The next morning, Jade awoke to bright daylight streaming through the window. She lay still for a moment, then sluggishly registered the empty space beside her in the bed. He's gone, she thought, pushing herself up. But as she stepped out of the bedroom, the unexpected aroma of cooked food drifted from the kitchen.
Curious, she grabbed her towel and headed towards the smell. Breakfast was ready: stir-fried dishes sat covered by a bamboo dome on the stove lid, keeping flies away. Nigel was nowhere in sight.
Jade went to the small table in the corner, holding the washbasin, toothbrush, and toothpaste. She squeezed a dollop onto her brush, picked up the faded ceramic mug with its vintage charm, and deftly scooped half a basin of water. Carrying it outside to the courtyard for her morning routine, she stopped short just past the threshold.
Nigel stood by the well, his back to her. He was bare-chested, wearing only camouflage trousers. Sunlight glinted off his sweat-slicked skin, highlighting the defined muscles of his back and the lean, powerful lines of his torso. It was a stark contrast to the pale, soft-bellied men she was used to seeing shirtless. She couldn't help but stare for a second – not out of attraction, but sheer surprise at the physicality. His face was one thing, but this physique was… exceptional.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, the man bent over wringing out clothes suddenly turned his head. His dark hair was half-pulled back, messy strands framing a striking widow's peak. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips. His eyes met hers for a fleeting, indifferent moment before he turned back to his task.
Jade's eyes widened. He was wringing out her clothes from last night.
This version of Nigel Shaw was chipping away at the image she'd built in her mind. He'd been her first major case. Even with her secret plans to leave law enforcement, she'd studied his file meticulously during her internship. The documents painted a picture: cunning, ruthless, fiercely intelligent despite dropping out early (top of his class at the best local high school, the records noted), a master of evasion honed by a life navigating gangs and police, a man who'd vanished for eleven years. Yet also, undeniably, a devoted father. She'd seen the childish essays penned by his daughter, describing a father who crafted unique toys, climbed mountains at night for a sunrise wish, even secretly learned to braid hair. Complex. Contradictory.
But nowhere in that thick file did it mention he'd do laundry or cook breakfast. The men in her world were lazy bums who wouldn't lift a finger if the house was on fire. Her own future husband fantasy had included basic housekeeping. Ironically achieved, she thought wryly, carrying her basin to the drainage channel in the west corner.
---
Breakfast was three simple dishes: stir-fried peppers and eggplant, bok choy, and a tofu and meat soup. The cooking was functional – edible but uninspired. Jade kept her head down and ate two bowls. True to the new pattern, Nigel silently cleared the table when they were done.
Watching his efficient movements, Jade accepted it without guilt. She paced the living room, hands supporting her belly, then retreated to the bedroom to sketch patterns for baby clothes. Rummaging through drawers yielded a stubby pencil and a battered notebook missing its cover. She was intimately familiar with baby clothes styles from her nephew – the practical one-piece suits newborns wore, sized around 50-60 cm. Jade hunched over the table, sketching meticulously, adding notes on construction details.
She was so absorbed she didn't hear the knocking at the courtyard gate. By the time she registered it and stood up, Nigel was already heading out to answer. Jade sat back down but didn't resume drawing. The bedroom window faced the yard; she could see clearly by craning her neck.
Nigel opened the gate to Chuck Zhu. Chuck looked sheepish, holding up two small catfish. "Bro," he greeted, shifting uncomfortably. "Heard you were out. Came to check in." He gestured with the fish. "Caught these yesterday on the way back from seeing Mable."
He knew the fight that landed Nigel in jail had been partly over him. He was the only one who'd escaped consequences. "Listen," he added quickly, "Heard they need guys on a construction site over in the next city. Fifteen bucks a day. You interested?"
Work was scarce later in the year. Chuck and Mable were set to marry around New Year, and he needed cash. The thought of marriage brightened his expression. "Oh, and that big hotel in town? Almost finished. My uncle's gonna be head chef there. Says he can get me in. Heard they'll need waitresses and stuff too. Maybe you could get Sis-in-Lang a spot?" Mable's parents had only agreed to the match because of this potential connection.
Losing their trucking gig over the fight weighed on Chuck. He had a fallback – learning cooking from his uncle, maybe opening his own place someday. But Nigel, Ken Zhou… guys like them, with no family backing, no safety net? Their trucking business had just started making headway before the clash with Victor Qin and his crew. Chuck's mother and Mable both warned him to cut ties, but he remembered how Nigel had looked out for him as a kid. He had to offer this.
A hotel job was gold. Factories were laying off workers left and right. Getting in without connections would be impossible. The county's new leadership was pushing tourism, attracting investors. This fancy four-star hotel, built by some big shot from Haicheng, was the symbol of it all.
Nigel brushed off the fight. Chuck was scrawny; he'd just get hurt. He gave a noncommittal grunt about the construction job. But when Chuck mentioned Jade working at the hotel, his brow furrowed slightly. A flicker of dislike. "We'll see about that later. How long's the construction gig?"
