A Hundred Embarrassments

A Hundred Embarrassments in Front of My Crush

Flames devoured my house. My high school desk mate, now in a firefighter’s uniform, carried out a statue from my room—one that looked exactly like him. The moment the cloth around the statue’s waist fell away, I wished the ground would swallow me whole.

1.

I had never been more mortified in my life. A crowd of firefighters stood in the yard, marveling at my statue.

“Uncanny! It’s like it was molded from the captain himself!” “Look at the chest, the abs, the thighs—so smooth. Definitely a master’s work!” “Good heavens, why is there a silk cloth hanging from the statue’s waist?”

I rushed forward, face burning. “No! Don’t!”

But it was too late. The white silk fluttered through the air, caught the wind, and landed on Zane’s cheek.

Gasps rippled through the yard.

“That’s… a bit much. Definitely exaggerated.” “What do you know? That’s art! Art needs imagination, and imagination demands boldness. The more exaggerated, the more artistic!”

Zane pulled the silk from his face, his gaze fixed on the statue before him. He didn’t look away for a long time.

I wanted to evaporate on the spot. Explode.

“Claire. Long time no see.”

Meeting Zane’s teasing eyes, I felt my head heat up like a red-hot kettle, steam practically pouring out. We hadn’t seen each other since high school graduation. I’d imagined our reunion countless times, but never like this.

2.

Zane and I had been desk mates in high school. In senior year, I switched to the art track, and we gradually lost touch. Later, I heard he’d gone to a sports college, then returned to our hometown and joined the fire brigade. So I didn’t hesitate—I came back too, opened an online shop, and specialized in custom statues.

That morning, the charging cable by my bed, long plugged in, caught fire. By the time I noticed, the flames had consumed my blanket and curtains. I’d been focused on a painting in my studio and frantically dialed emergency services.

The firefighters arrived quickly. I hadn’t expected Zane to be among them. The statue in my room was a life-sized replica of him, and in his haste, he must not have recognized it. He just carried it out.

His fitness was impressive—the statue weighed nearly two hundred pounds.

Zane walked over with the silk cloth, pushed past the firefighters blocking his way, and tied it back around the statue’s waist. Everyone looked from him to the statue.

“Good grief, it’s like watching a sci-fi movie. Two captains.”

My love story was over before it even began. Let it all burn. I never wanted to see Zane again. I couldn’t face anyone.

Dejected, I saw them out. Zane got into the truck, then climbed back out and walked up to me, holding out his phone.

“Let’s add each other on chat, old desk mate.”

3.

I couldn’t even lift my head. Flustered, I pulled out my phone and scanned his code. Only after they drove off did I dare look up—but Zane had stuck his head out the window, watching me. Meeting his unreadable gaze and the smile curling his lips, I spun around to run—and slammed straight into the iron gate with a deafening clang.

I covered my nose with both hands. Blood gushed out, warm and sticky against my palms.

Zane had somehow come back. He was staring at me, worry written all over his face.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

I refused desperately, but he dragged me there anyway. The nurse treated the wound, told me to rest for ten minutes, and left. Face red with embarrassment, I fidgeted with the bedsheet.

Zane’s voice came, laced with amusement. “Stop that, or you’ll tear my sleeve.”

I turned my head. He’d placed his arm on the bed, and my fingers were furiously clawing at his shirt.

Maybe I’d been too hasty. Young people don’t respect tradition. I should get Zane’s birth chart read—he might be my natural nemesis.

4.

Zane insisted on driving me home, saying I was injured and he’d help clean up the disaster zone. I resisted with every fiber of my being, nearly resorting to self-destruction, but his enthusiasm was unstoppable.

He tidied the yard and my bedroom, then announced he’d check for any remaining fire hazards. Room by room, he inspected. When he pushed open the door to my east wing, I knew it was over.

Inside stood a massive double statue: a man holding a woman in a bridal carry, her arm around his neck, her other hand resting on his chest. Their eyes met, locked in a gaze so tender it sparked. It was a breathtaking piece—smooth muscle lines, delicate carving, even the hair strands were faintly visible. On the base, the title was engraved: *Adam and Eve*.

And, naturally, Adam and Eve wore nothing.

Zane was stunned. He stared at the statue, an involuntary exclamation escaping him. “My god! Claire, I had no idea you had such a great figure!”

