold the blade at an angle, like this,” Shang says, putting a hand over mine for just a second before letting go. “Now hold the fish firmly—”

Nothing to it. I grip the fish, biting back my grimace, and hold it fast.

“Now slide the blade down—”

I do so, and a shower of silvery scales flies up, spattering across my face. I sputter and drop the fish. I look at Shang and he, too, is covered in scales. Wordlessly, Shang reaches out and his thumb and forefinger graze my cheek, leaving a fiery trail where they touched. My mouth parts, but when Shang pulls his hand back, there is a scale caught between his thumb and forefinger.

“I forgot to tell you to angle the fish this way,” he says.

It’s a strain to bite back my laughter. I drag my attention back to the fish and this time make sure to angle it so that when I slide the cleaver down, the scales fly away from me and Shang. It takes a surprisingly long time to get rid of all the scales, and by the time I’m done, my hands are aching from the effort. I stretch them and try not to make a disgusted face as I watch Shang deftly gut the fish.

“What got you into this?” I say.

“By ‘this’ do you mean cooking, or…”

I shake my head. “Plenty of people are into cooking. Not so many people would kill their own ingredients first, though.”

Shang smiles, and it strikes me that this is perhaps the most relaxed I’ve seen him. “Well, what got me into butchering was cooking, believe it or not. When I was growing up, my mom would cook for the both of us. She made the most amazing dishes, and I spent all of my free time in the kitchen with her. But then she developed arthritis in her hands, so I slowly took over. We spent most of our time together in the kitchen, with her guiding me while I cooked.”

Damn it, how dare he have such a sweet backstory. It’s become a real struggle to keep my Zhou mask on around him. “That’s really nice, but like I said, plenty of people cook without feeling the need to butcher?” I wonder if perhaps that came out sharper than intended, but Shang doesn’t seem to mind.

“Funny you say that,” he says. “My mom’s always complaining about how sterile everything is here. She’d tell me how back in China, her family butchered their own meats, and so it made them more thoughtful and careful about what they ate. They didn’t have meat most days; maybe only once or twice a week. Of course, that’s not the case in the big cities, but my family, like yours, isn’t from a big city. It got me thinking about how over here, we get our meats in these neat packages. My nephew didn’t even know that beef comes from cows. He was like, ‘It’s beef, it’s from a hamburger!’”

We both laugh, and he continues: “It’s really cute, but it’s also sort of sad in a way. I resolved to learn more about food, about where it comes from and about being a responsible consumer. I visited meat factories, and what I saw”—he grimaces—“it made me not want to eat factory meats. Back in the city I usually eat vegetarian, and it’s only when we come out here to the ranch that I eat meat, and even then, I want to make sure that I’m respecting the meal by not sterilizing myself from it. I hate killing these animals, just so you know. It makes me lose my appetite a little bit, but better that than pretending that I’m not eating what used to be a live animal.”

Shang speaks with so much compassion, without any traces of judgment in his voice. After a while, all I can say is “Wow.”

Shang grins. “Sorry, did that sound as obnoxious to you as it did to me?”

“No, not at all. It makes sense, actually.” I think of the many rows of neatly packaged meats at the supermarkets I go to and how I’ve never once thought about how far removed we are from the food we’re eating. How I, too, don’t think of the fact that beef comes from cows; I know it on an intellectual level, of course, but haven’t taken the time to really consider what that means.

“So,” Shang says, “would you like to do the honors? The fam has requested roast goose.”

My mouth drops open in horror as excuses ram through my head. Baba would agree to do it. But this is where I draw the line. “I—don’t—uh—”

Shang laughs again. “I was just teasing. I wouldn’t ask you to butcher your first whole goose here. That would be animal cruelty.”

“Not to mention Zhou cruelty.”

“Yes, that too. But you could help me pluck the goose feathers.”

I can’t find a good enough reason not to help with that, and so I do. It’s an exhausting, disturbing affair, and my hands are cramping by the time I’m done. Also, I have zero appetite for goose meat now. I watch Shang clean the goose and prep it for the oven.

“We need to make sure the skin is really dry so it gets extra crispy when we roast it,” he says.

“How do you know all this?”

“How do you know which companies are worth acquiring?” he says.

“Through careful market research and meticulous due diligence,” I answer smartly.

