You stared at her.  Then, scoffing, leaned heavily on the baseball bat.  Fortunately for the small, comfortably chubby, middle-aged woman, she wasn’t just your summer landlady, but a friend of your parents who had known you ever since you had been in nappies.  “Well then.  That’s sorted.  I’m sorry to have frightened you, Mr. Zhang, but I thought that you were intruders.”

“Yes, it was very frightening,” he deadpanned looking down at your slight frame, currently swallowed by your grandfather’s pajamas.  

You narrowed your eyes, but ultimately decided to ignore his blatantly false bravado.  “As you can see, this place is already rented, as it is every year, isn’t that right, Mrs. Fairfax?”

Though her large blue eyes looked as innocent as a baby’s, you knew her.  The meddling old biddy had something up her sleeve.  “Oh, yes, I suppose you’re right.  It…it must have slipped my mind.  I’m not getting any younger, and sometimes my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“You have the mind of a steel trap, Mrs. Fairfax, and no two ways about it,” you snipped.  “Do you mean to tell me that you forgot that you have rented this selfsame cottage--first to my parents, and now to me--since before I was born?”

She merely nodded beatifically, reaching out to gently pat your cheek, surreptitiously picking off a clear silicone pimple patch and tossing it in a nearby trash bin, before giving you a bright smile.  “Never get old dear; it’s quite tiresome.”

“Well then, fortunate for you that I was here to remind you, now if you’ll excuse me…  Mr. Zhang, it was a pleasure meeting you, though I do wish that we had met under better circumstances.  Mrs. Fairfax, I trust you know the way out.”  Turning, you waved them away as you started for your bedroom.

“Well, you see, dear…”

You paused, turned slightly, fixed Mrs. Fairfax with a gimlet eye.  “Yes, we have established that I see quite clearly.”

“It’s just that,” her tone was delicate, “the only reason that I brought Mr. Zhang to this cottage is because all of my others are booked.  Frightfully busy season.”

“Isn’t it just,” you murmured, turning once more to face them.  “So.  Call one of your confederates.  Mrs. Ingram, or Mrs. Abbott.  I’m sure that they have vacancies just as lovely, and closer to the beach.”

“I’m afraid that is quite impossible,” Mrs. Fairfax said, with ostensible regret.  “All booked.”

“Hotel.”

“Booked.”

“Airbnb.”

“Booked.”

Narrowing your eyes again at the woman’s overly placid, cherubically rosy-cheeked expression, you decided to stop trying to be helpful, and just get them out of your house.  “Well, that is unfortunate.  However, it sounds like business to be handled between you and Mr. Zhang, and so good day.”  You ce more.

“This cottage does have two bedrooms…”

You froze.  So that was the scheming old matchmaker’s game.  “It does,” you said coldly, “and I have rented them both for the next three months.”

“Yes, but you s--”

Spinning, you glared.  

She at least had the grace to look discomfited.  “That is…I have already accepted Mr. Zhang’s payment.  And spent it, as I have yours.”  Seeing that you were struck dumb, she continued.  “As you know, my Rupert has these awful pains, and we’re always in and out of the doctor’s office, and these bills do pile up.”

In disbelief, you listened to her spinning a convoluted tale worthy of the Bard himself.  “Mr. Fairfax is as hale and hearty a man as I have ever seen, what--”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?  Oh, dear, I must not have wanted to alarm you, but now you know, and now I must be off, as my stories will be on soon, and--as you know--I simply cannot miss those!  Have a good day, my dears!  Enjoy the cottage!  Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do!  Or do!”

And with that, she was gone.

And left behind was a very handsome, very confused-looking man surrounded by luggage, and looking at you expectantly.  “So…does this mean that I get a discount?”

***

Mrs. Fairfax refused to pick up her phone, no matter how many times you called, and when, later that morning, after showering and forcing yourself into a shape that approximated human, you dropped by her house, there was a merry note on the door explaining that she and Mr. Fairfax had decided to vacation in the countryside this year, and wouldn’t return for…

3 months.  