He must have meant the statue’s Claire. Expressionless, I pulled him out of the room, pushed him out of the yard, and slammed the door shut with a bang.

The man on the other side was no longer my first love, the one I’d pined for. He was shame. Monumental shame.

Goodbye forever, Zane.

5.

After two days of cleaning, I was stir-crazy and decided to go for a run. Zane had sent me a message: “Eve, asleep?”

Salt on the wound. I ignored him, of course.

The statue had been a Valentine’s Day gift from a guy to his wife. After finishing it, I’d been so inspired I couldn’t resist—I made one of Zane and myself. It was one of my proudest works, usually covered with a cloth. That morning, I’d wiped it down and left it to air out in the sun. And then Zane saw it.

I drove to a park, put on my headphones, and started jogging. Faintly, I heard a rhythmic chant: “Left, right! Left, right!”

Confused, I turned my head—and my hair stood on end.

Behind me, in blue shorts and T-shirts, were Zane and his team.

When he saw me look back, Zane seemed surprised. He waved cheerfully. The people behind him were even more excited, shouting, “It’s that artist! The one who made the captain’s statue!”

The orderly line broke into chaos. Many who hadn’t seen me rushed forward to get a look. I bolted, legs pumping. Zane, with his long strides, caught up effortlessly.

6.

I ran. They chased. I was trapped.

Just as they were about to catch me and gawk, I spotted a public restroom ahead and dove in. Three seconds later, screams erupted inside.

“Ah! Pervert!”

Flustered, I backed out, apologizing. “Sorry, wrong restroom! Sorry!”

Behind me, the blue-clad team was doubled over with laughter.

“Stop laughing! Attention!” Zane barked the order, but a moment later, he cracked too. “Pfft.”

As the whole crowd burst into laughter, I turned around, expressionless, and kept running.

Social death—you get used to it after a while.

Today was destined to break records. When I reached the park parking lot and checked my pace, I was stunned. Five kilometers in under twenty minutes.

“Claire!”

I turned. Zane stood behind me, sweat on his face, droplets clinging to his damp hair. His eyes crinkled with a smile, handsome and boyish, just as I remembered—the image that had haunted my sleepless nights.

7.

Zane had been recruited to our school as a sports talent. I often saw him sweating it out on the track. At every sports meet, he was the brightest star—sprints, long-distance, high jump, long jump. A decathlon prodigy. Tall and sturdy, with sharp, handsome features, his looks weren’t like those idol stars. He was more like a young, valiant general from a historical novel—brimming with spirit and masculinity.

The girls at school called him “walking pheromones.” Once you saw him, you couldn’t look away.

Some people just dazzle your youth, becoming the pure moonlight in your heart. If only that moonlight could keep its mouth shut.

“Claire, I think there’s something off about your statue. Art needs imagination, sure, but it can’t stray from reality~ You should study the real thing to create better work.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Was he talking about the *real thing* I thought he was?

Zane stepped closer, lowering his head, his eyes burning into mine. “Claire, let me be your model!”

Model? I swallowed hard. That was a hard offer to refuse.

8.

I never imagined Zane would actually show up to model for me. He sat on the sofa, leaning back comfortably, watching me with a smile in his eyes. I was so flustered I knocked over tea and tripped over stools.

“Claire, you’re still so funny.”

Blushing, I shrank into the seat across from him and carefully poured fresh tea. “You really want to be my model?”

I looked up, eyes sparkling. Zane’s features were deep, his contours sharp. Bathed in the play of light and shadow, he was perfect for painting. That was why I’d made his statue in the first place—maybe forty percent from my crush, but sixty percent because he was just too beautiful. He was like a perfect statue himself: a face with ideal proportions, a body at the golden ratio. A textbook model. Seeing him made my hands itch, my creative urge unstoppable.

Zane nodded, his voice soft. “Have I ever said no to you?”

Those few words yanked me back to high school. We’d been desk mates since freshman year, and Zane had always looked out for me. I loved to draw during class, sneaking sketches. When the teacher approached, he’d nudge my foot under the desk. I was careless, often forgetting my textbooks. When the teacher said, “Stand up if you don’t have your book,” he’d push his to me without hesitation and take the fall, standing at the back of the room.

We’d been apart for five years, but he was still the same warm, sunny Zane. Unchanged.