“Okay, mine’s a little bit less clinical than that.” Shang says. “If you must know, I mostly learned through watching YouTube videos. And from my mom. Honestly, I’m grateful that I was mostly raised by my mom. What little I remember of my dad was okay, but not amazing. He reminded me a lot of my uncles. You know, with all that ‘You must be a man’s man’ bullshit.”

My eyebrows knot. Everything I thought I knew about Shang pointed to him being the biggest man’s man. And yet here he is, soft and vulnerable in an utterly disarming way. Could it be that he’s been wearing a mask of his own and I’m only now seeing it slip?

“Okay, I think this is ready to go in the oven.” Shang lifts the goose and carries it to a huge pizza oven that he’s warmed up in advance. He sticks the goose inside and closes the door before turning back to me. “Now let’s do the fish.”

While I chop up various vegetables, Shang deep-fries the fish, filling the air with an incredibly savory smell. He places the cooked fish onto huge metal platters, then whips up a mouthwatering Szechuan chili sauce, which he pours over the fish. To finish it off, he puts fresh Szechuan peppers, chopped chilies, and cilantro on top before dousing it with boiling hot oil. The oil sizzles as it hits the garnish, and I find that I’m practically drooling. He takes the vegetables from me and throws them into a pot of half-cooked rice, then asks if I could do the salad, before going back to whipping up yet another delectable dish.

Before long, the outdoor dining table is groaning under the weight of at least ten amazing dishes, each one more delicious than the last. Everyone gathers, and glasses are filled to the brim and plates loaded up with steaming-hot food.

“Zhou, you eat more,” Auntie Chuang says, piling huge scoops of rice and sweet braised soy sauce pork onto my plate. “You are so skinny, you need to gain more weight to get good baby-bearing hips.”

My parents have never said such things to me, but I’ve grown up around enough immigrant families to not be taken aback by it. I thank Auntie Chuang and return the favor by spooning food onto the elders’ plates.

“Zhou, what is your astrology?” Auntie Chuang says.

“She told you before, she is a dragon,” Auntie Jiayi says.

“Oh yes!” Auntie Chuang claps. “James here is a rooster, very good match for dragon.”

I’m also not a stranger to these avenues of conversation, but the fact that it’s James who’s being pushed on me makes it that much more awkward. I try to keep a straight face as I heap more food onto Auntie Lulu’s plate.

“Pah, you are speaking rubbish. We’ve settled this a long time ago,” Auntie Lulu says to Auntie Chuang. “My Thomas is a rat, a rat is the best match for dragon. The rat is the smartest animal in the Chinese horoscope, it is fast and thinks outside the box. It will lead the dragon to big success.”

“Hah!” Auntie Jamie says. “You two don’t know what you talking. The best match for dragon is my Ryan. He is also a dragon. Two dragons, oh my, can you imagine what fire?” She grins meaningfully at Ryan and me, and just in case we didn’t get the message, she adds, “There will be much passion.”

“Mom!” Ryan moans.

“Oh god,” I murmur. I scoop more food onto Auntie Lulu’s plate, only to find that I’ve filled her plate to overflowing. “Sorry!” I cry, grabbing napkins.

The aunties all laugh. “Oh dear, Jamie, you and your dirty mind have embarrassed poor Zhou!” Auntie Chuang says. Then she turns to me and says, “Zhou, don’t be so shy, we know you young people are filled with the hormones. It is nothing to be ashamed of, it’s what leads to grandbabies.”

“Stoppp,” James groans. “If you guys don’t behave, we’re going to go eat at a separate table.”

“What about me, aunties?” Mushu chirps. “I’m a monkey, who’s a good match for me?”

“Ah, you are a monkey!” Auntie Jamie cries. “Christopher is a snake, you two are the perfect match! Your babies will be so intelligent, will definitely get into Harvard.”

Mushu eyes Christopher, who sips his whiskey sour quietly, his cheeks burning red. “Why not?” she says cheerfully, and, picking up her plate, she goes and sits next to him. The aunties and uncles burst out laughing and cheering.

“Wah, Jamie, maybe you will have a daughter-in-law by next year, eh?” Uncle Hong calls out.

