“Dena is chill, I like her.”
Just as my belly rumbles, the waitress approaches with our food, so conversation is put on hold as we make room for the dishes. Pork and chive dumplings, shrimp dumplings, Shanghai chicken bun, vegetable spring rolls, and sauteed asparagus. It smells amazing.
We both pick up chopsticks, prep them, and without saying a word, we dig in.
We stand on the sidewalk outside of the Dim Sum Star, waiting for the car to pull around, when I say, “You know . . . I remember it being a lot better than that.”
JP pats his chest as he lets out a quiet burp. “Fuck . . . I need something to remove the taste of that chive dumpling from my mouth.”
“I’m sorry. Are you going to be okay?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” he asks.
Like rabid animals, we dug into our dishes, each pulling dumplings from the steaming baskets and placing them on our plates. Our first bites were ravenous. Our second . . . quizzical. Our third . . . worried. Silently, we tried another item, and another, until we both looked up at each other, grabbed our water glasses, and attempted to wash down the peculiar taste.
There was no use, our tastebuds were tainted, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience after that. We ate the food because neither of us wanted to waste it, but when they asked what else we wanted to order, we raised our hands with a polite “no, thank you,” and then JP paid the bill.
The driver pulls up, and JP steps to the door, opening it for me and, just like the other times, once I’m in, he follows right behind me. Calling to the driver, he says, “Twentieth Century Bakery, please.”
Then he pulls out his phone and starts typing away on it.
“What, uh, what’s at the Twentieth Century Bakery?”
“Something that will hopefully appease our stomachs.” He finishes up on his phone and then relaxes into the seat. “Hell, Kelsey, that shit was terrible.”
“I know. I have no idea how Lottie and I ate as much as we did the first time we went.”
“Kids don’t have proper tastebuds, that’s why. I should’ve thought about that.”
“Well, the sentiment was there, and I appreciate it.” I reach over and squeeze his forearm. “Thank you.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “You’re welcome.”
“So, this bakery place, does it have a seating area?”
“Yes, but we’ll get our dessert to go. We have a bit of a drive to the next stop and a reservation we can’t miss.”
“The next place?” I turn more toward him. “Tell me more.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “That’s a surprise.”
“That’s annoying.”
“Is it?” he asks. “Or is it fun?”
“Annoying.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’d be annoyed too, but remember, this is my night, not yours, therefore, we do it my way.”
“Ah, yes, which reminds me.” We’re stopped at a light, so I unbuckle my seatbelt momentarily, scoot closer to JP, and hold my phone out in front of us for a selfie. “Smile, short-term companion.”
He wraps his arm around me and holds me close as he smiles that wicked smile of his, and for a moment, I almost forget to take the picture. For a moment, I get lost in the feel of his arm holding me close, of his cologne curling around me, and the warmth of his body.
But the car starts moving again, so I snap the picture and hurry back to my side. “I should’ve taken a picture of us at Dim Sum Star.”
“A memory we don’t need reminding of.”
We spend a few more moments driving through town, then the driver pulls up at the curb and JP says, “Wait here.” He hops out of the car into this old corner building that looks positively charming from the outside. Through the large glass windows, I see him pull out his wallet, hand someone some money, and then thank them as he walks back toward the door with a cake box and two waters.
The moment he’s back in the car, he says to the driver, “All set.”
The driver nods and starts moving the car again.
To my surprise, JP scoots into the middle seat, buckles up, and then hands me a water and a fork. That’s when the delicious sugary smell from the box hits me.
“Um, whatever you have under there smells amazing.”
“That’s what you said about the Dim Sum.”
“Is this going to taste like the food from the Dim Sum?”
He shakes his head and pops open the lid, revealing a beige-colored cake. “Not even close. This is my favorite dessert in the Bay Area. Nothing beats it. A honey cake from Twentieth Century Bakery. Guaranteed, you won’t find anything better.”