I’m about to say yes, but Oliver turns away with a look of complete disinterest, and Daisy has already returned to her knitting. I bite my tongue, feeling stupidly self-conscious at being the only one so eager to try out a bunch of likely overpriced snacks.

Cyrus’s gaze flickers in my direction, and then he tells the attendant something in Chinese. Apparently, he’s asked to buy half the trolley, because she brightens and starts handing over a packet of almost every item, until Cyrus runs out of room on his lap and has to spread the mini mountain of snacks out on his tray.

“Here,” Cyrus says, tossing one of the Choco Pies to me. He doesn’t make any move to eat the food himself.

I stare at the pie, waiting for him to spring the trap. “What’s this for?”

“You looked like you were ready to run away with those pies.” He shrugs. “It would have been cruel to keep you apart.”

“I was not—”

“It’s the same way you were looking at the lettuce seller,” he says. “There was a lot of intense squinting going on. I was expecting you to start twirling your hair and smiling unnaturally again.”

I choose to ignore him as I tear open the red wrapper and take my first bite of the pie in years, the thin chocolate casing cracking under my teeth.

“This is so good,” I say, closing my eyes with a blissful sigh.

Still, I can just imagine the look on Cyrus’s face when he says, “Maybe I should give you two some time alone.”

I take another slow, luxurious bite as if I’m one of those upper-class people partaking in a wine-tasting competition to prove how cultured my taste buds are, inhaling deeply and letting the marshmallow dissolve on my tongue. “You sound jealous.”

“I definitely am.”

“I can tell you’ve been single too long,” I remark, matching his dry tone. “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t enough to get you a pity kiss from me either.”

He goes quiet at that, and I feel a small thrill at having effectively shocked him into silence.

“But I will pay you back for the pie,” I add, opening my eyes and dabbing the corner of my lips. “How much did it cost?”

“Three million yuan,” he answers right away.

I stare at him. “Okay, I’ll be honest: I always figured you’d become a scammer, but I didn’t think it would happen quite so soon.”

“You don’t have to pay me back, Leah,” he says, shaking his head. The train rattles through a tunnel, the darkness briefly transforming the window into a mirror, so I can see the reflection of his profile even with his face angled away from me, his gaze heavy and almost sad. “You don’t owe me anything. You never will.”