Page 27 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

“There’s an Indonesian restaurant nearby.” Alec suddenly spunaround and sent me crashing into his chest. “I’ll text you the address. Six o’clock. If you’re not there, deal’s off.”

I couldn’t answer, because my brain must have gone on a tropical holiday somewhere. Or maybe the cellsdidshrivel up and die from listening to the podcast earlier. Perhaps, more accurately, it was because my face was firmly planted on his solid chest, which had the audacity to smell so niceandfeel so good. Both my hands shot up to anchor myself against him, and I took one tiny, reluctant step back, not wanting to extract my face and deprive myself of such a heady, glorious feeling. My traitorous nose decided to go ahead and inhale his scent again, slowly and thoroughly like it was a lifeline, before I flicked my eyes upward and met his.

My breath caught in my throat as I met his gaze, because he was staring down at me. Was it my imagination, or had his eyes turned darker?

“If someone insisted on wining and dining me, I’d jump at the offer.”

Both our heads turned at the voice. My next-door neighbor was grinning at us, her keys poised over her shop door. A dark blue, beat-up Hyundai was parked in front, next to Alec’s car, and a curly-haired woman sat behind the wheel, resting her chin in her left hand, watching us with a curious smile on her face.

I beat a hasty retreat from that solid (and annoyingly warm) chest. “Hey, Kim.”

“Hey.” She tilted her head, giving Alec a curious once-over. “Is this the building industry expert you told me about?”

“She said that?” Alec gave Kim a bright smile, cranking up to full wattage, giving me a brief flash of his dimple. I swore Kim’s eyelashes fluttered a little as he offered his hand to her. “Alec Mackenzie. Nice to meet you.”

“Kimiko Halim. That’s my housemate, Jenna Ng.” She pointed at the woman in the Hyundai, who lifted her right hand in greeting.

“Great setup you’ve got there.” Alec gestured at her shop. “Very charming.”

“That’s very nice of you to say.” Kim beamed at him. “Are you helping Ellie get her place up and running?” She gave me a not-so-discreet thumbs-up. “Does that mean we’ll be seeing a lot more of you?”

“You’ll see more of my partner, Rob. But I promise we’ll stay out of your way, so you won’t get sick of us.”

Kim chuckled, obviously thoroughly charmed. “Oh, I’m sure we won’t.”

I let out a quiet scoff. “I’m sureIwill.”

“Well, it’s been such a pleasure meeting you, Kimiko. And your housemate, too.” Alec gave the other woman—still watching from the car—a little wave. He turned back to me, his smile dimming. “I’ll see you at six.”

Without a second glance, he walked away, as Kim, her housemate, and I all watched.

After Alec had driven off, Kim finally opened her door and grinned at me. “He’s a cutie. If I were you, I’d keep him around.”

CHAPTER 8No, We Are Not Adorable

Java Spice was a hole-in-the-wall, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Indonesian restaurant, wedged between a takeaway burger place and a travel agency. Google told me it was two blocks away from Port Benedict Plaza, and a short stroll from the Waterfront. When I walked in at six fifteen just to make a point, Alec was already sitting at a small table for two at the back, chatting with an older, kind-looking Asian gentleman.

He flashed me an annoyed glance as I pulled out my chair. “You’re late.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” My knees knocked against his under the tiny table as I sat down. There was nowhere to escape, so I braced myself for the long haul.

Alec gestured at the older man. “This is Mr. Tanujaya, the owner. He makes the best beef rendang and nasi goreng in the whole country.” He pushed the menu in my direction. “But honestly, everything’s good.”

I scanned the pages, my mouth watering at the colorful photos and list of familiar food: sate ayam, nasi gudeg, soto Betawi, sopbuntut, and gado-gado drenched in peanut sauce. They also had Indonesian sweet tea and avocado juice, which I hadn’t had in forever.

When I was little and my parents still had time to spend with us on weekends, we sometimes went out for Indonesian food. I might have been born in the States, but both my mom and dad were born overseas, so they would introduce Eric and me to the different cuisines they’d grown up with. But that tradition stopped as their business expanded and they became busier. The last time I had proper Indonesian food was two years ago, when my dad’s brother and his family came from Jakarta to visit, and my young cousins were so homesick that we took them to an Indonesian restaurant to cheer them up.

“I can’t decide.” I looked up at the owner. “Can I just order everything?”

“I recommend our rendang. We make the spice paste from scratch, and the beef is slow cooked for eight hours. Very tender and melts in your mouth.”

“Sold.” I smiled at him and returned the menu. “Just a warning, I may never want to leave your restaurant, ever again.”

The older man beamed at me. “Any friend of Alec’s is always welcome here.” He half bowed at us and disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later, there was the unmistakable sound and smell of garlic being tossed into smoking hot oil, and the metal spatula scraping the wok.

“Are you a regular here? It’s cozy.” I took in the restaurant’s décor. The wall closest to our table had framed black-and-white photos of old Chinatown storehouses in Jakarta, while front-to-back mirrors covered the opposite side, lending a larger feel to the tiny restaurant. Two white lucky cats perched by the cash register, their mechanical left paws slowly swaying back and forth, often believed to bring the shop owners wealth and prosperity. Next to them was a miniature figurine of becak, the Indonesian version of a rickshaw.

“Found this place when I first moved out here. I was missing my mom’s cooking, so I went hunting for authentic Indonesian cuisine. The food’s delicious, and Mr. Tanujaya is always happy to chat whenever he’s not busy. Plus, it’s not part of the Waterfront, so I can always get a table, but close enough for a walk on the beach after.” He clasped his hands together. “Anyway, enough small talk. We’re here for business. Let’s get started.”

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