Despite how embarrassed I’m feeling, I can’t help laughing along with them. My family is on the quieter side, and I relish the lighthearted raucousness of the Li family. I pick up my plate and find an empty seat, which happens to be next to Shang. On Shang’s other side is his mother, and he’s cutting up her food into bite-size pieces.

“Zhou, are you doing okay?” Auntie Jiayi says. “Shang says you help him out a lot with the cooking.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I helped out ‘a lot.’ I mostly just stood there and watched.”

“She helped descale the fish and clean the goose,” Shang says.

“Hence why I’m not having any of the goose,” I say, gesturing to my plate.

Auntie Jiayi laughs. “I remember when I was little, I saw my mother kill chicken for the first time. There was so much blood! I didn’t eat chicken for a whole year after that.”

I laugh, too. “Yep, exactly.”

“There you go, Ma,” Shang says, pushing the plate of neatly sliced-up food toward her.

“Thank you, Er zi.” Auntie Jiayi gazes at him with obvious fondness. “He is a very good boy, he cuts up food for me because of my arthritis, you know.”

My heart swells. The thing with mama’s boys is that they’re known to be spoiled and self-centered, never thinking of anyone other than themselves. But Shang is a mama’s boy in the best possible sense of the term, looking after his mom with such understated kindness, never once calling attention to the way he takes care of her. Maybe I was wrong to judge him as a toxic alpha male. I watch him for a bit and notice the way he subtly does this and that to make things easier for Auntie Jiayi, like placing extra napkins next to her plate and moving her drink closer to her. He does all of it without saying a word, giving his mother the dignity of feeding herself but making her aware that he’s there to help if she needs it. Okay, I should definitely not be noticing such things about my potential business partner. Pretending to be Baba is already so unethical. Going down the romance route with Shang would only make everything worse. I force myself to drag my gaze away from him.

The food is, as always, sumptuous. I have second and third servings and by the time we’re done, everyone is leaning back in their chairs and rubbing their stomachs while groaning happily.

“Shang, you’ll make someone a lovely wife,” James calls out.

“It’s the twenty-first century,” I snap, “are you really still stuck in such old-fashioned gender roles?”

“Aw, come on, loosen up,” James says. “I’m just kidding. Good job cooking, Shang. Whatever girl I marry, I hope she cooks as well as you do.”

“Thanks,” Shang says, and gives me a quick wink. He’s obviously unbothered by James’s heckling.

After a few more minutes of chatting, the uncles and aunties get up, stretching, and start shuffling back into the house, leaving the cousins and Mushu and me behind.

“All right, boys, saddle up, we’re off to the Squealing Pig,” James says. Then he seems to remember my and Mushu’s presence, and adds, “And girls.”

I look warily at James. “Um, don’t we have an early start tomorrow?”

“We do,” James says. “But who cares? Who needs sleep when they’re young, am I right?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” I say. “As fun as the Squealing Pig sounds.”

“Uh-uh,” James says. “No can do. It’s part of our ritual. Come on, touch up your makeup or whatever you girls need to do and meet out front in ten.”

Is he humanly capable of saying anything that does not make him sound like a complete douche? I walk toward Mushu, who is deep in conversation with Christopher. “Sorry, Christopher, I just need to borrow my cousin for a sec.”

The two of us walk to the far side of the backyard. “What’s up?” Mushu says.

“Did you hear what James said? We’re going to a place called the Squealing Pig?”

“Oh yeah, Chris told me about it. They’ve got one of those mechanical bulls. I’ve always wanted to ride one.”

“Oh my god, you’re not in college anymore, Mushu,” I groan. “A mechanical bull? Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with that? Sounds fun to me.”

“Oof.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We’re setting off early in the morning tomorrow, so let’s not stay out too late.”

“We’re trying to win over clients,” she points out. “What would your father do?” And to that, I have nothing to say.

The Squealing Pig is about as bad as I was expecting. It’s a bar in the middle of the town center, and even from a block away, I can hear music blaring out of the space. And once we get inside, the thumping bass is so loud that it reverberates all the way through my bones. I can feel my teeth chattering to the stomping rhythm. It seems to be a cross between a Western-style bar and a nightclub, and the patrons here are probably mostly people from the city who stay at nearby ranches and have come for the full ranch experience—there are plenty of cowboy hats and cowboy boots being worn. Still, Zhou, or Ranch Mulan, would plunge into this whole thing headfirst in the name of pleasing her potential business partner. I give my head a little shake, trying to perk myself up. I can do this. I am Ranch Mulan. Ranch Mulan does things like chop firewood and shear sheep. What’s a little romp through a nightclub?

