Melange
Stir-Fried Love

Hayley slipped toward the swinging set of doors that lead into the kitchen. Standing on tiptoe, she peered out the window. In the entrance stood a tall, blonde-haired man with piercing blue eyes, a look of consternation on his face as he spoke to her uncle. After a few moments of speaking slowly and clearly in English, then more loudly to Uncle Lee, he realized he was getting nowhere and he pantomimed his request.

She laughed. Why was it people believed, when communicating to a foreigner, that speaking louder and using body gestures would make them more easily understood? She looked at Uncle Lee, whom she knew enjoyed himself immensely at the young man’s expense. Her uncle knew enough English that he likely could understand the man. Should she help the poor guy? He’d caused quite a stir at Mandarin House.

As she perused his body from head to toe, she deemed him extraordinarily handsome, his eyes appearing keen and intelligent. His button-down long sleeve shirt, navy blue tie and khaki slacks were neat and clean. He appeared cool despite the ninety degree heat, which felt hot and humid; but she noted his ever-growing agitation as he tried to communicate with her uncle.

Feeling sorry for him she swung out of the kitchen and headed toward him, wiping her hands on her chef’s apron. Pausing in front of him, in deference to her own culture and family, several members of which now watched her with curiosity and amazement because of her boldness, she bowed from the waist, held the position a moment before straightening and smiling up at him.

“You need help, mister?”

His irritable scowl disappeared and a slow grin slid across his lips. Performing an awkward little bow in return, he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “My car broke down out front and I need a telephone.” He jammed his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Mine died.”

She looked at her uncle and murmured in Korean, “I’ll take care of him.” Then she turned to the man and said, “Come straight this way.” She turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen.
Hayley felt him behind her, though his gait was quiet. More heat, if that were possible, tore through her body as she felt his eyes on her. She felt self-conscious in her typical cook’s uniform—black knit, narrow-legged pants, black short-sleeved t-shirt and big white apron covering her from shoulder to knee¾and wished she wore something more attractive.

Inside the kitchen she directed him to a telephone at a corner desk. While she chopped bok choy, she watched him dig inside his billfold and pull out a business card. He looked up, as though he’d sensed her watching him, pinning her with his eyes.

That devastating grin of his appeared again. After he gave her a thorough, appreciative look—one that could cook eggs on a sun-baked sidewalk on a hot Minnesota summer day—he returned to the phone. As he punched in a number from the card he sank down in the chair behind the desk.

As she chopped an onion she heard the man talking on the phone, his deep baritone voice filled with exasperation. A moment later she grimaced when he slammed the phone down in its cradle.

“Sorry,” he said, arriving at her side, “Triple A can’t get here for about an hour.”

Hayley stopped chopping and shrugged. “Then you have time to eat.”

“No, thanks. I stopped for a burger after work.”

She gazed covertly around and said, “Don’t say that in front of my uncle. He would consider your words blasphemous. Besides, it’s not polite in our ways to turn down an offer of a meal.”

“Even if I’m not hungry?”

“Absolutely.” Setting down the knife, she said, “So, tell me why a nice white boy like you is slumming in Korean territory?”

“I’m here on business.”

“What sort of work do you do?” she asked.

“I’m an attorney.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I’m Mark Arcand. Any chance I could get a cup of coffee?”

She didn’t give him her name in return but offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, no coffee, just hot tea.”

He grimaced. “Okay.”

Obviously, the man hadn’t drunk her uncle’s tea or he wouldn’t have made a face. Uncle Lee blended his own teas and they were marvelous—the talk of the neighborhood. But then, the neighborhood was composed entirely of Koreans who enjoyed tea.

“Come, I’ll show you to a table.”

Once again, as they entered the seating area of Mandarin House, conversation quieted. Within moments, she returned to his table with a silver pot of hot tea and a tiny cup. “Let me know if you reconsider and would like something to eat.” She turned away, took a step but couldn’t take another. Her apron string must have gotten snagged on something. Looking over her shoulder she frowned when she saw he held onto the strings, a mischievous look on his face. “I’ve changed my mind,” he drawled.

Hayley raised her brow. “That was quick.”

He released the strings, picked up his cup of tea and breathed in deeply. “If anyone can brew a cup of tea this heavenly, I can imagine how wonderful the food must taste.”

She nodded in approval. “I’ll get a menu.”

“Whatever you enjoy is fine. Join me?”

Her cheeks heated up beneath his intent perusal as he swept her body from head to toe. How long had it been since a good-looking man, or any man for that matter, had made a pass at her? Not that she’d ever been intimate with a man, but a girl could dream. She imagined sliding into bed beside his big, naked, golden form and sighed.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“Hayley.”

He laughed aloud. “Why, that’s an English name.”

Seeing how her family and friends all watched them with growing interest, she begged him in a hushed whisper, “Please! Stop laughing. They’ll think…”

“Don’t stop now.” Sinking comfortably back in his chair, he added, “What will they think?”

She shook her head and bit her lower lip.

“Will they think I’m attracted to you?”

Hayley couldn’t meet his eyes.

“They’re right, you know?” he said softly. “From the moment I set eyes on you.”

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