9.

I pulled out a book of oil paintings and asked timidly, “Can I paint this? *Prometheus Bound*?”

Zane glanced at the image and raised an eyebrow. It showed a half-naked man, a scrap of cloth tied loosely around his waist, chains binding his body. The bulging muscles, taut against the links, radiated raw masculine power—a wild, primal beauty.

He squinted at me sideways. “Sure. When?”

I shot up, excited. “Right now! I’ll take you to the studio!”

I’d wanted to paint this for ages. I’d planned to rely on imagination, but now with Zane as my model, it was a dream come true. Watching me produce plastic chains, torn fabric strips, and background props like a magician, Zane looked a bit stunned.

“Claire, you planned this.”

I handed him an apron, barely containing my excitement. Zane seemed to regret his offer. He shot me a helpless look and went to another room to change.

10.

I set up the easel, practically bouncing in my seat. It felt like a dream—finally painting my muse in person. When Zane pushed open the door, I stopped breathing.

His body was even more perfect than I’d imagined. My earlier sketches had leaned toward a European, muscular build, but Zane’s was more suited to Asian aesthetics. His muscles weren’t exaggeratedly bulky; the lines were long and smooth. Broad shoulders, firm chest, sharply defined eight-pack abs, and the faint hint of an Adonis belt.

My face heated as I directed him into position, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of my mouth. Once he was posed, I wrapped the prop chains around him, unavoidably touching his skin. It was smooth, fine. My fingertips felt like they were on fire, a current shooting from my fingers to my heart, racing through my insides.

When I sat back down, my hands were still trembling. This whole thing felt like an elaborate dream—I hoped I’d never wake up. Sunlight streamed through the window, dappling Zane’s body, making the scene come alive.

Zane seemed to be watching me, but my focus had already plunged into my brush. I don’t know how long passed before a commotion erupted at the door.

“Attention inside! You’re surrounded! Release the hostage!”

A gruff male voice boomed through a loudspeaker.

11.

I must be hallucinating from lack of sleep.

“Attention inside! You’re surrounded! Release the hostage!”

The voice repeated. Brush in hand, I walked dazedly to the door. Through the rusted iron fence, I saw several police cars outside, officers with guns beside them. When they saw me, the crowd stirred.

“Hands up!”

I raised my hands blankly, catching sight of neighbors perched in trees, watching the show.

“Whoa, the kidnapper’s a pretty young girl!” “Haven’t you read martial arts novels? Girls—especially pretty ones—are the most dangerous!”

Kidnapper? What kidnapper?

Just then, Zane, hearing the escalating noise, walked out shirtless. I’d felt something was missing during the painting, so I’d added bloody wounds to his body. Seeing a half-naked man covered in fake injuries sent the crowd into a frenzy.

“Oh my god! Imprisonment! Torture! So thrilling!” “Good heavens, look at that body! Auntie Liu, come quick!”

12.

“Comrade, don’t be afraid! We’re here to save you!” “You! Don’t move! Hands up!”

A tall, middle-aged officer shouted at me through the loudspeaker.

No, I didn’t want to raise my hands. I wanted to lie down. Face-first.

Zane and I—him half-naked—were taken away by the police. When we tried to leave the village, the crowd was so thick the car couldn’t move. The police had to find a village official to clear the way.

Because of my work, I needed a private yard and several spacious studios. That’s why I’d rented this place in an urban village—cheap rent, convenient transport. The only downside was the nosy neighbors. Ever since a single young woman rented a big yard alone, people had been whispering, always prying into what I did for a living.

This was it. I’d ruined everything. And dragged Zane down with me.

13.

The police station chief looked at Zane apologetically. “Captain Zane, what a misunderstanding. We got a report about a kidnapping and even a photo. Take a look.”

Zane and I leaned in to see the phone. The photo had been taken from the second floor of the house across the street—through fluttering white curtains, a bloodied man was visible, bound in the middle of the room. No wonder they’d mistaken it. At first glance, it did look like a kidnapping.

I hung my head, feeling like I’d pass out from shame.

As we walked out of the station, Zane looked at me and burst out laughing. “Claire, being with you is so much fun!”

I watched his eyes crinkle with laughter. Zane, you don’t understand how cruel gossip can be. In a few days, you won’t be laughing.

