Page 68 of Worth Fighting For

“Correct.” I hand the freshly washed cabbage to Shang.

“But you don’t care about doing it in front of me.”

“Nope,” I say cheerfully.

Shang laughs. “You know what? I’m honored. It means you’re comfortable around me.”

“Yeah.” My voice trails off in wonderment. This is it. No more roles. No more hiding. “I am comfortable around you, Shang,” I say quietly.

Shang looks up from the chopping board. Our eyes meet, and the air between us grows thick. “I am, too.” He puts down the knife and reaches out, touching my cheek gently, his thumb grazing my skin, and it feels like I’m being touched for the first time. “I really like you, Zhou.”

That name again. But this time, I don’t let it break me. I accept the stabbing guilt and then push it aside. It’s wrong, I know it, but I want this so much. I like him so much, and we’re finally here, in a space where we’re alone, where we don’t have to speak in whispers, where we don’t have to be Work Shang and Work Mulan, where we can simply be. I reach up and twine my arms around Shang’s neck.

“Maybe,” I say, “dinner can wait?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Afterward, I dress in one of Shang’s buttoned shirts and sit at the kitchen counter, watching as he cooks. I know I’m gazing at him with open adoration, but I don’t care, because as he moves around the kitchen, Shang throws glance after glance at me, as though he can’t bear to take his eyes off me, even for a minute. The two of us have spent so much energy trying to ignore or push aside our attraction toward each other that it’s a relief to not have to pretend anymore.

“You’re gonna burn my chow mein if you keep looking over at me,” I tease.

Shang snorts, shaking his head. He sneaks a quick look at me before wrenching his gaze back to the wok. “It’s just—you look so cute in my shirt.”

“I know,” I say with all the confidence in the world.

“You know, huh?”

“Yeah. Listen, I know I’ve got shortcomings, but not looking cute in a man’s shirt is not one of them.” My god. Who is this witty, confident person who’s comfortable in her own skin and can make jokes without second-guessing herself all the time?

Shang does that laugh of his again, the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, and I can’t help but bite my lip as I smile stupidly wide. “Okay, well, you’re right about this one,” he says finally. He finishes frying the chow mein and serves it up into bowls.

“It smells amazing.” I stab my chopsticks into the bowl and pick up a huge tangle of saucy, greasy noodles. I take a big mouthful and then have to put my hand over my mouth as I breathe in and out to try and cool the noodles down. I’ve burned my tongue for sure, but oh my god, it was worth it. The chow mein is savory, with a nice charred flavor from the wok, the noodles are still chewy, and the sauce Shang has cooked it in hits all the right spots. “Best chow mein I’ve ever had.”

“Wow, high praise.” Shang does the same as I did, picking up an extra-huge serving of noodles before shoving them in his mouth. This time, he hiccups after swallowing and has to gulp some water to help the food down.

I laugh. “Noob.”

“You know what, though? You’re right. It does taste better when you take a huge bite like that. Whoa. Who would’ve thought?”

“Me. I would’ve thought.”

Shang’s gaze turns tender. “You’re amazing, Zhou. There’s something about you that just—” He shakes his head. “I can be fully myself around you. Only with you.”

It feels as though my heart is both bursting with joy and shriveling up with guilt, all at once. “I agree,” I say quietly. God, I want so badly to tell him the truth. All of it. Or at the very least the most important part, that my name isn’t even Zhou. But he’s also right in that, ironically, despite my deceit, I feel like I can be fully myself around him, and only him.

Shang leans against the counter, looking down at me, then he bends over and kisses me. I set my bowl down and kiss him back. He cups my face with one hand and I love it, I love him touching my face, I love wrapping my arms around his neck, I love kissing him even though our mouths smell of chow mein. Shang’s hand trails down my neck, fingering the collar of the button-down shirt, making my skin tingle. With some effort, I push him away gently and say, “Do not get between me and my carbs.”

Shang groans. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” I pick up my bowl once more. “But I do eat quickly.”

“Yes,” Shang whispers, pumping his fist.

“See? Now you’re glad I take huge bites of my food.”

Shang’s laughter fills the kitchen. “Yes,” he says, dipping his head and capturing my mouth with his once more. “You’re right. I am glad about that.”

I can’t quite remember the last time I was this happy. Maybe when I was away at college and I found myself surrounded by people who were as passionate about numbers as I was? Or maybe the first time my parents took me to Disneyland? I had been very happy then for sure, bursting with excitement. But I can’t remember the last time I felt this prolonged, sustained happiness. And more than just happiness, but contentment.

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