Page 29 of From Beijing, With Love

“Is that a yes?” Daniel asked, even though he was ninety-nine percent sure it was.

“Well, do you think you can meet me at eight o’clock tomorrow morning without being late?” Yang thought for a second, then added, “And you can’t pretend you don’t know about the tour.”

“Make that ten o’clock and we have a deal,” Daniel said, and watched that lopsided smile materialize on Yang’s face.

“Fine, ten. Don’t be late.”

CHAPTER THIRTEENYang

Daniel was late.

Yang stepped into Hotel Alium at precisely 10:01 AM, and Daniel was nowhere to be found. This didn’t surprise him, but what did surprise him was that he wasn’t bothered by it. Maybe after a lifetime of being a stickler for punctuality, he had changed. Or perhaps Daniel had worn him down.

The latter thought brought a smile to his lips when it really shouldn’t have.

“You’re late,” a familiar voice rang out from behind him. He turned to find Daniel in a sage short-sleeve button-up and white shorts. On time and weather appropriate?

Yang had seen a lot of Daniel during the past few days, but somehow being away from him for the night had made Yang forget how striking he looked, especially when his brows weren’t scrunched in worry. Then Daniel gave him a smile—a genuine one—which made Yang lose all his words when he really needed them.

“I’m kidding. You are, as always, perfectly on time. I just wanted to say that,” Daniel said, still smiling, like he actually wanted to spend the day touring Beijing.

“You are early, and you are not acting like you would rather be anywhere else. Is this the end of the world?” Yang said when he finally found his words.

“I’m going to let that slide, because I’m the bigger person.” Daniel arched his brow. “What are we doing today, Mr. Tour Guide?”

“How about the Summer Palace? You can see how the Chinese emperors vacationed,” Yang said with a shrug, like he hadn’t spent hours last night coming up with the perfect itinerary. He had only been there once as a tourist, never a tour guide, but that wasn’t going to stop him from playing the part. “Car or metro?”

“Metro?” There was an upward inflection at the end of Daniel’s sentence, like he wasn’t sure which option was the lesser evil.

“Good idea. It should be pretty empty at this hour,” Yang said, watching Daniel’s face relax a little.

The ambient temperature doubled in the span of a single step as they walked out of the hotel. The air hung heavy with humidity. Walking down the broad avenue, Yang longed for the air-conditioned interior of the car, but he wasn’t going to let that show. He didn’t regret his suggestion to take the metro but rather his own ill-conceived idea of walking three kilometers to the Tiananmen Square West station just to avoid an extra transfer. Sometimes he forgot he couldn’t treat real life like one of his lab experiments, planned solely on the basis of efficiency.

The first drop of rain—a mockery to Yang’s well-laid plan—hit when they were halfway to the station. Yang searched his messenger bag for an umbrella and found none, only four bottles of water. He’d wanted to keep Daniel hydrated on the four-hour walk through the palace grounds.

“I don’t have an umbrella.” Yang looked up at the slate sky, annoyed at the weather forecaster’s ineptitude but more at himself for not having a contingency plan.

“It’s not so bad. As the Dutch would say, we are not made of sugar—” Daniel was cut off by a clap of thunder. “On second thought …” He ducked under one of the elm trees lining the street as a sheet of rain pounded down on them.

“You are really not supposed to do that in a thunderstorm,” Yang said, dragging a reluctant Daniel out by the elbow from under the tree.

Out in the open, they were drenched in seconds. As lightning flashed overhead, Yang pointed to the shopping complex across the street. Together, they ran for it.

“What were you saying about not being made of sugar?” Yang said, catching his breath as he surveyed the shopping complex—eight floors of generic shops overlooking the cylindrical lobby. There wasn’t a single customer in sight, only the cleaner pushing a mop around.

“That’s what the Dutch say when it rains.” Daniel ran a hand through his wet hair. He gave the cleaner a small wave and a mumbled apology as he glanced behind him at the wet footprints.

“Does it rain like this over there?” Yang looked up at the glass ceiling of the lobby. The torrential downpour made it feel like a car wash.

“It drizzles in Amsterdam. Sure, it’s like a nonstop, six-days-a-week type of situation, but that out there has got to be a full-blown monsoon,” Daniel said, wiping his wet hands on his wet shirt. “Now what?”

“I guess we have to wait.” Yang checked the weather app. The sunny forecast he was promised this morning had turned into a thunderstorm. “Feel like shopping?”

Daniel surveyed the shopping complex and shrugged.

As they trudged forward, their wet shoes squeaked against the polished granite with every step. A day at the Summer Palace with Qing dynasty architecture and a scenic boat ride sailing over emerald water had turned into a soggy walk through a generic shopping mall. The day was ruined. Maybe they should just call it quits while they were behind.

“Do you—” the two of them said in unison after doing a lazy circle around the first floor without entering a single shop. Yang gestured for Daniel to go ahead. It was better that Daniel called an end to their tour—if it could even be called that.