Thanh Quan glanced at the cigarette butt sacrificed in the ashtray and clicked his tongue. More than half remained; what a waste.

Sensing he was about to scold her, Nhu Ha quickly spoke first:

"Uncle, my teacher said smoking is bad for your health—it can cause lung disease. You should quit."

Thanh Quan narrowed his eyes, then chuckled, reaching out to pinch her cheek.

"Call me Dad. What's with this 'uncle' business?"

Nhu Ha darted back, holding her cheek and crying out in mock pain.

"You haven't even married my mom yet. Want me to call you Dad? Fine then..."

She tilted her head playfully, eyes curving with mischief. Raising a hand to her lips, she whispered with exaggerated sweetness:

"Daddy~ oh Daddy... please quit smoking."

The word was ordinary, yet dripping from her lips it turned strangely decadent. Thanh Quan's ear twitched. His wheat-colored skin hid his expression, but his deep gaze betrayed the turmoil brewing within.

Across the table, the girl beamed with innocent delight, unaware of the flames her teasing fanned. His fingers tapped the wood, signaling his warning. His voice, though helpless, carried weight:

"Ah... this girl. No sense of respect at all."

The syrupy echoes of a dubbed Hong Kong drama heroine came to his mind, making him laugh despite himself. He patted her head like a warning.

"Don't ever say that again. Where'd you even pick up that backpacker English nonsense?"

Nhu Ha stuck out her tongue, feigning guilt, then ladled a steaming bowl of soup toward him.

"I heard it in a movie. Anyway, drink the soup while it's hot."

He eyed the egg-drop soup with exaggerated grief and sighed.

"After I've been away all week, you feed me vegetarian food? Where's my meat, hmm?"

Nhu Ha pouted, dragging out the last syllable.

"There isn't any..."

She scooped another bowl for herself, secretly amused. The meat's right in front of you, Uncle—don't you see? Out loud, she stayed proper, sighing with faux helplessness.

"How was I supposed to know you'd come home early? The eggs were about to spoil, so I cooked them first."

Thanh Quan stared at the mixture of whites and yolks laced with scallions. His lips twitched. Could it be she really had so little money she was stretching leftovers? The thought of her eating frugally alone pained him. He resolved to leave her more money. A growing girl needed meat.

But Nhu Ha never knew his imagination soared so far. In truth, she had simply thought his stomach needed a break from greasy meals outside.

When he rose to buy extra food from the shop downstairs, she panicked and shoved him back into his chair.

"Enough! Sit down. I was just teasing you. Of course there's meat."

She scampered into the kitchen and returned with a plate of caramelized ribs, glistening honey-brown.

"Here! All for you. Don't you dare leave a single bite!"

The aroma made his mouth water. He licked his lips, ready to pick up his chopsticks—when his eyes caught her struggling with the knot of her apron.

The ribbon had been tied too tightly into a bow behind her back. She twisted this way and that, but it wouldn't budge.

"Don't move. Let me."

His voice came from behind, warm breath brushing her neck. He loomed over her, large hands taking hold of the ribbon pressed against her waist. At over six feet, his chest hovered at the level of her head. She froze like a wooden statue, every nerve alight. His fingers brushed her spine once, twice—each touch sending shivers down her body.

I want to hold that hand. I want that hand to hold me, stroke me, claim me...

"Tch. Next time, don't tie it so tight. Nearly impossible to undo."

Each word rumbled low and deep, vibrating against her back, seeping into every cell of her trembling body. To her, a single minute in his arms felt like an eternity.

He bent lower, breath enveloping her like a hot mist. She tilted her head back slightly, stealing a glance at his focused face. Her voice slipped out softer, stickier than she meant:

"Uncle... haven't you undone it yet?"

His hand jerked. Her innocent complaint, half-scolding, half-coquettish, brushed his ear like a forbidden caress.

"Almost," he rasped, voice rougher than before. "This little knot's got me sweating."

Nhu Ha's heart pinched. It must be the cigarettes, she thought. I'll buy him some lozenges later.

But that wasn't it. Thanh Quan could hardly breathe, intoxicated by the faint scent of her shampoo. The memory of her bare body earlier—the one he had forced himself to bury—now surged back like a breaking wave. His grip tightened unconsciously.

"Ah! Uncle! Are you undoing it or tightening it?"

"Did it hurt? Endure it a little."

The ribbon cinched her slim waist, her startled cry ringing in his ears. The image in his mind twisted into something far from innocent. That delicate waist—small enough that one arm could circle it entirely—tempted him unbearably.