“Uh, my mom… drinks that as is.”

Andrew gagged.

“Yeah, I know.”

“She really likes sweet stuff, then.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s not so much a Chinese thing as a ‘my mom’ thing.”

“Well, her sweet tooth may have saved our cookie mission.” He grabbed the carton. “Let’s do it.”

We also had to substitute giant noodle-soup bowls for mixing bowls, but after getting past those fairly big hiccups, we were finally measuring and sifting and stirring.

While I was beating the eggs with chopsticks, Andrew moseyed over to preheat the oven. I yelled, waving my hands for a second before shutting it off.

“Wha—” he started, but I opened the oven door and hastily pulled out pots and pans and extra dishrags.

“How did you of all people not know this was a possibility? This one I know isn’t just us—I have other Asian friends who use their oven for storage.”

He hit his forehead with a palm. “Yeah, okay, I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize that.”

He helped me clear it out, then set the oven to 375 degrees.

We finished mixing and spooned out the batter in silence, the only sound being the beep of the oven when it was ready. We whisked around the kitchen, focused on our tasks, but the limited space made his arm brush against mine as he discarded dirty dishes in the sink, and my butt bump into his side as I leaned down to open the oven door.

He stuck the cookies in, I shut the oven door, and we set the timer together, me punching in eight minutes and him hitting the start button when I was done.

We both paused, then turned toward each other, our faces millimeters apart.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” His eyes were laser focused on mine, and though I felt an urge to look away, I also couldn’t.

“Are you doing okay with, you know, everything?” he asked with so much compassion I melted a little. “I know this month hasn’t been the easiest.”

I nodded. “Um, thanks for all your support. You went way above and beyond the job description.”

He looked away, his forehead furrowed in thought—in uncertainty, I realized. Then the worry lines disappeared, replaced with resolve. “I didn’t do it because of the job,” he told me, his voice unwavering.

I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t.

His face softened. “And just so you know, I wasn’t in character before, when we were texting.” His voice was hushed, almost inaudible. But I heard. How could I not, when I was so completely focused on him, his lips moving, his chest rising and falling?

“I already knew that.” Now my chest was rising and falling so rapidly it became my focus.

He looked like he wanted to lean in, but he held back, letting me lead.