Chapter 17: A Kiss, Not a Peck

Ban Ban’s body clock woke her at five. She moved to sit up, but halfway through pushing herself up, her injured wrist twinged. She hissed. Before she could draw back her hand, an arm circled her waist and pulled her back.

“Don’t make breakfast with your hand hurt,” Ting’an murmured above her, his voice rough with sleep.

She was back in his embrace, face against his chest, enclosed by his arm. She tipped her head up, her nose brushing his chin. “What will you eat?”

“Auntie Jiang can make it.” His eyes were closed, his voice indistinct. “Don’t cook for the next few days. Wait until your hand heals.”

Resting on his arm, she raised her right hand before her eyes. The bruise remained, but the swelling at its edge had diminished, and a thin scab covered the scrape. She rotated her wrist; the joint moved freely, though pressing it still produced a dull ache.

“You put medicine on it last night. It isn’t swollen!”

Ting’an opened one eye and saw her examining her wrist with great concentration. He pulled her hand back beneath the quilt and enclosed her fingers in his palm. “Sleep.”

Then he lowered his head and touched his lips to her hair, a brief, warm, slightly moist touch before withdrawing.

The spot warmed, and a fine current seemed to travel from the top of her head down her back. Her steady heartbeat became a drumbeat. She went rigid, not daring to move.

After several seconds, she spoke into his chest. “Did you just kiss me?”

With his eyes closed, the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes,” he said softly.

She buried her face deeper, unable to suppress her grin, cheeks crinkling. Curled in his arms, she tried not to laugh. “How could you kiss me?”

He opened his eyes, drew back a little and looked down. Her face was buried in his shirt, only half a red ear visible. He cupped her chin and lifted her face. Her smile hadn’t disappeared; her eyes shone, cheeks pink.

He bent and kissed her forehead, a little firmer and a moment longer than before. The warmth remained after his lips withdrew.

“If Ban Ban can kiss me, why can’t I kiss Ban Ban?”

Her smile froze. She stared, mouth open. “H-how did you know I kissed you?”

He had already settled back with his eyes closed, arm still around her waist. “Of course I knew.”

“You were awake yesterday morning?”

“Mm.”

Her face flamed. She buried it in his chest again. “Then you were pretending to sleep.”

“I wasn’t pretending.” He patted her lower back lightly. “I just didn’t open my eyes.”

She fell quiet, then nestled closer, head against his collarbone, nose touching his pajama front. His arm tightened. Curled against him, her head fit into the hollow of his shoulder, her bent knees touching his leg. They fit together without a gap.

With his eyes closed, Ting’an recalled seeing her asleep in the Jiang City hotel suite for the first time. Standing by the bed, he’d wondered what it would feel like to hold someone so small. She’d seemed like a child then, and he’d thought holding her would be like holding a doll, that he might feel guilty.

Now she was in his arms. His arm fit around her waist, her head rested just right in the hollow of his shoulder, her curled legs fit beside him. Not too much or too little. He remembered Zhou Lin calling him a beast.

He rested his chin on her head and breathed quietly. This small, warm person in his arms could laugh and fuss, get angry and blush. Perhaps, he thought, he’d underestimated this marriage.

At seven the alarm woke them both. Ban Ban emerged from his arms and sat up, long hair tousled, a pajama strap slipping to one side. She rubbed her eyes, got up and slipped on her slippers. Looking back, she saw Ting’an sitting up too, hair untidy, strands across his brows, as sleepy as she was.

They went downstairs one after the other. Auntie Jiang was cooking porridge in the kitchen and poked her head out to greet them when she heard their footsteps. Ban Ban came first, Ting’an two steps behind, hands in his pockets.

Nothing particular passed between them, but Auntie Jiang sensed a difference. Perhaps it was the way Ban Ban looked back to see where he was, or the way he steadied her lower back when she leaned sideways to look at a flowerpot on the table.

“Good morning, Young Master, Madam.” Auntie Jiang brought out the porridge, then saw Ban Ban’s hand. “What happened?”

“I knocked it. It’s fine.” Ban Ban showed her wrist. “I bumped it accidentally last night.”

Ting’an sat at the table. “Ban Ban won’t cook for the next few days. Her hand is hurt.”

Auntie Jiang agreed and asked with concern whether it hurt and if she needed a hospital. Ban Ban smiled. “No, no. It’s much better after the ointment.”

She sat and ate millet-and-pumpkin porridge, thick and served with pickled cucumber and fried dumplings. She bit into one, the crisp skin breaking around savory filling. As she chewed, she glanced at Ting’an holding his coffee, his profile clear in the morning light.

After breakfast he went upstairs to change. When he came down, she was finishing her milk. She tipped up the glass and swallowed the last mouthful, cheeks puffing briefly. Setting it down, she lifted her chin, a white ring of milk on her lips.

He stopped before her. She looked up, apparently expecting him to speak. He reached out and wiped the milk from her lower lip with his thumb.

She blinked. Then he bent down.

When his lips met hers, her breath stopped. It was a kiss, not a peck. Their lips remained together two or three seconds, warm and a little dry and soft. He gently drew on her upper lip, pressed and released, his breath brushing her mouth.

She sat frozen, her mind blank for two seconds, heart thudding and breath suddenly uneven.

As he straightened, he looked at her. Her face was red from ears to cheeks, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, the milk glass still forgotten in her hand. He smiled faintly and lifted her chin with his thumb to close her mouth, then headed for the door.

“I’m going.”

She watched him change shoes, take his jacket and open the door. He looked back once before leaving; the door closed and his footsteps faded.

Still seated, she slowly lowered the glass and touched her lips. The warmth remained, with a fresh hint of mint from brushing his teeth. She sat quietly at the table for a long time.

In the car, Ting’an started the engine, one hand on the wheel as he fastened his belt. After leaving the courtyard, his fingers tapped the wheel twice.

He hadn’t thought much when he’d kissed her. She’d sat there looking up with milk on her lips, soft and bewildered, and somehow he’d bent down.

Turning onto the main road, he slowed in the gathering rush-hour traffic. At a red light he leaned back and rubbed his brow. He felt like a boy.

Thirty-three years old, he’d seen all kinds of occasions and women. How had he failed to resist, even walking over specifically to kiss her?

Remembering the feeling, happiness surfaced on his face, followed by the thought that he’d been too frivolous. They hadn’t been married long. She’d been sitting there seriously drinking milk, and he’d walked over and kissed her. It wasn’t very mature.

The light turned green. He drove on, turned right and saw the company building. He parked and adjusted his collar in the rearview mirror before getting out.

By the time he entered, his usual detached composure had returned. His secretary waited at the elevator with a document. “Good morning, Mr. Wen. This is the morning meeting schedule.” He took it and glanced over it as the doors closed and the floor numbers rose.

But the image remained: Ban Ban at the table, looking up, milk on her lips, soft and dazed. In the elevator’s reflection he saw a lingering curve at his mouth. He pressed his lips flat just as the elevator chimed.