He dropped me off at the village and went back to the station. I stopped at the village shop to buy water and overheard people talking about me.

“Young folks these days have so many tricks. So adventurous! Not like us old fogeys.” “Tsk tsk, exactly! That chain business—oh, so scandalous!”

I turned to see two women cracking sunflower seeds, spittle flying. Ladies, your expressions don’t look scandalized at all.

14.

The next morning, I was still asleep when my phone rang. Groggy, I answered.

“Hello, sweetie, have you heard?” “Heard what, Mom?” “Oh, that Zane, your high school classmate. He was supposed to meet my best friend’s daughter for a matchmaking. Her parents really liked him. But yesterday, he got taken to the police station! I heard he tied up some girl and whipped her until she was bloody! So twisted! You two were close in high school, and I thought he’d make a good son-in-law. But he’s a creep! Stay far away from him, you hear?”

I hung up in shame. So Zane wasn’t my nemesis—I was his. I’d ruined his reputation. What if he never found a wife now?

Maybe I should offer myself as compensation? That didn’t seem so bad. I thought of his toned body and handsome face and swallowed.

I pulled out my phone and replied to Zane’s message. “Free tonight? Let me take you to dinner.”

No response. I tossed the phone aside and got up to paint.

15.

I’d taken a custom order: a Tang Dynasty court lady painting in the style of Western oil paintings—without clothes, of course. I spent the whole day sketching in the studio. By evening, my shoulders and wrists ached. I decided to take a walk in the park across the street.

As soon as I stepped out, I saw a group of aunties gathered at the gate. Their eyes lit up at the sight of me.

I looked down the road leading out of the village. Several groups of aunties were scattered along it, cracking seeds and gossiping, their eyes darting everywhere. There was no escape. Even a dog would get talked about walking this road.

“Oh, Miss Claire, where are you off to?” “Just taking a walk, Auntie Liu.”

Auntie Liu immediately elbowed Auntie Zhang beside her. “A date, huh! Going to see your boyfriend? Oh, Miss Claire, you’re so lucky—he’s so handsome!” “No, I’m just going for a walk in the park.” “Is he moving in with you? I heard he’s a firefighter, a captain even! Tsk tsk, firefighters are great—they’ve got stamina!”

I shut my mouth and ran, shielding my face.

16.

The park was quiet in the evening. Many elderly folks were hurrying home to cook. I wandered to a secluded spot and was about to sit down when I heard crying ahead.

“Anyone there? Help!”

I ran over and found a boy, about eight or nine years old. His head was stuck between the bars of a railing, his body half-crouched. It was hilarious.

“Sister! Help me!”

The boy had a round, rosy face and looked quite cute. I crouched in front of him and patted his head. “Ha! Are you the legendary Big Head Son? How’d you get stuck in there?”

He glared at me, annoyed. “My head’s not big! The bars are too narrow!”

I measured the gap with my hands. This was narrow? Against my better judgment, I stuck my head in.

A minute later, I was stuck in the railing too.

“How can there be a woman this dumb?”

I flicked his forehead. “Call for help!” “Why me?” “Because I’m too embarrassed.”

17.

“Help! Someone!”

Under my coercion, the boy started yelling. After a while, not a single bird flew by.

“Sister, why didn’t you bring your phone?” I shifted my weight, legs numb from crouching. “Because I’m an idiot.”

Just as we were about to give up, an auntie passed by. I recognized her face and tried to cover the boy’s mouth, but it was too late.

“Auntie Liu, out for a walk too?” “Henry! Grandma’s been looking all over for you!”

So this was Auntie Liu’s grandson?

“Oh, Miss Claire, what are you doing here?”

Meeting Auntie Liu’s complicated expression, I hung my head in despair. Tomorrow, the whole village would be talking about me again.

I thought this was the end. It was just the beginning.

Auntie Liu pulled out her phone and dialed 119.

18.

The firefighters arrived quickly. I spotted a familiar figure from afar.

“Ma’am, please lift your head a bit. It’s hard for us to work like this.”

I kept my head down, trying to hide my face with my hair.

“Oh my, isn’t that Miss Claire’s boyfriend? Miss Claire, your boyfriend’s here!”

Auntie Liu slapped her thigh excitedly.

