Bea stood at the sink, rinsing the plates, her hands moving as she did a mental replay of the night. Somewhere between the jjigae and the fruit tray, it had hit her: Gage had taken off his shoes like a regular person. Sat at her family table. Survived his first Cruz dinner.
If the meal had been too spicy, he never once telegraphed that. If the questions had gone too deep, he hadn’t bristled. It felt surreal—and yet, somehow, it made everything more real than ever.
Umma was packing leftovers into glass containers with the quiet efficiency of someone who didn’t waste good food.
“He doesn’t talk much,” she said mildly, not looking up.
Papa, towel in hand, dried a plate. “He listens, though. Watched you the whole night like he was taking your lead.”
Bea kept her expression neutral, though her brain was spiraling like a laundromat dryer on high.
Was that a good thing? Was he too quiet? Should she have prepped him more? Should she have made him sit farther from the gochujang?
This was the first time she’d ever brought someone home like this. Not a school crush, not a date. A boyfriend. A billionaire. And still—still—she wasn’t sure it would be enough.
Was that as crazy as it sounded?
“You guys…” she said slowly, trying to sound casual, “…did you like him?”
“I liked him,” Umma said. “But I don’t know him. Yet.”
Papa nodded. “He was respectful. Didn’t pretend to be casual. He’s also…serious.”
“Too serious?” Bea asked, turning off the water.
There was a short delay before he replied, “I didn’t say that.”
Umma stacked the banchan in neat rows inside the fridge. “He didn’t try to impress us. That’s good. But then, he probably doesn’t need to most of the time. He would be used to people adjusting tohim.”
Bea wiped the water around the sink as she considered that. Or maybe just swirled it in useless circles. Hard to say.
Papa leaned his hip against the edge of the sink, drying his hands. “He respects you. But a man like that…”
She paused, sponge in hand. Looked up at him. Waited.
“Does he know how to share a life? Or would he more…provide one?”
That one hit. Right in the chest. She reached for a towel she didn’t need. “We’re not even talking about that yet, Papa. It hasn’t been that long.”
Lie. Or at least…a technicality. They hadn’t used the word future, but whatever this was, it didn’t feel temporary. Not even a little bit. And her parents could feel it.
Papa chuckled, easing the tension. “At least he didn’t catch fire at the jjigae. Even took seconds.”
“And only took the pieces closest to him,” Umma added, as if this were the key observation of the night. “Didn’t reach across like a gorilla.”
“Kept the rice spoon clean,” Papa said, eyes twinkling as he glanced at Umma—the look of a man with a long, painful history of rice spoon infractions.
Umma swatted at him, smiling.
Bea exhaled a laugh. “So we’re saying he…passes?”
“Preliminary round, mija,” Papa said. “Don’t get too excited.”
It bordered on absurd. Gage King, who had enough social capital and training to charm royalty, who could command a boardroom and navigate any diplomatic dinner, wasstill pending reviewby her parents. She nearly laughed out loud.
“We know he’s rich, Bea. But in our eyes,he’slucky to haveyou,” Umma said, voice soft but certain.
Papa wiped his hands on the cloth. “What matters to us most is how he treats you. What he brings out in you. That’s what we’re watching.”
