“He’s been talking non-stop about you.”
“Mom.”
“Come on in, darlings. Let’s get you settled. I’ll introduce you to Li later. He’s down for a nap right now. His meds make him sleepy, unfortunately.”
The first thing that Eden notices is the smell of something delectably aromatic wafting from the open-concept kitchen. It’s a mix of rich herbs that Eden can’t even begin to name.
“It smells wonderful in here,” Eden comments aloud.
“I’m making us pork soup dumplings for lunch,” Xu Hong explains. “An old family recipe, passed down to me by my grandmother, and passed down to her by her grandmother. Hopefully I’ll be able to pass it down to you one day, hm?”
The comment is friendly enough, but full of suggestions that Eden isn’t entirely prepared to deal with. A part of her really wants a future with Shang, but things are still very new. Eden knows it’s just a recipe, but it’s the implication of it that has a warmth blooming in her chest. It would mean that she’s one of them. And the only way she can officially be one of them is if Shang pops the question and only if Eden accepts.
But surely they’re a ways off from that, right? It’s much too early to be entertaining thoughts like that.
What they have is really new, a little fragile, a baby bird just learning to spread its wings.
No need to go swan diving off the deep end quite yet. They agreed to go slow. And despite that, this all seems so fast.
No. There’s no need to rush at all.
Sensing her discomfort, Shang clears his throat and gently places his hand on the small of her back. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll show you upstairs. And Mom?”
“Hm?”
“I think your pot is boiling over.”
Xu Hong mutters a soft ‘aiyah’ before scurrying off to the kitchen.
Eden follows Shang up the stairs and down the hall, entering the bedroom with a sense of wonder. As far as childhood bedrooms go, this one doesn’t exactly scream out of the ordinary. There are band posters and family photos and little knick-knacks scattered about. A typical teenage boy’s room, one frozen in time. It’s a little cramped, but that’s only because Shang has long since outgrown the space. Eden wonders how on earth a man of his size is able to fit in the double tucked into the corner of the room.
The singular double bed.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Shang says.
“Don’t be silly. We can share.”
“Are you sure? I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.”
“I’ll be comfortable as long as I’m with you.”
Shang gives her the smallest of smiles. It’s sweet, almost shy. Eden’s suddenly overcome with the urge to pick him up and hide him away in her pocket, as impossible as that may be. She moseys on over so she can circle his waist with her arms, holding him tight.
“I’ve been told I snore,” he protests with a chuckle.
“And I’ve been told that I could sleep through a hurricane.”
“I’m a blanket hog.”
“That’s fine. I sleep better when it’s cool.”
“I also talk in my sleep, too.”
Eden laughs. “Do youwantto sleep on the couch? It sounds an awful lot like you’re trying to convince me not to share a bed with you.”
“No, never. Believe me. I just want to warn you that this is what you’re signing up for.” He gestures to himself. “A snoring, blanket hogging, sleep talking mess.”
She tilts her chin up and glances at his lips. “I’m all in.”
