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FOR THE REST OF THE day, I help my grandparents make mooncakes. After several hours of kneading dough, assembling, and baking, we treat ourselves to a mooncake each. For a moment, I admire the peony decoration on the golden pastry. Then I bite into the mooncake, closing my eyes in bliss. It’s the perfect combination of sweet and savory with the smooth lotus seed paste and salted duck egg yolks. A little melancholy enters my chest. Mooncakes were one of Mom’s favorite things. She used to joke that she’d only decided to marry Dad after he’d given her some of Nainai’s mooncakes.
This upcoming Mid-Autumn Festival will be the third time we celebrate it without my parents. Three years ago, they died in a car accident while they were on vacation in San Francisco. Because my grandparents were so consumed with grief, Blair and Sierra left college to help take care of them and the bakery. And though I got accepted into a few colleges, I decided to not enroll in any of them because I didn’t want to leave my family behind. Also, I was full of grief; I doubt that I could’ve focused on things like classes and studying.
When Nainai isn’t looking, I reach for another mooncake. But she must have eyes in the back of her head because she slaps my hand away.
“Save the mooncakes for the paying customers,” she says without looking up.
Yeye pats my head. “You can eat all the mooncakes you want on the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival.”
When we go into the lobby, Nainai asks my sisters, “How did we do today?”
“Not bad,” Blair says. “We sold more than yesterday, but I suspect that’s due to you posting all over Facebook, ‘If you care about me at all and don’t want to see me living on the streets, you’ll buy our cookies and cakes, and vow to never ever go to that evil Red Silk.’”
“That’s good marketing,” Nainai says.
"No, that’s called a guilt trip,” Blair says.
“Like I said, that’s good marketing.” Grandma lets out a breath. “I can’t wait to go home and eat some green tea ice cream.”
When Sierra and Grandpa shoot each other guilty looks, Nainai growls, “Did you forget to buy green tea ice cream?”
“Sorry,” Yeye and Sierra say in sheepish unison.
“I suppose I can wait till tomorrow for ice cream,” Grandma grumbles. “That is, if you don’t forget to buy it again...”
“I can go to the store now,” I say.
“Are you sure?” Sierra asks. “The store closes in like 25 minutes.”
“I’ll just run,” I reply. “I need some cardio anyway.” As I race out the door, I shout, “See you all at home later!”
I haul serious ass to the grocery store and get there 15 minutes before closing time. In my haste to get to the ice cream section, I bump into someone. I squeak, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry...” I trail off when I look up and see a ridiculously handsome man. Like, could be a contender for People’s Sexiest Man Alive handsome. He has a dazzling smile that belongs in a toothpaste commercial, sleek black hair cut like a CEO from a drama, and smoldering brown eyes that could melt a girl’s panties. He must be new in town because my family are the only Asians in Middown. Also, I would’ve remembered a face like that.
“No need to apologize,” he says.
I feel my cheeks turn pink as his gaze lingers on my face.
“I’m Tom,” he says.
“I’m Layne. Nice to meet you.”
I want to talk with him more, but the P.A. comes on and a bored-sounding teenager announces, “The store will be closing in 10 minutes. Please head to the cashier as soon as possible.”
“Excuse me, I have to go get some ice cream,” I say.
To my surprise, he follows me to the freezer section. He’s walking close to me, so I can smell his cologne, a mix of the woods and citrus.
When I’m in front of the ice cream section, I want to curse. The green tea ice cream is on the top shelf. At times like these, I really resent my being under 5 feet tall.
“Do you want something on the top shelf?” Tom asks.
I look at him. He towers over me; he has to be at least six feet. I give him a sheepish smile. “Yes, actually, could you grab a carton of green tea ice cream for me?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” I say when he gets it for me.
I wait for him to hand the carton to me, but he says, “I'll carry it for you.”
I blink. I know I'm short and not exactly the epitome of physical strength, but I'm more than capable of carrying a tub of ice cream. Before I can tell Tom that, he starts heading toward the cashier. With a sigh, I follow him.