The trucking business was dead. Swallowing his pride to crawl back to Victor Qin wasn't an option. He might run the streets, but he knew some lines you didn't cross. Once crossed, you were stained. With Jade carrying his kid, he had to think ahead. The jail stint had served a purpose too – Victor Qin was reckless, riding high. Sooner or later, he'd crash. Nigel wasn't going down with him. The fight was a clean break.
Chuck, oblivious to these thoughts, answered, "Four, five months?"
Nigel's frown deepened. That was too long. Jade would have given birth by then. He needed money, badly. But he needed to be here when his son came. His mother was useless. Jade's parents? Forget it.
Seeing his hesitation, Chuck hurriedly added, "They pay daily, though. You can leave whenever. I'm aiming to stick it out till New Year. Wanna have a decent holiday." Mable's parents demanded a crippling bride price; his family was tapped out. Three bucks a day as his uncle's kitchen lackey, doing the dirtiest jobs, wasn't cutting it. He needed the construction cash.
Nigel thought of Jade's timid words last night: The baby needs things. He didn't know what, but it meant money. He gave a curt nod. "Alright. I'll think on it."
Chuck left the fish and headed off. Nigel carried the small catch back inside, looking for a basin to keep them alive in water. As he turned, his gaze flickered towards the bedroom window. Jade jerked her head back inside.
She hadn't caught every word, but Chuck's voice carried snippets: "construction site," "big hotel," "Sis-in-Law." Coupled with her knowledge of Nigel's history, the picture formed. This was the year he'd had the final, violent falling out with Victor Qin. Victor's crew hassled his guys; Nigel retaliated, ending in jail. After release, another brawl sealed the enmity. If not for this, Nigel might have made his fortune much earlier with his fledgling trucking operation, a precursor to modern logistics companies.
Small mercies, she thought darkly. Victor Qin would be executed over a decade before Nigel's own death, caught dealing drugs. After the split, Nigel had taken a dark detour. That construction job? It was a front. He and his friends got sucked into a pyramid scheme, losing everything. But Nigel wasn't ordinary. He'd turned the tables, exposed the operation, and even walked away with contacts and seed money – funds fueling his later ventures south. As for "Jiang Rou"… she had worked at that four-star hotel. It was where she'd met the wealthy Hong Kong businessman and eventually abandoned her daughter.
Jade wrestled with a moral dilemma. Should she warn him about the pyramid scheme? People who got sucked into those suffered horribly. But the former police cadet in her whispered: Wouldn't the world be better off if he got locked up? It was a cold, uncomfortable thought. Finding a solution that served both justice and… well, maybe just a sliver of compassion for the man whose clothes she was currently wearing… felt impossible.
Before Jade could resolve her internal conflict, the afternoon sky abruptly darkened. A torrential downpour unleashed itself. The old house, roofed only with tiles, sprung leaks everywhere – even in the bedroom. Jade scrambled, but there weren't enough basins. Water began pooling in the low spots of the floor.
Nigel hauled a ladder inside. Standing near the door, he stripped off his shirt, ignoring the rain already soaking him. "Watch inside," he ordered Jade tersely. He propped the ladder against the outer wall and climbed onto the roof. The sound of shifting, scraping tiles followed moments later. His voice, muffled by the drumming rain, called down: "Still leaking?"
Jade checked the spot dripping into the washtub. It had lessened but persisted. She tilted her head back. "Yes! Leaking! Where your left hand was!" She realized the flaw immediately. His left? Her left? The house faced south… directions tangled hopelessly in her pregnant brain. Definitely the hormones, she insisted internally. "East? Wait, no… West! It's West!" She gestured uselessly upwards.
A faint, derisive snort sounded from above. He'd already moved tiles. Moments later: "Here?"
Jade hurried into the bedroom, looking up and down. "Stopped!" But as soon as he moved away, the drip resumed. "Wait! Leaking again!"
A distinct, impatient "Tch" drifted down. He returned, adjusted more tiles. "Now?"
"Leaking."
"Now?"
"Still leaking."
"…"
Sensing his rising irritation, Jade offered timidly, "Maybe… try towards the gate? The right side?" She thought she heard a soft huff of amusement.
Over a dozen leaks took nearly forty minutes to patch. When Nigel climbed back down, he was drenched to the skin. Jade urged him to wash his hair, scrambling to find a clean towel. He took it, rubbing his head absently, watching as she bustled about: emptying basins of dirty water, rinsing them in the rain at the doorway, fetching the thermos from the main table.
Faced with the person who'd just saved the house from flooding, Jade channeled her sister-in-law's tactics. Her brother had been notoriously lazy until marriage transformed him. The secret? Profuse appreciation that fed his ego. Jade could play that game. She grabbed the soap, dragged a chair to the doorway, and mixed hot water from the thermos with cold in a basin, testing the temperature with her hand. Perfect.
She turned towards him, beaming a sugary smile. "Ready! I'll go heat water for your bath." She hurried off towards the kitchen.
Nigel watched her go, expression unreadable. Once she was out of sight, he tossed the towel into the basin, leaned over, and plunged his head straight into the steaming water.
"…"
It was possibly the hottest head-washing experience of Nigel Shaw's life.