The group makes its way through the crowd to the bar, where James orders everyone except Shang and Thomas, the designated drivers, a shot of tequila. The last time I had a shot was in senior year of college, and my roommate and I ended the night taking turns puking, so I take the shot slowly instead of downing it like everyone else does. Even so, the drink burns a fiery trail down my throat, making me cough.

“To the ranch life!” James hoots.

The others cheer along, Mushu loudest of them all. James orders another round, and Shang says, “Take it easy, man, we’ve got a full day of riding tomorrow.”

“Some of us want to actually live while we’re young,” James says, and passes around the second shot.

I look down at my half-full shot glass in one hand and a newly filled glass in the other. I meet Shang’s eye and he shrugs at me, as though to say I shouldn’t drink it if I don’t want to, but then James claps me on the shoulder and says, “What the hell? She hasn’t even finished her first drink! And you think you’ve got what it takes to run a whiskey company?”

“James—” Shang says in a warning tone, but I shake my head.

“You’re right,” I say, and in one smooth motion, I down the full shot glass and chase it with the half-full one.

James cheers as I try hard not to gag. Someone thrusts a glass of ice water into my hand. Shang. I nod at him with gratitude and chug the water. It feels as though the tequila is rushing through my veins, and the next moment, I feel my limbs relaxing as the drinks take effect. Maybe it’s not so bad after all, taking shots. A warm glow rises from my belly and fills the rest of me with a relaxed, quiet joy. I ease into the music, letting my body sway along to it. We all snake onto the dance floor, joining the crowd, and for the next hour or so, I lose myself in the music. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out dancing, and I’ve forgotten how much I enjoy it. The only reason I stop dancing after a while is because my feet, inside the new boots, are absolutely killing me. I hobble off the dance floor, only to be yanked to one side by Mushu.

“Mechanical bull time!” she hollers.

Mushu is first to go on, and she manages to last ten whole seconds before being flung off, at which point James hops on and is unceremoniously tossed off within two seconds. Mushu nudges me forward, and I take a deep breath and step toward the bull. I don’t meet Shang’s eye, but I can feel his gaze on me as I climb on. Back in high school, I did gymnastics. I wasn’t good enough to compete at the regional level, but I was decent, and as I settle on the bull, my reflexes kick in, my thighs tightening around it, my core strong, but the rest of me relaxed and fluid. The bull starts up and I move along with it, taking controlled breaths and imagining myself as a bamboo stalk whipping around in a gale. Strong core, flexible upper body. The crowd gets louder the longer I stay on, and the bull bucks harder and harder, until it becomes almost humanly impossible to cling on. Just before I lose my grip the bull winds down, and I climb off, my entire body buzzing with adrenaline, and bow to the wild cheering of the crowd. When I straighten up, I lock eyes with Shang. There’s that look again, like he’s half surprised, half amused. His eyes linger on mine before trailing down to my parted lips.

“Woo! That was awesome!” Mushu cries, grabbing me and leading me past Shang back to the bar.

I’m out of breath and my cheeks feel hot and I don’t remember when the last time was I’ve had so much fun. What with the endorphins coursing through me, I almost forget about how much pain my feet are in. Almost.

“Damn, you were amazing up there!” Mushu cries.

I grin and take a huge gulp of ice water. Shang slips through the crowd, coming to my side. He stands close enough to me that I can see each ridiculously long eyelash of his.

“Nice job on the bull,” he says.

Before I can reply, James, Christopher, Thomas, and Ryan stumble to the bar. “Dang, Zhou!” Christopher shouts. “Who would’ve thought you had it in you?”

I cock my head to one side and say, “What, like it’s hard?”

“We have Elle Woods in the house!” James crows.

There’s a presence behind me. I turn around and see a tall, well-built man standing uncomfortably close to me. I consider taking a step back, but I was here first and he’s kind of encroaching on my personal space.

“Saw you up there on the bull,” he says in a low voice.

“Okay,” I say. I turn away from him.

