“Hi Ngoại, Mẹ,” Michael said.

His mom nodded at him before considering Stella. “Welcome back. Dinner’s ready soon. Sit and eat, ah?”

Stella smiled, but her grip on his hand was fierce. “Sure, thank you. It looks good.”

“These two are Sophie and Evie. They’re not twins,” he said, bringing her to the kitchen island that was covered with food stored in brand-new Pyrex containers. “Sophie—the one with that red stripe in her hair, God, when did you get that?—is an interior decorator, and Evie is a physical therapist.”

“Hi, Stella,” they said at the same time. Mom must have told them about Stella’s apology because it looked like they wanted to make a fresh start.

Stella gave a tiny wave. “Hi.”

“Is Angie here?” he asked.

“Nope. More work stuff,” Evie said.

“On a Saturday,” Sophie added with a sneer.

“Because people work—”

“On Saturdays—”

“All the time.”

The sisters faced one another and traded knowing glances.

Michael whispered in Stella’s ear, “They’ve been finishing each other’s sentences since they were little. I think they’re aliens.”

Stella’s lips trembled into another smile, and she leaned into him. Poor shy girl. His family had to be overwhelming for her, and this wasn’t even all of them. He tightened his hand around hers and fought the desire to kiss her. Something about the way she turned to him like he was her safe place satisfied caveman needs Michael hadn’t known he possessed.

He cleared his throat and asked, “Where are Janie and Maddie?”

“Upstairs doing homework. They’ll come down when they’re hungry. They both have tests soon.”

“They’re the two youngest,” he explained to Stella. “Maddie is the baby. She’s a sophomore at San Jose State.”

“I’m going to forget everyone’s names.” She looked so worried—Michael melted a little. Why did she care? These people couldn’t be special to her. They were just his family.

“That’s okay. I wish I could.”

“Very funny, Michael,” Evie said with a roll of her eyes. “You only have to remember me. I’m a PT, so if you get carpal tunnel or something, you know who to look for. Posture is everything.”

“Why couldn’t you be a doctor, then, E?” his mom asked as she peeled her tenth mango. “All I wanted was a doctor in the family, and not one of you could do that for me.”

“Stella’s a doctor,” Michael said with a grin.

Her eyes rounded into giant buttons. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You have a PhD. That makes you a doctor. And you went to the University of Chicago, the best school for economics in the U.S., probably the world. You graduated magna cum laude.”

As he’d known would happen, his mom perked up with interest. “That’s fantastic.”

Stella blushed, bringing much needed color to her cheeks. “How did you . . .”

“Google stalking.”

Her eyes searched his, and a surprised smile hinted at the corners of her mouth. “You stalked me?”

He shrugged. It was his turn to feel awkward now.

“Okay, lovebirds, dinner’s ready. Come eat,” Sophie said. She set down a bowl filled with noodles that had been cut short with scissors and ultra-thin sliced meat in front of Ngoại and kissed her temple like she would a baby.

Once they’d seated themselves at the table, Michael watched as Stella carefully mimicked Sophie’s food preparation ritual, adding chili sauce, pickled daikon and carrots, bean sprouts, and fish sauce to her bowl of noodles, greens, and beef.

“Have you ever had this before?” he asked.

She shook her head absently as she mixed everything together and took a bite. Her eyes opened wide, and she grinned as she covered her mouth. “You’re a good cook.”

“Michael is very good with his hands,” his mom said with a proud nod.

Sophie rolled her eyes before she smirked suggestively and asked Stella, “Do you agree? Is he ‘good with his hands’?”

His mom scowled at Sophie, but Stella merely smiled and nodded. “I think so.”

Sophie arched her eyebrows and sent Michael an is she for real? look.

As dinner progressed, Michael watched Stella through a new lens provided by his recent discovery. He didn’t notice so much when it was just the two of them, but she had trouble with eye contact. She rarely spoke unless someone asked her a direct question, and then her answers were short and to the point. When she listened, however, her focus was the kind of stuff she probably used on complex economic problems. She frowned, hanging on every word like it was of utmost importance.

These people mattered to her because they mattered to him.

“Where did you grow up, Stella?” his mom asked after they’d moved from bún to mangoes.

“Atherton. My parents still live there,” Stella provided.

His mom’s eyebrows climbed at the mention of the wealthiest zip code in California. “Do you like babies?”

Michael almost dropped his fruit, and his voice was gruff with horror when he said, “Mẹ.”

She shrugged innocently.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he said to Stella.

She met his eyes like she hadn’t with everyone else. Her facial muscles relaxed, but the intensity of her concentration didn’t. Her beautiful mind focused on him. Michael admitted to himself he loved it.

Stella lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know if I like babies. I haven’t been around that many. My parents want grandchildren, though. My mother, mostly.”

“That has to be why she keeps setting up blind dates for you,” Michael said.

Stella nodded. “I think so.”

“Meddling mothers.”

At his comment, Stella’s lips curved into a smile, and her eyes shined. He forgot what they’d been talking about. If he couldn’t kiss her soon, he would go mad.

“When you get to my age,” his mom said, crossing her arms over her chest, “you want to play with babies. It’s natural.”

Sophie jumped to her feet. “Help me with the dishes, Stella?”

“Sure, I’d love to help,” Stella said. “Is there a particular way you do it?”

“Just whatever way gets them clean.”

Evie cleared the table as Sophie and Stella piled things into the sink. His mom and Ngoại stared at him with serious expressions. He braced himself for something bad.

“She won me at the shop today. It’s important to know how to admit when you’re wrong. You should keep her,” Mẹ said in Vietnamese.

He shook his head and thinned his lips. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why?”

“We’re too different. She’s really smart and makes loads of money.”

“You’re smart,” his mom insisted.

He rolled his eyes.

“You’re not like your dad wanted, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. And you don’t make as much because you’re busy helping me at the shop. I told you I don’t need you anymore. You let so many opportunities pass because of me. I don’t want that for you, Michael, and I don’t want you to lose this girl, either. She’s a good one. Keep her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. She likes you. You like her.”

If he had less control, he would have pointed out his mom’s relationship with his dad, but that was hitting below the belt. His dad loved his mom—in his own way. But he also loved cheating. Michael would never understand why his mom took his dad back every single time.

“Just promise to try, all right? I like this one,” his mom said.

Michael could have laughed. Of all the girls he’d ever brought home, she liked the one he couldn’t have. His client. His rich, highly educated, beautiful client, who was paying him to help her learn how to get someone better.

“You’re just saying that because she’s doing dishes.”

Michael knew the way to his mom’s heart, and it wasn’t food. It was cleaning, doing dishes. He didn’t have to do dishes because he cooked. For whatever reason, none of the women in this house cooked. He’d had to learn in order to survive.

“She doesn’t mind working,” his mom said. “That’s important.”