Page 32 of From Beijing, With Love

Hello, desperation.

Then a slow smile bloomed on Yang’s lips, and Daniel forgot to be self-conscious.

Daniel had the honor of ordering by pointing to the photos. Tapping into his gluttonous side, he went on ordering until the menu ran out of pages. Yang had an amused look on his face but didn’t say anything. Daniel got the sense that maybe he’d ordered too much food only when the server moved them to a bigger table with six chairs and a lazy Susan.

Before regret even had time to set in, the servers (plural) returned, each carrying a tall stack of bamboo steamers. As they unracked the steamers one by one, filling the entirety of the lazy Susan, Daniel felt like a king.

The bite-sized soup dumplings sat in the steamer in a perfect circle, plump and with a delicately pleated top. Daniel tried to pick one up with his chopsticks, only to spear through it like a caveman. Embarrassed, he moved to do the only sensible thing—eat the evidence.

“Don’t, you’ll burn—” Yang said as Daniel dropped the dumpling into his mouth. The moment he bit into the dumpling, it gushed boiling-hot soup.

“Oh my god,” Daniel mumbled while fanning his open mouth with one hand.

Yang laughed into his fist. “Tried to warn you.”

“This is not funny.”

“Not at all,” Yang said, still wearing the grin that brought out those damn dimples. Absolutely remorseless.

“You are the worst,” Daniel said, even though at that moment, he’d burn his mouth a thousand more times if it meant Yang would keep smiling like that.

“How about I show you the proper way to eat these?” Yang said. With chopsticks in one hand and the porcelain spoon in the other, he began his tutorial. Picking up a dumpling from the steamer, he dipped it in the saucer of dark-brown liquid before placing it in his spoon. “Just a couple of seconds in the vinegar,” he instructed. Then he lifted the spoon to his lips and took a nibble, just enough to break the delicate wrapper. Soup seeped out of the dumpling, pooling in the spoon. “Now drink the soup, and eat the rest in one bite.” Yang demonstrated, somehow giving a new meaning to food porn.

Daniel wasn’t staring. Okay, maybe just a little.

“Believe it or not, it’s entirely possible to eat xiaolongbao without second-degree burns.” Yang met Daniel’s stare with a lopsided grin.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Uh, how do you pick it up without sticking your chopsticks through it?”

“Show me how you hold them.”

Daniel held his chopsticks in the nook between his thumb and index finger, feeling like he was failing a test he should have studied for. For what it was worth, his dad had taught him how to use chopsticks when he was little. “Hold it like a pencil” was what his dad had said. Daniel would blame his lack of practice on the lack of Chinese food in his life, but that excuse seemed thin given that he’d literally seen Poppy use chopsticks to eat potato chips.

“Like this?” Daniel reached for another soup dumpling, the tip of his chopsticks snagging on the wrapper and ripping it. The soup leaked out onto the white lining of the steamer.

“Maybe not quite like that,” Yang said, that smirk coming back. Then his expression softened. “I’ll work on the sarcasm, promise.”

Daniel didn’t mind the sarcasm all that much. It was Yang. And Daniel liked Yang.

Yang scooched over next to him. He held Daniel’s hand and slid the chopsticks farther down. “You are holding it too close to the tip. It limits your range of motion. Chopsticks are supposed to be an extension of your hand. Holding them too close to the tips is like chopping your fingers in half.”

Daniel might have stopped listening halfway through, because he was distracted by the feel of Yang’s fingers on his skin—warm and in control. Beijing was fucking with his head if he was getting excited by a platonic touch from a straight guy he’d met days ago—someone he was paying to spend time with him.

Sure, Yang was good-looking, if broody brows, sardonic smiles, broad shoulders, and a trim waist were your kind of thing. And after Yang fell off the trampoline, he’d thought there was a moment …

No, it was stupid. Daniel was a lonely monster, and it was all in his head.

“Thanks.” Daniel moved his hand away from Yang’s.

After a few more attempts, Daniel managed to get the dumpling from the steamer to the saucer and finally onto his spoon. The trick was to grab the dumpling by the pleated top, where the skin was the thickest. He then followed Yang’s instructions, breaking the skin with a small bite and letting the soup pool in his spoon. When he took a sip of the soup, his eyes widened.

“And?” Yang laughed.

Daniel didn’t have the words right then. The soup somehow managed to be complex, luxuriously rich, and light all at the same time. Then came the dumpling itself. The tender pork filling was bursting with an umami punch, while the delicate wrapper gave just enough of a textural contrast with its slight chewiness. The vinegar rounded out the bite by giving it a tangy balance.

“This one’s even better.” Yang pointed to another steamer of soup dumplings. They looked identical to the one Daniel had just had, except they carried a hint of a golden glow. “It’s minced pork and crab, the house special.”

Yang was right, as always. The sweet, briny crabmeat tasted like the ocean, combined with the almost creamy decadence of the crab roe and the savoriness of the pork … It was incredible.