However, the explanation for Han’s absence turned out to be even more unexpected than death or maiming.
“What are you doing?” I asked when I found him rooting around like a bear underneath the sink.
“Trying to find a measuring cup,” he answered.
I scrunched my brow. “Why are you looking underneath the sink?”
“It wasn’t in the glasses cupboard, so now I’m looking everywhere else,” Han answered, his tone suggesting this was the perfectly obvious next step.
“And why were you looking in the glasses cupboard?”
He came out from underneath the sink to ask me, “Where else would you keep a measuring cup?”
“Oh wow…” I dipped my chin to keep from laughing. “What exactly are you trying to make again?”
Han came to his feet, looking like an ad for Fae Kings who liked to work out in his District Vision mesh shirt and running shorts.
His eyes swept over me the same way mine swept over him, making me wonder if the poor blender was about to get a show again. But in the end, Han just wrapped a hand around the nape of my neck and stroked a thumb over my cheek as he informed me, “I’m making breakfast. I was going to bring it to you in bed. But you’ve ruined that plan.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t strike me as a bring a girl breakfast in bed sort of guy.”
“I'm not,” he admitted with another stroke of his thumb. “But I wanted to be this man today. For you.”
He held my gaze as he told me this, and even though we’ve been smashing for weeks, that kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach came right on back.
“Okay, well, thanks for wanting to do that,” I mumbled.
Then I pulled away to go over to the stove, where the measuring cups were hanging in plain sight on a little metal hook. “Just so you know. These are measuring cups.”
He cursed in Cantonese, then held out his hand. “Okay, give them to me and return to bed.”
Instead of doing as instructed, I pressed the cups to my chest and said, “I really like breakfast.”
Han stepped closer with his hand still held out. “Good, because I'm going to make it for you.”
I cut my eyes to the side. “No, I mean, I really like breakfast. I take it very seriously. So maybe you should let me make it, not you.”
Han stilled. The way he often did right before he decided to make me nod.
“Give me the cups, Jasmine,” he told me, his voice low and threatening. “I can handle breakfast.”
“Are you sure about that?” I had to ask. “The fact that you didn't know where to look for the measuring cups is kind of saying to me you can't.”
He stepped closer and pried the cups out of my hand before commanding in a much harder voice, “Return to bed.”
I open my mouth to argue, but before I could, Han asked, “Do you really want a repeat of what happened the last time you defied me for no reason?”
Ugh! Fine! I dashed back to the room I was now sharing with him, just so I wouldn’t lose all my clothes again.
And as for breakfast, it turned out I was right to worry.
“Wow. I didn't know you could burn eggs!” I said when he set the tray down in front of me.
To Han’s credit, he actually looked a little chagrinned when I dipped my fork in and took a huge bite—gotta jump on those big waves no matter what.
“Are these eggs supposed to be crunchy?” I asked a few moments later.
“No,” Han admitted.
He took back the tray, his shoulders sagging in defeat, “We'll go out for breakfast.”
“Awesome!” I answered, so glad he finally came to his senses. “I know the perfect place. It's inside this little organic produce farm that only operates on Sundays. They have the best Loco Moco on the island if you ask me. And get this, barely any tourists know about it, so it’s mostly locals eating there.”
I was excited about taking him to one of my favorite restaurants, but Han frowned like I’d proposed taking him to the local dump for brunch. “No. Get showered and put on something nice. We’re going to The Royal Hawaiian.”
My happy mood disappeared. This again. The reminder that while we were having fun—like, a lot of fun—I was mostly here to be some kind of weird, psychological pawn in Han’s cold war with K Diamond.
But I still haven’t paid him back, so I headed off to the shower like a good little possession.
However, when I came back all scrubbed clean, Han was talking on the phone, his forehead as scrunched as mine had been at the prospect of him making breakfast.
“What’s up?” I asked. “You look pissed.”
Han glanced up at me, then said something in Cantonese to whoever was on the other side of the phone before hanging up.
