Later that evening, Jake and Kat found themselves craving something warm and comforting, so they decided to head to their favorite little Chinese restaurant tucked between a bookstore and an old record shop. It wasn’t flashy, but the dumplings there were legendary—handmade, juicy, and always steaming hot.

As soon as they walked in, the cozy scent of sesame oil, garlic, and soy sauce wrapped around them. The place was dimly lit with soft red lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and Kat squeezed Jake’s hand with excitement. “You know I’m ordering like, three baskets.”

Jake smirked. “Make it four. No regrets.”

They sat at a corner booth near the window, and before even opening the menu, they both said at the same time, “Pork dumplings.” Then laughed, because of course they did. Kat added on some shrimp ones too, and Jake threw in spicy wontons just because he felt like being bold tonight.

While they waited, they sipped on jasmine tea and watched the steam fog up the window next to them. Kat absentmindedly traced a heart into the fog with her finger while Jake sneakily took a picture of her doing it.

When the bamboo baskets finally arrived, they dove in immediately. Kat picked up a dumpling with her chopsticks and blew on it dramatically. “Don’t burn your tongue,” Jake warned.

“I won’t—ow,” she said after taking a bite too fast, her eyes going wide as the hot broth inside hit her tongue. Jake burst out laughing, handing her a napkin and grinning.