“Coming right up!”
Carrying the plate, I follow Tae to the front of the Tea House. It’s strange to see the place without the constant stream of customers. With the shutters down, we’re sealed away from the outside world in our own special place.
“Take a seat.” Tae leads me to a squat table in a cozy corner nook with two plush armchairs. I settle in, checking out the nearby bookcase full of exotic cookbooks that are half-hidden by a giant indoor plant scaling up the walls.
After making sure I’m comfortable, Tae goes behind the counter, ruffling around for something before returning to light the tea lights in pretty pink jars in the middle of the table. Hanging windchimes catch the dim light, making the room resemble a magical fairy grotto. He then returns to the drink making station, relying on only the candles and the scant amount of moonlight filtering through the shutters to see as he makes our drinks. I lean back against the velvet cushions to watch him work, the smell of cinnamon filling the air.
“Here you go.” Tae carefully sets down our drinks, a cinnamon-sprinkled heart on top, teeming with foam.
I take a sip, the sweet liquid warming me. The spicy scent reminds me of holidays, snuggling up in winter clothes by the fire and laughing with my family. I love how tastes hold memories, how one bite can transport you back to another time. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve always loved baking.
I nibble the corner of my shortbread as Tae sits down. It’s the perfect texture, buttery sweetness exploding across my tongue. It could possibly do with a little lemon zest to make it feel morein keeping with the season, but despite that, it’s simply delicious. We settle in to enjoy our drinks and sweets, talking about anything and everything.
“It wasn’t easy being half Korean where I was from,” Tae shares while regaling me with tales about his upbringing. “A small town can be pretty close-minded. It didn’t help that I used to be the skinniest and shortest guy in my class either.”
“I don’t know if I believe that.” I squint at him. He’s easily 6′, and from what I can see, he looks to be in amazing shape. He doesn’t have bulging muscles, but he’s toned with long legs and broad shoulders, like a surfer.
“I guess I was an ugly duckling.” Tae sips from his mug. “Puberty gave me a glow-up. Being so small as a child made me accept that it’s unlikely I’d be an alpha, too. So many guys are so obsessed with the idea of being one that they’re crushed when they learn their designation.” He wipes some foam from his upper lip. “I’ll never understand it.”
“So you’ve always been happy to be a beta?”
“I am what I am.” Tae raises a shoulder. “My designation has never mattered to me. I’ve always just wanted to be comfortable in my own skin. Things got better when I realized that how I feel about myself is more important than how other people see me.”
I nod as he continues, sampling the cinnamon bun next. The caramelized sugar and melt-in-my-mouth texture is indescribable.
“It took me a while to get to that point. Being the only kid eating bibimbap while everyone was eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made me stick out.”
“I haven’t had a lot of Korean food,” I admit. “But I’d love to try it. I made some mean kimchi last summer.”
“Kimchi!” He touches his chest. “The key to my heart.”
“I get how you feel about standing out, though,” I say earnestly. “Thankfully, where I grew up, I didn’t have a lot ofproblems being black, but I know that’s rare. I’m sorry you didn’t have a similar experience. Some people are the worst.”
He flicks his wrist as if there’s no need to apologize, but I can tell there’s still some lingering wounds there, no matter how much he tries to cover it. Because of how easy he is to talk to, it’s hard to imagine the easy-going guy before me being anything but popular.
“What’s your verdict on the famous cinnamon buns?” He looks at my plate which only has crumbs on it. I’d lick it clean if it weren’t rude.
“Delicious.” I smack my lips. “Thank you. And that was the best chai I’ve ever had.”
“An extra dash of cinnamon with a tiny bit of pumpkin spice is always a hit.”
“Let me help you clean up,” I offer as he goes to take my plate, grabbing my own cup and saucer. “It’s the least I can do.”
“If you insist.”
I grin. If I’d asked to help an alpha like that, some of the alpha-holes I’ve known would have taken offense, like I was questioning their masculinity or something. As nice as it is to be spoiled sometimes, that’s one part of the omega-alpha dynamic that I struggle with. Many alphas don’t let their omega partners do anything for themselves. While being waited on can have upsides, I enjoy taking care of the people I love.
We carry the dirty dishes back into the kitchen, where Tae fills the sink with soapy bubbles. The rich espresso and coconut notes of his scent are denser in the compact kitchen. My feet step closer to him of their own accord, my body gravitating to his comforting presence.
He scoops up a load of bubbles then covers his chin with them. “What do you think?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Does a beard suit me?”
“Hello, Santa.” I snort. “You’re ridiculous.”
He shakes his head, sending suds flying everywhere. “So I’ve been told.”
“You look good without the beard.”
“You think I look good, huh?”