“The way you rode it, phew.” He whistles.

The hair on the back of my neck rises.

“I always knew you Asian girls were wild, but man.” He shakes his head and leers at me.

I begin inching away from him, but Mushu is suddenly behind me, whispering, “Everyone’s watching, you can’t just walk away from this. You gotta show them you’re strong enough to stand up to this shit.”

“What?” I hiss.

“Oh, hey, there’s two of you,” the man says, his grin growing wider. “What’re you two ladies whispering about?”

I glance around us. Sure enough, James, Christopher, Ryan, and Thomas are watching with interest, while Shang looks about ready to murder the guy. Oh god, against all that is sensible in the universe, somehow Mushu is right. If I were to back down right now, no doubt James would report back to the uncles and aunties and let them know that I am too weak to take over their company. Ranch Mulan would definitely not be backing down. Fighting every instinct of mine, I raise my eyes to meet the man’s leering gaze and glare at him.

“Ooh, she’s a fighter, this one,” he says. “I like it when they fight.” He glances over his shoulder and to my dismay, this guy has friends with him, and they all look as ready for trouble as he does.

I pick my words carefully. “We don’t want any trouble, so why don’t we forget this happened and go our separate ways, yeah?”

“Or why don’t you let me buy you and your doppelg?nger here a drink?”

I grit my teeth. Mushu and I look nothing alike, but of course to him we’re doppelg?ngers . “No, thanks.”

“Listen, bitch—”

“Damn it, she said no!” Mushu snaps, hopping forward. She trips, slamming into me, and I experience the next moment in slow motion as I stumble. I watch my drink smash into the man’s chest. Icy water splashes all across his face. I watch his face contort in a picture of rage, the veins in his neck bulging, his teeth gritting, his forehead turning red. His hand shoots up to grab me, and my survival instincts kick in and I lift my hand, palm up. The heel of my palm meets his nose. It’s not hard enough to break anything, but it’s a healthy bop on the nose, a sensitive place, and he screams in pain.

Everything happens in a rush. Shang is suddenly in between me and the man, and his friends are clambering forward, fists are being swung, and Mushu has picked up a chair and is holding it over my head while bellowing, and what the hell is happening? I duck under someone’s fist and hold out my foot. Someone else trips over it. When I look up, I meet Shang’s eye and he raises his eyebrows, apparently impressed by me.

“All right, that’s enough!” the bartender bellows, and a group of burly men appear, plucking people off each other as easily as though they were mother bears yanking their cubs away.

One of them pulls me up by the elbow. Shang is immediately there, holding off the guy and saying, “Easy there. We’re leaving.” He places a gentle hand on my back and together, we weave through the crowd and spill out into the cold night air.

Outside, I brace my palms on my thighs, trying to catch my breath. Shang hurries me along. “Come on, before those guys come out and look for more trouble.”

“Mushu—”

“She’s with the others.”

Sure enough, a few paces away, Mushu calls out, “See you back at the house, homies!” She waves to me.

“Let’s go,” Shang says, and I stumble after him. We get inside his car and lock the doors. The silence buzzes in my ears.

I clap my hands to my cheeks. They’re numb. “Oh my god, what happened in there? Did we really just get into a bar fight? A literal bar fight?”

Shang glances at me, amused, as he backs the car out of its parking spot. “Yep, I believe that was what we were in.”

“Oh my god,” I gasp. “I can’t believe it. I don’t get into bar fights. I—I drink matcha lattes.”

Shang snorts. “People who drink matcha lattes don’t get into bar fights?”

“No!” I cry. “Especially not those who order theirs with oat milk,” I add.

Shang throws his head back and laughs. “Oh wow, definitely not bar-fight material then. But you know what? For someone who drinks oat milk matcha lattes, you did really well. You took out, like, two guys back there.”

Somehow, despite the ridiculousness of our night, joy, sparkling like champagne, is bubbling through my limbs. A slow smile spreads across my face, taking over my entire expression. “I did,” I say, softly at first, then louder. “I really did, didn’t I? Did you see the way I tripped that guy over? He was twice my size and I took him down just like that.” The pride I feel right now is real. Nothing to do with the Ranch Mulan persona, or the Zhou persona, or any of it. For the first time in a long while, I don’t think: What would Baba do? I don’t care, not in this moment. I want to be carried away with the giddiness of what just happened.

