Page 66 of Worth Fighting For

Oh no. He’s about to suggest my place, and I can’t have that because of all the mail I get that saysMULAN HUAand the custom fridge magnet that saysMULANand the framed college degree that saysMULAN HUAand the—

“Your place,” I blurt out.

“Oh?” Shang looks surprised. “Really? I mean, sure, I don’t mind, but…” He searches my eyes and I smile like a maniac. “Okay, I guess. If you’re comfortable with that.”

“Yeah, of course.”Am I? Comfortable with the thought of the two of us working closely at his apartment?Now that the thought sinks in, I realize I am far from comfortable, but not because I feel unsafe around him. If anything, it’s the other way around. I don’t trust myself not to pounce on him.Stop it.I can be an adult and do mature, responsible adult things, even if said things are being done with the most gorgeous man alive. “Your place sounds perfect.”

Shang lives in a one-bedroom apartment in Bayview, and if anyone asked me a few days ago what I expected his place to look like, I would have said,Immaculate. Cold and austere to the point of giving psychopath vibes.But as I step inside and pause to take my shoes off, I realize how wrong I would have been.

The apartment is neat, yes, but it’s also overflowing with life—potted plants line the shelves, along with what seems like dozens of cookbooks, tastefully arranged throughout the space. Instead of the cold, metallic furniture I would have expected before, Shang’s tastes run more natural, toward wooden furniture in neutral shades. An eclectic mix of artwork decorates the walls. The overall effect is beautiful and cozy and—if I were to think of all the things I’ve slowly come to learn about Shang over the past few days—so completely and utterly him.

I follow him through the beautiful living room into the adjoining dining space. His dining table is equally welcoming—a solid wood table that fits six people, with pots of succulents in the center, next to a tray of sauces. There’s soy sauce, sesame oil, roasted sesame seeds, and a bottle of Lao Gan Ma chili crisp, all lined up neatly. I wince as I think of my own dining table, a space that is always filled with various items. Books that I’ve been reading, random pens and notepaper, old coffee cups that I haven’t bothered to clear away, a scarf that I wore in winter and never got around to tidying up, more books, a cute card a friend sent me, stacks of junk mail I meant to recycle but somehow haven’t had time to…

The open kitchen is, at a glance, incredibly spotless, especially given how much cooking probably goes on in there. “Oh my god, look how impeccable your kitchen is. I was right, you are a true psychopath,” I say. “Am I going to find a severed hand in your fridge?”

“No, I like to keep severed hands in the freezer,” Shang says.

I narrow my eyes, stride to the fridge, and open the freezer. There are plastic containers labeledCHICKEN TERIYAKI,SALMON (UNSEASONED),GARLIC HERB STEAK, and so on, all of them neatly stacked. “Who does this?” I cry.

“Um. I do? Would you also like to check the fridge section?”

“I would, actually.” I close the freezer door and open the fridge. It looks like a fridge that’s been stocked by a social media influencer, all neat rows of containers filled with various fruits and vegetables. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned out my fridge. There are possibly new specimens of penicillin growing inside it. I close the fridge door and straighten up. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.”

“Why not both?” Shang says, opening a cupboard and taking out two mugs. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” There are two stools next to the kitchen counter. I pull one out and perch on it, then rest my chin on my palm and study Shang as he moves about the kitchen. This man. This incredible, surprising mama’s boy—oh my god, that’s it. “Your mom!” I shout.

Shang slides an espresso pod into his coffee maker. “Yes, what about her?”

“I bet she comes here and cleans your place,” I say smugly.

Shang laughs. “Close, but no. I go to her place and help her tidy up once in a while. I told her to hire a cleaner, actually, but she keeps refusing.”

“Ooh, soyouhave a cleaner.”

“I don’t. I just…like cleaning.”

“Nobody likes cleaning,” I say.

“Have you been on TikTok? The number of cleaning videos on there proves you wrong.”

“Cleaning videos?”

Shang takes out a carton of milk. “You know, just videos of people cleaning their space.”

“The fact that you know about these videos delights me.”

Shang shakes his head. “I feel like a lot of things about me delight you. In the worst possible way.”

“A little, yeah. Okay, but really, this place is incredibly neat. Like, hospital-grade neat.”

“Did I not mention that cleaning is one of my many hobbies?”

“No. You said cooking is your hobby.”

“And cleaning.”

“Cooking and cleaning are your hobbies,” I say.

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