A strong hand gripped my chin and lifted my face. I was forced to meet Zane’s eyes, barely containing his laughter. The firefighter next to him seemed to recognize me too, grinning. “Hey, great artist!”

Zane carefully pried the bars apart with a tool as he talked. “Claire, if you wanted to see me, you didn’t have to go this far.”

“I didn’t! No! Don’t be ridiculous!”

Auntie Liu’s ears were practically perked up like antennas.

“I didn’t reply this morning because I was training. I messaged you back later, but you didn’t answer. I’m on duty tonight. How about breakfast tomorrow?”

I crouched there, turning my head to look at him. He was focused on the bars, his profile bathed in the setting sun, gilded like gold. High nose bridge, sensual lips, sharp jawline.

The person I loved had the most handsome profile in the world.

19.

I trudged back to the village with Auntie Liu, infamous for her big mouth. If she knew something, the whole village knew. My fame was inescapable—I was the undisputed number one celebrity in town.

Back in my room, I picked up my phone. Sure enough, there were several messages from Zane. I looked at his profile picture, blushed, and changed his nickname to “Adam.”

In the studio, I couldn’t focus on the commission. I pulled out the half-finished painting of Zane, mesmerized by the image. I traced his face with my finger. When would I get to touch the real him?

Before I knew it, it was pitch dark. I was about to head to the kitchen for a snack when I heard a noise from the bedroom. Faint—like something dropped and quickly picked up.

My heart tightened. Someone was in my bedroom?

Because of its location, the village had many outside renters, and thefts were common. Not long ago, three burglars had broken into a house on the west side, injuring the owner. The incident had caused quite a stir.

Was my room being burgled?

I swallowed and quickly dialed Zane.

“Hello?” His deep, magnetic voice came through.

“Hey, honey, why aren’t you home yet?” I spoke loudly, making sure whoever was in the bedroom could hear.

20.

Zane hesitated on the other end. “Claire, did you dial the wrong number?”

“What? You’re at the village entrance? I’ll come meet you. I’m a bit hungry—let’s get a late-night snack.”

“Drive carefully, honey. They dug a hole on the main road during the day.”

My palms were sweaty. I kept talking loudly, pretending to be calm as I walked toward the door.

“Claire, are you in trouble? I’m on my way.”

I strode to the door and slammed it shut, the iron gate clanging. After two steps, I ducked low, crept back, and hid by the fence. I pulled out a pocket mirror and angled it to see into my bedroom. Only a sheer white curtain was drawn. The room was dark, shapes barely visible.

I waited. Then, on the white curtain, two silhouettes appeared.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, terrified I’d scream. Confirming someone was inside, I didn’t linger. I crouched low, took a few steps, then bolted.

At the village entrance was a small supermarket. Rural nights grew quiet early—it was barely past ten, but the shop had already closed.

21.

I stood under the neon sign outside the supermarket, still trembling, my heart pounding. I touched my face and found it slick with sweat.

Were burglars this bold now? It wasn’t even that late, and they dared to break in?

Just then, a black car pulled up. Zane rushed out. “Claire, are you okay?”

I threw myself into his arms, wrapping mine around his waist. “Honey, you’re finally here!”

Zane held me tight, one hand patting my back soothingly. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

I felt his warmth, his firm chest. My scattered senses slowly returned. Had I just called him “honey”? Oh my god!

But his embrace was so warm. He was so tall, so strong. Wrapped in his arms, I felt so safe. I didn’t want to let go.

22.

“Claire, what happened?”

After a long moment, I reluctantly pulled away. “Zane, someone broke into my house.”

Thinking of those two shadows in the dark, my voice trembled. Thank goodness I hadn’t been sleeping in the bedroom—I’d been in the studio. Hard work had saved me.

Zane’s face turned serious. He touched my head gently. “Don’t worry. I’ll go check with you.”

He took my hand. He started it. I didn’t hesitate—I held his hand with one of mine and wrapped the other around his arm, pressing half my body against him. “Zane, I’m scared.”

He shifted his arm awkwardly, accidentally brushing against my chest. He froze. I was embarrassed too, so I pretended nothing happened and recounted the events.

We walked close together until we reached my house. I hesitated at the door.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

Zane pushed open the gate, and I followed him inside.

23.

The bedroom was a mess. My underwear was scattered everywhere, my nightgown pulled out. Zane found two cigarette butts near the window.

