Page 2 of The Other Side of Together

Marcus and I reach the counter at the same time, but he walks behind it like he’s an employee and Guo Mama whips him with her cleaning rag before setting it on the counter. She grins as Marcus hauls her giant jar of fortune cookies from under the counter, glass clanking as he pulls off the lid.

“Hi, Guo Mama.” I smile at her, my eyes slipping toMarcus before I yank them back to her. “Just stopping by on my way home.”

“How did your class go?” She sprays the counter and dries it with the rag.

“Really well. I think I’m ready.”

“For what?” Marcus cracks open a fortune cookie, pulls out the paper, then pops both halves in his mouth and chomps while he waits for my answer. He tosses the paper in the garbage, his eyes never leaving mine, spreading blue heat on me like peanut butter.

Guo Mama turns to him and pats his shoulder, her eyes twinkling. “Miss Zhang is going to become a famous chef.”

I roll my eyes. “Not famous.”

“Wait!” Marcus’s eyes widen, tinting everything blue. Think I might be floating. “Zhang? Like Zhang’s across the street?” He jabs his finger toward the opposite wall.

Of course he doesn’t know who I am. We haven’t talked once in the ten years we’ve lived around the corner from each other. I nod. “My family’s restaurant.”

“Dude,” he breathes, nodding slowly. “That is the best freakingChinese food in the whole bay area. My dad and I are there every Tuesday night. No joke.”

Yeah, I know.

“I order the same thing every single time. Also not a joke.”

Yep. Sweet and sour pork.

“Sweet and sour pork.” He rolls his eyes, then kisses his fingers and throws them into the air like an Italian chef.

I nod. “Good choice.” My voice is thin and off balance, like it’s still stunned to be in Marcus Miller’s presence.Talkingto him. Exchanging words. Standing in the blue heat of his eyes. Lin is going to stroke. Maybe I’m stroking.

He unwraps another fortune cookie and repeats the routine before popping it into his mouth, talking around it. “Maybe the owner’s daughter could make a double order magically appear…”

I laugh. “Like right now?”

He nods, chews, swallows. “Yeah. Now, anytime. 24 hours a day. I could take it down in less than two minutes. Done it so many times.” He unwraps another cookie.

“Too bad the restaurant’s closed. Another time, maybe?”

Another time? Like this will ever happen again.

“How about this?” He chews and holds up his hand until he swallows. “I’m gonna write your fortune, and if it comes true tomorrow, you owe me a double order. You could leave it here and I’ll pick it up after practice tomorrow night. Yeah? Deal?”

I tilt my head, pressing my lips together so my crazy-girl smile can’t slip out. “Are you a fortune teller?”

He shrugs before holding out his hand for me to shake. “Guess you’ll find out.”

I glance at his hand, then shake it, stifling my inner squeal before looking back at him. “Deal.” I let go and drop my hand, balling it into a fist so tightly, my nails cut into my palm. “But if the fortune doesn’t come true, you owe me the biggest bag of sour Skittles in San Francisco.”

Guo Mama cackles, and I remember there are three of us in the shop even if the world just shrunk to Marcus-sized.

“I’m not worried.” He grins at me as he twists the lid back on the glass jar and puts it under the counter.

When my phone buzzes against my backside, I blink and pull my eyes from him, yanking it out of my pocket.

Lin: Where r u? Dying…

Marcus pulls a Sharpie from his pocket and snatches orange Post-It notes from beside the register, peeling one off and slapping it onto the counter. He leans over it, curling his arm around it so I can’t see what he’s writing. Left-handed. Explains the smudges up the side of his hand. He folds the note four times, then holds it toward me. Igrab it, but he doesn’t let go. “No looking until you get home.”

I nod. “I won’t, but maybe you should start researching where to buy gigantic bags of sour skittles. Just in case.” I yank the fortune from his hand and slip it in my pocket, breathing through the realization that I have Marcus Miller’s handwriting IN MY POCKET.

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