Lovely.

When you returned, Mr. Zhang was in the kitchen, tired-eyed, but smiling as he offered you a stack of toast.  

“Are you hungry?  I was hungry, so I made some breakfast.”

A latent sense of humanity surfaced as you looked him over.  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten a proper meal and slept?”

He stared at you.

You stared back.

His eyes went distant.   Then, reorienting on you, he chuckled slightly and shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

You wanted to sigh deeply, but now that you were properly awake, your manners had returned (somewhat), and anyway, it wasn’t the freakishly handsome man’s fault that your landlady was a meddling old shrew.

“Come on,” you said, motioning for him.

Face brightening, he followed you to  your car.  “Where are we going?”

“To the Piggly Wiggly.”

His expression morphed into one of confusion.  “We’re going to a pig farm?”

Okay, that was cute, but to keep from embarrassing him, you kept your chuckle on the inside.  “Piggly Wiggly is a local grocery store.”

“Does it sell pigs?”

“It does not.”

“Does it sell a lot of pork products?”

“No more than usual.”

Silence.  Then, “Are the pigs used to make the food like, ah…squirmy?”

“No more than any others, I daresay.”

Another long pause.  “Then, why…?”

“A question for the ages, Mr. Zhang.”

“Yixing.”

You paused, your palm resting on the open driver’s side door.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Yixing; my name is Yixing.  Mr. Zhang is so…formal.  If we’re going to be living together, then we should be comfortable.”

“Roommates.  Living together…the connotation is a bit…”

He blinked at you innocently. 

“Nevermind.  Get in.”

He went from blinking at you to blinking at the car, a pale slate-blue 1989 Lincoln Town Car passed down to you from the same grandfather who had (albeit unknowingly) provided you with pajamas.  “Whoa…  This car is-”

“-I know, old-”

“-Awesome!”

Now it was your turn to blink at him.  “You…like it?”

“Yeah, it’s dope.  You don’t see cars that look like this anymore.”

“Are you into cars?”

“I don’t really have much time for cars…but I remember seeing cars like this when I was young.  I always wanted to ride in one.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it.  Come on, let’s hurry before they sell out of the good stuff.”

He walked around to the other side.  “The good stuff?” he asked, opening the door, and sliding inside.

“The good stuff,” you repeated firmly as you slid behind the driver’s seat and slammed the door, wincing slightly at the burn of the tan, sun-toasted leather against the backs of your thighs.  “I am going to introduce you to a local specialty.  The cheese biscuit.”

He looked at you sideways with a polite smile.  

Chuckling at his clear lack of expectations, you started the car, cracking the windows in the hopes of catching some errant breeze until the A/C began to work.  “You’ll see,” you said confidently, inhaling the crisp sea-salt air.  

Upon arrival at the deli tucked into the back of the store, you smiled when Yixing’s eyes widened, and you pretended not to notice his stomach growling.  Fortunately, the line was short, and even more fortuitously, a jovial, chubby-cheeked middle-aged woman was emerging from the kitchen with a new tray of biscuits, their craggy tops a rich golden, buttery brown, the creamy, mild local cheese oozing from the sides, still bubbling in places.  Yixing looked at the trays of foreign foods at a loss.  

“Do you have any questions about anything?” you asked, peering up at his quizzical face from around his shoulder.

“I know what some of it is, but some of it is…”

“Foreign.  I understand.  What do you like?”

“Oh, I’ll eat anything.”

You looked at him appraisingly.  “I like you better, already.  Would you like for me to order for you?”

He gestured an assent.  “Please.”

Looking up at the menu, and surreptitiously glancing at his slender build, you made a few quick decisions, by which time, he was at the front of the line, and gesturing for the woman behind the counter to refer to you.  “Um, for him, may we please have grits, scrambled eggs, bacon, and two cheese biscuits?”  

The woman adroitly piled food into a segmented styrofoam container then gave Yixing a once over, glanced at you with a wink, and added more bacon before closing the container and sliding it across the steel counter toward the cashier.  “And for you, baby?” she asked.

