Page 51 of From Beijing, With Love

“I … uh … I’ll call you back,” Daniel said in the vicinity of the phone and hung up. He stared at Yang. “I thought you left.”

“I figured you could use a break from the hotel breakfast.” Yang lifted the plastic bag.

“I thought you left,” Daniel said again.

“Technically, I did.” Yang stood patiently in the doorway, an amused smile on his lips. “And now I’m back.”

Daniel wrapped a hand around Yang’s collar and pulled him into a bruising kiss that went on and on, making up for the goodbye kiss they never got to have.

Yang smiled into the kiss as the door swung shut behind him. “Did you miss me that much, shagua?”

“Shut up.” Daniel pushed Yang against the closed door and kissed him again, feeling Yang’s body respond to him.

“Do you want me to wash my hands first?” Yang asked, breathless. He lifted his hands. “Outdoor hands, remember?”

Daniel would never have thought that one of the sexiest things he would ever hear was outdoor hands, but there it was. Yang tossed him a smile as he set the plastic bag down on the desk. Once Yang was in the bathroom, Daniel poked and prodded the takeout bag. Its content filled the room with a savory aroma, and Daniel’s hunger hormones overtook his horny ones.

“Ever had jianbing guozi?” Yang joined him at the desk. Untying the knot, Yang took out two bundles wrapped in paper. “One of the most popular breakfast dishes. It’s basically an egg crepe filled with … Well, nowadays you can fill it with almost anything, even hot dogs.” Yang scrunched his brows together, making judgmental look good. He peeled back a corner of the wrapper and handed the bundle to Daniel. “I’m a traditionalist, so I went with the classic filling: fried dough, soybean paste, chili sauce, scallions, and—”

“Cilantro,” Daniel jumped in with an answer like the gold-star student he’d never been. The bite he’d just taken was perfection—chewy meets crunchy, savory meets sweet.

A memory popped into his head then, of a cold Canadian winter morning. He could see his own breath as he walked hand in hand with his dad down the crowded sidewalk, past makeshift vegetable stands and storefronts adorned with red lanterns. The paper-wrapped bundle his dad handed him was hot, its heat seeping through his mittens. Then he took the bite, tasting the savory egg crepe, the sweetness of the sauce and the brightness of the cilantro.

“Is it okay?” Yang asked.

“Better than okay,” Daniel said with a smile. The memory took him by surprise. He didn’t quite know what to do with it. Maybe he’d tell Yang about it later, but right now, he just wanted to keep it to himself and hold it close. “Was just thinking that Poppy’s really missing out. Her breakfast was a green juice.” He made a face.

At the mention of Poppy, something shifted in Yang’s face before he rearranged it back to a tight smile. “I’m sure she’ll be a better tour guide. What are your plans?”

“About that.” Daniel tried not to sound like a worrywart, because that wasn’t dignified (or sexy). A normal person would be thrilled at the travel opportunity he was afforded. “She has to fly to Tokyo in a week for work, and she wants me to go with her.”

“Sounds like fun,” Yang said as he looked away.

“You’re off to Xi’an on Monday, right?” Daniel asked, like it had just occurred to him and he hadn’t been low-key obsessing over it.

“The eight AM train. Bright and early,” Yang said, looking apologetic. Or maybe it was all in Daniel’s head. “There’re a few things I need to do at the university today, but after that, I’m all yours. Dumplings tonight?”

Daniel nodded, lingering on the words I’m all yours and wished they were true.

Daniel had spent the entirety of the afternoon stressing about dinner. He needed to make their last memories nice, whatever constituted nice in Yang’s books. Which version of Daniel did Yang want? Up-for-anything Daniel? Maybe fun Daniel? That was always a crowd favorite. Certainly not anxious Daniel. Nobody wanted that.

But now, looking across the wooden table at Yang’s genuine smile as he talked about his quirky chemistry professor dad and his no-nonsense grandma, Daniel felt silly for having worried so much. In the homey restaurant, tucked on a side street minutes away from the hotel, their conversation flowed with remarkable ease over crisp Tsingtaos.

Daniel loved having a front-row seat to Yang’s deadpan humor paired with that lopsided smile. Being with Yang was … easy, in a good way.

Three plates carrying heaping portions of dumplings were plunked in front of them without fanfare. The servers at this local restaurant didn’t fuss over them, nor did they give Daniel a second glance, and he was glad for it. The place was immaculately clean and all about the food.

“Jiaozi.” Yang pointed to the potbellied dumplings on the chipped porcelain plates. “Not to be confused with what we had yesterday, which were …”

“Baozi?” Daniel answered. It must have been correct, because Yang beamed at him.

Daniel framed that smile and tucked it away safely in his mental pocket together with the memory of standing on the Great Wall like his dad once had. This would be how he remembered Beijing.

“Here. Try this one with some chili oil.” Yang picked up a pan-fried dumpling in its golden perfection and put it on Daniel’s plate. “Every year, my whole family gets together on Lunar New Year’s Eve to make dumplings. I couldn’t make it home this year because the train tickets were sold out like that.” Yang snapped his fingers. “That’s what happens when the whole country is trying to go home at the same time.”

“The largest human migration in the world.” Daniel recalled the tidbit from somewhere about the travel rush before Lunar New Year.

“That makes us sound like migratory birds,” Yang said with a half smile. He took another sip of his beer. “I guess we are. Just wayward birds trying to find their way home.”