A bad feeling crept over me. This might not be a simple burglary.

I followed Zane to the studio. My easel was knocked over. The draft of my court lady painting was gone.

A terrifying thought struck me. Ignoring my fear, I rushed back to the bedroom. Zane watched as I frantically searched my closet.

Just as I feared—several sets of underwear were missing.

Someone was targeting me.

Ever since the firefighters carried out that statue, rumors had spread through the village. Some said I was in an illicit trade. Others claimed I brought men home every day. Still others called me a loose woman, saying my house was full of nude statues, paintings, and tools. The village was a mixed bag of all sorts. A few creeps had probably set their sights on me. They hadn’t come to steal—they’d come for me.

Zane saw my trembling body and pale face and realized something was wrong. “Claire, what is it?”

24.

After I told him, Zane’s expression darkened. “Claire, you can’t stay here. The yard may be big, but the walls are low. An adult man could climb over easily. And the locks on these doors are flimsy—anyone could pick them. It’s too dangerous.”

“But I need to work. Statues and paintings need space, especially the statues. Regular apartments have ceilings too low for what I do.”

I sat on the bed, defeated, staring at the mess of clothes, on the verge of tears.

Zane crouched down, took my hand, and ruffled my hair. “It’s okay. You can stay with me. Work here during the day, sleep at my place at night.”

I looked up at him, surprised. Stay with him? Live with Zane?

“Is that okay? Won’t it affect your chances of finding a girlfriend?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a bit manipulative.

“It’s fine. My reputation’s already ruined anyway. Everyone thinks I’m a creep. I won’t be finding a girlfriend anytime soon.”

Zane looked at me tenderly, a smile in his eyes.

25.

I dragged out a suitcase and started packing cheerfully. A man and a woman, alone together, young and passionate, sparks ready to fly.

Hehehehe…

I accidentally laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?” “Thinking about sparks.”

I wanted to bite my tongue off, but the words were out.

“Sparks? I’m a firefighter—it’s my job to put them out.”

I looked up at Zane. Was he making a move? Was he?

I locked up, suitcase in tow, and followed him to his place. He lived in a high-end complex with strict security—one apartment per floor, keycard access for the elevator. The place was lined with streetlights and cameras, giving me a sense of safety. His apartment was a cozy three-bedroom, about 1,300 square feet, simply and warmly decorated. It looked like a couple’s starter home.

26.

“You’ll stay in the guest room. I don’t come home much—only on days off.”

Zane gave me a quick tour, then brought out fresh bedding and made the bed. His practiced movements made me beam. If we ever got married, he’d be a great husband—better at housework than me.

Claire, go get him!

I stood there, staring dreamily at Zane, when my stomach growled.

He turned, grinning, and flicked my forehead. “Wait here. Let me show you my skills.”

He headed to the kitchen. He was cooking for me? I followed him to the dining room, sat down, propped my chin on my hands, and watched him tie on an apron, eyes sparkling.

They say the most attractive men are the ones who cook. Broad shoulders, lean waist, firm backside, long legs. I was even hungrier now—my mouth was watering.

Zane worked quickly. In no time, he’d made a bowl of noodles. I sat up eagerly, approaching the bowl with reverence.

A black, sticky, gooey mess?

27.

I looked up at Zane, who was watching me expectantly, his expression practically begging for praise. It was his cooking. Maybe it just looked bad?

I tentatively took a bite.

Oh my god! Had he dumped an entire salt shaker in here? Salty, bitter, sour, spicy—how many seasonings had he used?

I forced myself to swallow, fighting back nausea. The light in Zane’s eyes faded. He looked down, hiding his disappointment under his long lashes.

“Not good? I guess I don’t have a knack for cooking.”

I glanced at the noodles. I didn’t have the courage to take another bite—even if Zane had made them.

“Are you hungry? Let me cook!”

I pushed back my chair, walked up to Zane, and reached around his waist to untie his apron. But when I got close, I realized how forward I was. The gesture was far too intimate—like I was deliberately hugging him.

I kept my head down, feeling Zane’s hot breath on my forehead, a wave of warmth washing over me. His waist was so narrow I could wrap both hands around it. He just stood there, arms raised, letting me fumble with the knot.

28.