“Hey, Layne,” Brett greets me at checkout. He and I went to high school together. Although we attended the same AP classes, we never really hung out. He was a jock, and I was the awkward Asian girl. But he's always been friendly to me. He would slap the heads of his football player friends whenever they would say shit like, “Me so horny,” to me and force them to apologize to me. Like me, he was supposed to go to college. But when he injured his knee, colleges rescinded their scholarship offers, making it financially impossible for him to go to school. So he stayed in Middown. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem bitter about it and is always flashing his All-American smile around town. Brett nods toward Tom. “Is he your cousin?”
Before I can answer, Tom tells him, “No.” I widen my eyes. Is he growling?
“Brett, this is Tom,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, Tom,” Brett says.
“Hi,” Tom says in a cold and flat voice.
What is his deal? He was polite and friendly enough to me. Why is he being so rude to Brett?
Brett winks at me, causing me to lift my eyebrows in confusion. “I really enjoyed last night,” he says in a low voice.
What is he talking about? He went into the bakery last night to buy some egg custard buns and said hi to me, but that was the extent of our interaction. “Um, what—?”
Just play along, Brett mouths. Out loud, he asks, “Just getting the ice cream tonight?”
Just as I’m about to say yes, Tom abruptly asks, “Layne, what’s your favorite candy?”
He is handsome but so strange. “Uh, I like Snickers,” I say.
Making my eyes pop out of their sockets, Tom dumps a dozen Snickers bars in front of Brett and says, “We’ll take that too.”
I am positively befuddled. My befuddlement increases tenfold when Tom takes out his wallet and pays for the ice cream and candy with his credit card.
“What...?” I’m at a loss for words.
“Have a nice night,” Brett says cheerfully as Tom grabs my hand and pulls me out of the store.
My pulse quickens under Tom’s hand. “Um, Tom...”
“Is that guy your boyfriend?”
“Huh?”
“The cashier guy—is he your boyfriend?”
I can’t help snorting. “What? Brett’s gay.” When he came out in high school, it made some stupid football players and their stupid parents freak out. They wanted the coach to kick him off the team, but Coach Taylor refused and said, “There’s no way in hell I’m kicking off the best player I have.”
Tom blinks. “Oh.”
“Wait, is that why you were so hostile to him? Because you thought he and I were dating?”
Tom flushes. “Well, um...”
I laugh. “We literally just met like 15 minutes ago.” Despite myself, I can’t help noticing how cute Tom is when he’s blushing.
“Do you want to get dinner tonight?”
I stare at him. God, he is one good-looking man. For the past few years, I’ve dated a couple of guys. They were nice and all, but I didn’t feel any sparks, so all of those relationships—if you could call a handful of dates a relationship—ended with a fizzle. But with Tom... He caresses my wrist with his thumb, and the contact nearly sends a shiver of pleasure down my back. I say, “I need to get this ice cream home to my grandma...”
“How about tomorrow night?”
The corners of my mouth curve up. “Okay.” I reach into my pocket. “Let me pay you back for the ice cream..."
He pushes my hand away. “My treat.”
With a note of regret, I say, “I need to get home before this ice cream melts.”
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“Oh, thank you, but you don’t need to do that. My house isn’t far from here.”
“You shouldn’t walk home alone at night.”
My lips twitch. “And I should get into a stranger’s car? How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“You just agreed to go on a date with me tomorrow night. And would a serial killer buy you Snickers?”
His thumb caresses my wrist again. Although I hardly know him, somehow, I feel safe with him. “Okay. But before I get into your car, you should know that my family would avenge my death.”
“Message received.”
My eyes widen when he opens the passenger door of a red Porsche. He definitely isn’t from around here. The only cars I see people drive in Middown are Toyotas and Fords.
After we climb into his car and I give him directions to my house, I ask, “So what brings you to town?”
“I’m here for business.”