“Power move,” Shang says, still laughing.

“And the way I punched that guy in the nose—”

“Hmm, I don’t know that I would call it a punch,” Shang says. “It was more like a smack. But was it really a smack? I saw your face when you did it, you looked more shocked than he did.”

“That’s because I was shocked!” I cry, gasping with laughter. “I didn’t—I wasn’t even thinking, I just raised my hand—I remember reading that you shouldn’t punch with your fist, because you run the risk of breaking your thumb, so you should do it with the heel of your palm, and I just—I just did it.” I stare at Shang for a second, mouth agape. “All these years I thought I was meant to be in finance, but what if I missed my calling as an MMA fighter?”

“Oh yeah, the UFC missed out there.” Shang grins at me. Then his grin fades and he gazes at me with a new expression. “Jokes aside, what you did back there…I really did not see that coming.”

My chest turns warm. Self-doubt begins to creep in. Did I completely misjudge the situation back at the bar? But when I glance back at him, he’s shaking his head in awe.

“I mean, that was—It was pretty amazing,” he says. “You are unexpected in so many ways.”

“In good ways?” I tease.

“Very much so,” he says, and the seriousness in his voice makes the back of my neck break out into a sweat. I sneak another glance at him, but he seems content to stare down the road, so I tell myself to resume breathing normally and try to forget the sudden intense moment.

For a while, we drive in comfortable silence, enjoying the long, deserted road. I look through the windshield and am surprised by the sheer amount of stars glittering in the dark sky. Back in the city, the stars are never quite so visible due to the light pollution, but now here they are, shining in all their glory. We stop at a red light. “I’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful,” I say.

“Yeah,” Shang replies.

I glance over at him and catch him looking at me. It only lasts a split second before he tears his eyes away from me and focuses on the road.

And because I’m buzzing with adrenaline and alcohol, I say, “That was a total romance novel moment, you know.”

Shang keeps his eyes steadfastly on the road, waiting patiently for the light to turn green. “What was?”

“When I said I’ve never seen anything so, uh…” My voice falters. Am I really about to explain the whole thing about something being beautiful and him saying yes while looking at me? My entire face burns. I’m not quite as drunk as I need to be to have this conversation with him right now. “Never mind.”

Shang turns to look at me, and I spot the playful smirk he’s wearing. I narrow my eyes at him. “You totally knew what I was talking about!”

“No idea,” he says, full-on grinning now.

“You’re about as convincing as my cousin’s toddler when he swears he doesn’t know where all the cookies went.”

Shang laughs. “That obvious, huh?” He glances over at me again, and this time, his smile is so soft that I can no longer deny it. That change in him. No, not in him, but between us. We’re no longer employees from two companies. We’re two people whose masks are slipping despite our best efforts.

What would B—

I shush the voice in my head. I’m so tired of wondering what other people would do. I know exactly what I want to do, and maybe it’s time to stop pretending. Slowly, achingly slowly, I lean over toward Shang. His eyes widen for a split second, then he leans over toward me, too. In the silence of the car, the rhythms of our breathing are so loud. Our lips are mere inches away when there’s a sudden honk behind us. We jump, jerking back.

“Light’s green,” I blurt out, my entire head burning with embarrassment.

“Yeah,” Shang mutters. We drive some way in painful silence before he says, “You should get some rest. I’m driving pretty slowly because it’s so dark out here, so it’ll take a while before we get home.”

“Good idea,” I say. My heart feels like it’s no longer in my chest but thumping somewhere inside my skull. Did I really almost kiss Shang? I’m definitely blaming that on the tequila. Okay, I can’t dwell on that right now because if I think about it even for a second longer, I am going to implode. Instead, I settle back in my seat and replay the bar fight in my mind. I’ve never done anything even remotely close to that ever in my lifetime. And though it’s something I never want to do again, it’s certainly a memory I’ll treasure for a long, long time. And, despite the strange almost-kiss, I feel so warm and safe now, in the car with Shang, driving into the darkness, where it feels as though we are the only two people in the whole world. I never expected to feel quite so safe with him. When my eyes drift shut and I start to doze off, I do so with a small smile on my lips.