“May I please have grits, scrambled eggs, some country sausage, and a cheese biscuit?  And orange juice for both?”  

After she filled your takeaway container, and slid it next to Yixing’s, you took out your wallet just as he moved up to the cashier.  

“These are…together, please,” he said pointing to both of your containers as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet.  

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

He looked at you as if you were cute, but slow.  “I’m buying breakfast.”

“You don’t have to pay for me,” you demurred.  

His expression was scandalized.  “Ladies don’t pay,” he said with gentle remonstrance as if explaining a fundamental rule of polite society that you should already know.

“Maybe not where you’re from, but in this country, a gentleman generally doesn’t pay for a lady unless they’re related, or he’s…you know…interested.  So, you should be careful.”

“Oh, really?” he said, nodding slowly as he seemingly absorbed this new information.

“Yes, so-”

“That’ll be 14 even,” interrupted the cashier.

Yixing turned, giving you a once-over and a smile accompanied by that darn dimple, before pulling a 20 out of his wallet.  “Both of us, please,” he said firmly.

You opened your mouth to protest when you caught both the cashier as well as the serving-lady giving you sharp looks, their lips thin as they subtly mouthed unheard threats.  Taken aback, you slid your wallet back into your purse.  “Erm…thank you…Yixing.”

He nodded satisfied, and the women relaxed.  Taking the bag with both of your meals, he gestured to the rest of the store.  “Is there anything else you want while we’re here?”

A bit discomfited, you shifted your weight, shaking your head.  “I already made groceries, but shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Do you have a market?” he asked suddenly, as he subtly steered you toward the door, his hand hovering just behind the small of your back.  

“We’re in a market?” 

“No, like,” he waved a hand, as if trying to express something.  “Like, outside?”

“Oh, a farmer’s market?  Yes, we have one of those.  Every Saturday, 6 to 3.”

“Can we go?”

“If you want,” you said vaguely.  “It’s held in one of the local parks.” 

“Is it pretty?”

“It’s very pretty,” you conceded.  

“Can we eat there?”

You shrugged.  “I don’t see why not.”

Just then a discomfited expression rippled over his face.  “Oh…am I keep you from-”

“No, I don’t have any plans,” you said, hurrying across the hot asphalt of the parking lot.  “Let’s go.”

***

You parked under the shade of a large oak tree facing a lake, and both sat on the hood of the car to eat.  

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“It’s very good,” he answered, but paused.  

“A bit greasy?”  You smiled when he tentatively nodded.  “It’s definitely not something that you’d want to eat every day.  But, as a treat a few times a year is nice.  So,” you started, leaning back and watching as he fed small bits of biscuit to some of the more inquisitive squirrels, “Mrs. Fairfax said that you’re from China.  This isn’t…exactly an international vacation spot.  What made you want to spend your vacation here?”

“Oh, I wanted somewhere peaceful…small…”  When you didn’t speak, he waved a hand.  “My…job is very stressful.  I wanted a peaceful place to just be quiet with my thoughts.”

“What do you--”

A loud smack distracted you before a little girl--all knees, elbows, freckles, and wild brown pigtails--ran up to grab the basketball that had hit the side of your car.  “I’m sorry,” she said politely, her large eyes unsure.  

“It’s alright,” you said, smiling at her.  “No harm done.”  After she ran back to her mother for what sounded like a tired scolding, you turned back to Yixing.  

“So…what do you do?” he asked.  “You mentioned that you rent the cottage every year?”

“Ah, yes,” you nodded.  “For summer vacation.  I’m a teacher.  My parents were archeology professors, and I teach third grade.”

“Third grade?”

“Children about…8-9 years old.”  

“A teacher,” he mused.  “That’s very good…  Are they retired?”

You cleared your throat, faked a smile.  “Oh, they're gone now.”

“Gone?”  His expression was perplexed.  “Where did they go?”

“Gone on, as in…” you gave him a meaningful look, and he blushed.  

“Oh, gone,” he murmured.  “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.  It ha