A little disappointment creeps into me. Of course, he’s just here temporarily. People who drive fancy Porsches don’t stay in a small town like Middown.
“Did you grow up here?” he asks.
“Yes, born and raised.” When we arrive in front of my house, I say, “This is my place. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.”
Just as my hand is on the door-handle, Tom asks, “So dinner tomorrow night? How does 7 o’clock sound?”
A smile appears on my face. “That sounds good.”
“May I give you my phone number?”
“Yes.” I give him my phone, and he enters his digits into it. When he hands it back to me, I see his full name on the screen. Tom Wong.
“Have a good night, Layne.”
“Have a good night, Tom.”
Shocking me, he puts a hand on the back of my head and kisses me. It’s only a second before I close my eyes and melt into his kiss. He tastes like honey and sugar. Delicious.
“See you tomorrow,” he whispers against my lips.
My heart is racing. I’ve had mediocre kisses, I’ve had fine kisses, I’ve had pleasant kisses, but I’ve never had a kiss like that. One that left me breathless and made it difficult for me to remember my name.
“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asks.
Quickly, I say, “You don’t need to do that.” If my family sees Tom, they’ll start an inquisition.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
I grin. “Okay. Thanks for the ice cream and Snickers.”
He waits until I’m at my door before driving away. A happy sigh escapes my throat. It’s a shame that Tom won’t be here to stay, but I’ll make sure to enjoy what time I have with him. I look at the moon and stars. It feels like there’s some August Moon magic in the air, like the night is full of possibilities.
The door swings open. “Since when do you have a friend with a Porsche?” Blair asks.
“I think you mean boyfriend,” Sierra teases, making a kissy-face.
I flush. “You saw that?”
“Uh, yeah,” my sisters say in unison.
Nainai calls from the kitchen, “Is that Layne with the ice cream?”
“Yes,” Blair answers.
“Why did you buy so many Snickers bars?” Sierra asks. “Are they a gift from your suitor?”
When my blush deepens, Sierra and Blair exclaim, “Oh my God!”
“Why are you making so much noise?” Nainai asks, taking the grocery bag from me. She frowns when she sees the Snickers. “Why did you buy so much candy? Do you know how bad this is for your teeth?”
“Says the woman who is going to eat a carton of ice cream later,” Blair says.
“The matcha and sugar cancel each other out,” Nainai says.
Blair rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how things work. Also, Layne didn’t buy the candy.” My sister smirks. “Her suitor did.”
Nainai gapes at me. “You have a boyfriend, and you didn’t tell us?” she scolds.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say. “I just met a guy.” A really handsome guy who is an excellent kisser.
“What’s his name?”
I groan. In high school, whenever I would date a guy, Nainai would look him up and try to find out every little detail about him. I still cringe when I think of her yelling at my prom date Craig, “On October 8, 2017, why did you post a picture of yourself with a cup of beer?! Are you an alcoholic? Is there a history of alcoholism in your family?” I know she means well and only wants to make sure that the men in my life aren’t douche-bags who will break my heart, but sometimes, I wish she was one of those stereotypical not-tech-savvy grandmas who struggle to turn a computer on.
“Come on, I need to know if he is a sex offender,” Nainai says.
“And I need to know the Porsche owner's net worth,” Sierra adds.
Grandma widens her eyes. “He has a Porsche?”
“Yep.” Sierra sends me a mischievous grin. “Layne and he were making out in it.”
Nainai narrows her eyes at me. “Give me his name. NOW.”
Defeated, I tell her, “Tom Wong.”
My grandmother and sisters race into the living room. Exhaling, I follow them. I do want to make sure that Tom is not a sex offender.
We crowd around Nainai's laptop. When Nainai searches “Tom Wong,” I gasp. On the screen is a picture of Tom in a black suit. Underneath the picture, it reads: Tom Wong is an American businessman and philanthropist. He is the founder and owner of Abracadabra Enterprises. Net worth: 5 billion USD.
Seeing the shocked expression on my face, Sierra exclaims, “Oh my God, you made out with a billionaire!”