It was just an apron, but somehow Zane had tied a knot that wouldn’t budge. I struggled with it, my face growing redder by the second. We were standing way too close—so close that a slight lean would press us together. I could even hear his strong heartbeat, feel the tension in his body.

Zane was nearly a head taller than me. Standing before him, my face was level with his chest. It was heaving, almost brushing my nose. Sweat beaded on my own nose, tickling slightly. Finally, I loosened the knot and let out a deep breath—right onto his chest. He seemed to shudder.

Just as I slowly pulled my hands back, Zane moved. He grabbed my forearms, pinned them to his waist, and pulled me into an embrace.

Zane was hugging me?

Startled, I looked up and met his gaze. His eyes deepened, grew hot, like molten lava. When he focused on me, a dark glint flickered in them—a look that was both intimidating and consuming, as if one wrong move and I’d be devoured.

29.

*Ring!*

Zane’s phone went off. The jarring sound snapped us apart. I stumbled back, gasping for air. I’d been so tense I’d forgotten to breathe.

Zane answered, his expression immediately turning serious. “Yes, on my way!”

“Claire, I’ve got an emergency. Lock the door. I probably won’t be back tonight.”

I watched him rush off, a pang of loss hitting me. We’d been so close—so close to kissing!

Dejectedly, I walked to the table. I couldn’t bear to throw away the noodles. Instead, I took a photo and saved it to my favorites. I made myself a bowl of tomato and egg noodles, eating while planning how to catch those creeps. I’d install cameras and maybe get a big dog for the yard. Otherwise, even daytime would feel unsafe.

30.

I woke up groggy in the middle of the night, needing the bathroom. After stumbling back to bed, half-asleep, I realized something was wrong.

A strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me into an embrace.

“Claire, did you do that on purpose?”

Zane was back? And this was his bed?!

His breath hit my neck, sending goosebumps all over my body. I froze, facing away from him.

“Z-Zane, when did you get back?”

I felt his hand rub my waist, his fingertips rough, his palm hot. He seemed to be kissing my neck and shoulders. Little flames sparked across my body, burning away my reason and soul.

I’d been waiting for this moment for so long. But now that it was here, I was scared.

I yanked his hand away, jumped out of bed, and sprinted out of the room. “Sorry, wrong room!”

Aaaaah!

I buried myself in the covers, my head so hot it felt like it was steaming. There was a reason I’d been single for so long. I’d just blown the perfect opportunity. Regret washed over me, but I couldn’t muster the courage to go back to his room. I fell asleep in a tangle of hesitation, embarrassment, excitement, and longing.

31.

The next morning, Zane was already gone. I sighed with relief, but also disappointment. He must like me, right? So why hadn’t he confessed? Deep down, I was still a bit traditional. Getting intimate without being in a relationship felt wrong.

Was he just playing around?

I spent the morning lost in thought before pulling myself together and heading out. First, I bought a bunch of cameras at the electronics market. Then I went to the pet store, got a wolfdog and a pile of dog food, and hitched a ride back to the village with the pet store’s van. I supervised the camera installation, set up a doghouse in the yard, and added a few outdoor lights. Finally, I could breathe.

The draft I’d worked so hard on was stolen, so I had to start over. Just as I was getting busy, my mom called.

“Claire, come home tonight. I’ve arranged a matchmaking for you tomorrow.” “Matchmaking? Mom, I told you I don’t want that!” “What, do you think you can fly? Women are like flowers. If you don’t find someone while you’re young, do you want to wait until you’re old? If you don’t come home, I’ll break your legs!”

I hung up in frustration, but I didn’t dare disobey. If I didn’t go home, my mom would show up at my studio within the hour and make my life miserable. What choice did I have? It’s not like I could cut ties with her.

32.

“Zane, I’m going home tonight. My mom set up a matchmaking for me tomorrow.”

I stared anxiously at my phone. If Zane really wanted to be with me, seeing me go on a blind date would provoke some reaction, right?

“Okay. Stay safe.”

He replied quickly. I stared at the curt message and nearly threw my phone across the room. He didn’t care at all? So what was all that intimacy yesterday?

What a jerk!

I packed up the studio and went home, thoroughly annoyed.

“Look at that sour face! Sweetie, I’ve been around the block. I’m not trying to hurt you.” My mom chattered as she cut fruit, poured milk, and brought out snacks. “If you don’t want to matchmake, then