The patisserie on Fifth Avenue was everything Tara had promised—delicate pastels, the scent of butter and sugar, glass displays filled with perfect rows of macarons in every color imaginable.
Nana pressed her face against the window like a kid at a candy store, her injured shoulder completely forgotten.
"I need to try them all," she whispered reverently.
Inside, the cafe was packed. Every table occupied by couples on dates, friends catching up over lattes, business people typing on laptops. Nana clutched her takeout box of assorted macarons—rose, pistachio, lavender, chocolate—and scanned for an empty seat.
Nothing.
Guess I'm eating these on a bench outside, she thought, turning toward the door.
"Miss Wang?"
Nana froze. She knew that voice—calm, composed, clinical.
A waiter had appeared at her elbow, smiling politely. "Dr. Li noticed you looking for a seat. He's offered to share his table, if you'd like?"
"Dr. Li?" Nana's head whipped around, and sure enough, there he was.
Zayne sat at a corner table by the window, a cup of coffee and a slice of chiffon cake in front of him. He looked impossibly out of place in the romantic patisserie—all sharp lines and dark colors among the soft pinks and creams.
But those hazel eyes were fixed on her, and he gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment.
Nana's face flushed. "Oh, I don't want to intrude! I can just—"
"Please, miss. Dr. Li rarely offers to share his table." The waiter was already guiding her forward.
"He's a regular here, and I've never seen him invite anyone to sit with him before."
Great. No pressure.
Nana found herself being deposited in the chair across from Zayne, her box of macarons clutched like a shield.
"Hi. Again. We really need to stop meeting like this"
She attempted a laugh. It came out nervous and squeaky.
Zayne took a measured sip of his coffee. "You're not on duty today."
"Nope! Someone gave me very strict medical orders to rest." She shot him a playful look, trying to ease the tension.
"Something about not being a liability?"
He took another sip of coffee. Said nothing.
Okay, different topic.
"This cafe is really popular!" Nana tried again, her voice too bright. "I mean, look how packed it is! And these macarons—Tara said they're the best in Linkon City. Have you tried them?
Of course you have, you're a regular here. The waiter said so. Not that I was asking about you! I mean, he volunteered that information. About you being a regular. Which is totally normal. People have regular places. I have regular places too—"
She was rambling. She knew she was rambling. But Zayne's complete lack of reaction was somehow worse than if he'd just told her to stop talking.
"The macarons here are adequate," he said finally.
"Adequate," Nana repeated flatly. "You sit in a fancy patisserie and describe their signature item as adequate?"
"They use quality ingredients and proper technique. The texture is consistent. The flavors are balanced."
He cut another precise piece of his cake.
"Adequate is not an insult in culinary terms."
"It's not exactly a compliment either."
"I don't give false compliments."
Nana slumped in her chair, defeated. This was impossible. Talking to Dr. Zayne Li was like trying to have a conversation with a particularly judgmental wall. A very handsome wall. With really nice hands. And those eyes that kept—
Stop it, Nana.
She opened her macaron box and selected the rose-flavored one, biting into it sullenly. The delicate shell cracked perfectly, the creamy filling bursting with floral sweetness on her tongue.
"Oh my god," she mumbled around the bite. "Okay, this is NOT adequate. This is incredible."
Zayne watched her over his coffee cup but said nothing.
Fine. If he wanted silence, she'd give him silence.
Nana focused on her macarons, savoring each one with exaggerated appreciation. The pistachio was nutty and rich. The lavender was light and dreamy. The chocolate was decadent enough to be sinful. She hummed happily with each bite, completely absorbed in her tasting experience.
Across from her, Zayne continued eating his cake with mechanical precision. Not a crumb out of place. Not a flicker of emotion crossing his face.
Why did he invite me to sit if he wasn't going to talk? Nana thought miserably. Is he just being polite? Does he feel obligated because I'm his patient? Is this pity?
She was debating whether to just grab her box and leave when something appeared on the table in front of her.
A strawberry candy. The same expensive kind from the hospital.
Nana looked up, startled. Zayne had placed it there without a word, his expression as neutral as ever. But his eyes—there was something in them now. Something almost... fond?
"You're doing it again," he said quietly.
"Doing what?"
"Pouting."
"I am not—" Nana caught herself, realizing her lower lip was definitely stuck out. "Okay, maybe a little. But you're impossible to talk to! You just sit there all stoic and perfect and—"
She stopped, grabbing the candy and unwrapping it quickly to hide her embarrassment. The familiar strawberry sweetness melted on her tongue, instantly improving her mood.
"Thank you," she mumbled. "I guess I'm being a good patient?"
"You're tolerating my company despite finding me 'impossible to talk to,'"
Zayne replied, and was that actual amusement in his voice?
"That demonstrates remarkable patience."
Nana blinked at him. "Did you just make a joke?"
"I stated a fact."
"That was definitely a joke. Holy shit, the Iceberg Doctor has a sense of humor."
The corner of Zayne's mouth twitched. Almost imperceptibly. But Nana saw it.
The silence that followed felt different now. Less awkward. More... comfortable. Like two people who didn't need to fill every second with noise.
Zayne finished his cake while Nana savored her candy and the last of her macarons. Outside the window, clouds gathered just as he'd predicted.
The cafe hummed with soft conversation and clinking dishes.
It was nice.
When Nana finally stood to leave, gathering her empty macaron box, she paused. Zayne's plate still held his half-finished chiffon cake. On impulse, she opened her box and carefully placed two macarons on his plate—the pistachio and the chocolate.
"For the candy," she explained when he looked at her questioningly. "Also because calling these 'adequate' is a crime against pastry. Try them and tell me I'm wrong."
Before he could respond, she flashed him a bright smile and headed for the door, weaving through the crowded tables.
Behind her, Zayne sat very still, staring at the two macarons on his plate. The pistachio one had a small crack in the shell—imperfect, like everything about Nana Wang.
The chocolate one was dusted with gold flakes that caught the light.He picked up the pistachio macaron and took a careful bite.
Rich. Perfectly balanced.
The texture of the shell giving way to cream that was neither too sweet nor too subtle. The kind of flavor that lingered, that made you want another bite even when you were full.
So cute, Zayne thought, allowing himself the smallest smile where no one could see.
Through the window, he watched Nana skip down the sidewalk, her ponytail bouncing, already pulling out her phone to presumably text Tara about the macarons.
Completely unaware that the Iceberg Doctor was smiling at her retreating form.
Unaware that he'd been carrying those candies specifically for her.
Unaware that in a few days, everything would change.
Zayne finished both macarons slowly, savoring them in a way he never savored anything.
Not adequate at all.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.