“A hot billionaire,” Blair murmurs.
“Good choice, Layne,” Nainai says.
“What is a billionaire doing in Middown?” I wonder.
I find out the answer when Grandma clicks on an article. The color leaves my face as I read:
Thanks to his company Abracadabra Enterprises, which owns a majority stake in the successful bakery chain Red Silk, Tom Wong has become one of the world’s youngest billionaires...
Sierra exclaims, “Oh my God, you made out with the enemy!”
I put my hands over my face. So much for there being some August Moon magic in the air. Of course Tom was too good to be true. My heart twists. Did he know that I was part of Peony Bakery when he approached me? Did he think he could screw my family’s bakery even more by screwing a naïve small-town girl like me?
“This is good!” Nainai says.
“How the hell is this good?” Blair asks.
“Layne can be a honeypot,” Nainai replies.
“What?” I squeak.
“Do you want to pimp out our sister?” Sierra asks, horrified.
Yeye comes into the living room. “Who wants to pimp out your sister?”
“20 minutes ago, Layne was making out with a guy in a Porsche,” Sierra says. “We just found out that the guy is the asshole owner of Red Silk. And now Grandma wants to use our little sister as a honeypot.”
“What’s the harm in suggesting that our granddaughter use her feminine wiles to save the family business?” Nainai asks.
Everyone but my grandmother shakes their heads.
“Nainai,” I say, “while I’m willing to do anything to help the bakery, it’s not like I’m the queen of seduction. And Tom is a billionaire. I doubt he’s dumb enough to give me company secrets.”
Yeye says softly, “Perhaps you can persuade him to not open Red Silk in Middown through the power of love.”
We Huang women turn our heads to give Yeye dubious looks.
“Have you been drinking too much plum wine, Grandpa?” Blair asks. “Life isn’t a freaking Hallmark movie. Billionaires don’t suddenly start to value morals over making money with the love of a good woman, even one as lovely as my dear sister Layne.”
Yeye gets a dreamy look in his eyes. “I don’t know. Miracles can happen during the Mid-Autumn Festival.”
Nainai shakes her head. “You silly old man.” She pats my cheek. “But I’m sorry for suggesting that you should be a honeypot. I don’t know what came over me.”
I think of Tom, of the date we would’ve had tomorrow night. Did he approach me with bad intentions? Did he fake his jealousy toward Brett, his smiles? I don’t want to think he’s a sociopath with scarily good acting skills, but why would he be so interested in me so quickly?
“I’ll go out with Tom tomorrow night,” I say.
“What?” my sisters exclaim.
“I want to find out what he really wants with me.” As silly as it sounds, I want to know if he faked those smiles and that kiss. Admittedly, I would be glad if it was all real, though I doubt that we could be in a relationship with him being the owner of the company that’ll lead to the downfall of my family’s business. If I find out that he did fake all of it, well, I guess I’ll try to be a honeypot and discover a company secret or two.
“Are you seriously thinking about being a honeypot?” Blair asks.
“What? No!” I say in an oddly high-pitched voice.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, little sis, you’re one fine piece of ass.”
“Um, thanks?”
“But you suck at lying. Exhibit A: that weird high-pitched voice you just did.”
Alas, she’s right. I couldn’t get away with anything growing up because my grandparents could always tell when I was lying about breaking curfew, scratching their car, stealing Yeye’s bottle of plum wine, et cetera.
“Maybe you’ll be able to convince him to not open his bakery here through a heartfelt plea and the power of love,” Yeye says.
We Huang women roll our eyes.
“I guess I’ll try that if Operation Honeypot fails,” I say. Which it probably will, though I doubt Operation Power of Love will be any more successful. “Let’s eat dinner.” I no longer have much of an appetite, but I want to stop talking about honeypots, Tom, and the future of Peony Bakery.
To my relief, Nainai says, “Yes, let’s eat. I’m hungry. By the way, did you see the price of gas today? So ridiculous...”