“You are the most Chinese person I have ever met,” she said. She flopped back onto the sofa, glaring at the ceiling.
She was so deluded. At least Ket Siong was busy looking embarrassed over having been revealed to hold beliefs at least a generation too old for him. He probably hadn’t noticed Renee’s own embarrassment.
“I’m tootiredto blow-dry my hair,” she said. “It’s not going to kill me if I let it dry by itself, this one time.”
Ket Siong muttered something unintelligible.
“What’s that?” said Renee.
Ket Siong looked at her, then away. His ears were pink.
“If you tell me where your hair dryer is,” he said, “I can do it.”
Renee moved to one of her rattan armchairs, close to a power point.
Ket Siong took up position behind her, turning her hair dryer over in his hands. “I’ve never seen one like this before.”
“It cost three hundred pounds.”
“What?”
“My hair’s important.” Renee leaned back in the chair. “No pressure.”
She wasn’t sure why she was letting Ket Siong loose on her head. She could have done it herself, or insisted on letting the air-drying process complete itself, Chinese superstitions about wet hair be damned.
But then Ket Siong touched her, running his fingers over the curve of her ear and lifting a damp coil of hair in his hand. And—well.
Ket Siong was gentle and thorough. He took his time, dividing her hair into sections and blow-drying each one separately until the strands were slipping through his fingers. His touch was almost impersonal. Almost.
By the time he was done, Renee felt drowsy and loose-limbed. She could have laid her head down on his lap and gone to sleep.
She carded her fingers through her hair. She had to admit it was nice having it dry.
“That seems to have done the job.” She yawned. “Happy now?”
Silence. Renee turned around. “Ket Siong?”
Ket Siong unplugged the hair dryer, set it down on a side table, and came to sit by her. He was looking thoughtful.
“You haven’t asked why I kept coming to Hyde Park,” he said.
Renee’s brain had been tiptoeing around that particular revelation. Getting to the park and back home meant a two-hour round trip for Ket Siong. It was a lot to take in.
“You wanted to apologise,” she said. A thought struck her. “Why didn’t you come to my building? You know where I live.”
“That would have been… I didn’t want to cross the line.”
Renee tried to suppress her grin, but from the way Ket Siong ducked his head, she wasn’t that successful. He went on:
“Apologising was part of it. But it wasn’t just that. There were some other things I wanted to talk to you about.”
Renee nodded. “About Freshview?”
“What? No.” Biting his lip, Ket Siong looked away, as though casting around for something to help him.
She realised he was nervous.
“Renee, I haven’t been honest with you,” he said. “I was trying to respect what you wanted, from—from our friendship. But when we stopped talking, I regretted not telling you how I felt.”
