“First of all, this is Vogue China, which means I’m practicing my Chinese reading skills. Second of all, it’s not for FEA. It’s—” Farrah hesitated. “Never mind.”
Blake’s intrigue radar blipped. “You can’t leave me hanging like that. What’s it for?”
Farrah sighed. “Every year, the National Interior Design Association hosts a student competition. The winner gets an all-expenses-paid summer internship at the NIDA member firm of their choice. It’s one of the most prestigious honors in the industry.”
“Sounds fancy.” Blake didn’t know a single thing about design, but he wished he did. Not because he wanted to be a designer, but because of the way Farrah’s eyes lit up when she talked about it. He wanted to know what made her so passionate about the subject. Maybe it’d help him figure out what the hell he wanted to do with his life. “I don’t get the Vogue part though.”
“It’s for inspiration.” Farrah fiddled with the pages. “We have to submit a portfolio with different design concepts, and I’m stuck on what I want to do for the last one.”
“But it’s a fashion magazine.” Blake had heard his sister gush about the overpriced items in Vogue since they were teenagers.
“Design inspiration can come from anywhere. Fashion, travel, food, nature.” A dreamy look took over Farrah’s face. “There was a feature about the actress Marion Lagarde’s house in France. She designed her bedroom after her favorite Chanel couture gown. It’s fabulous.”
A smile tugged at Blake’s lips. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“So you see, it’s important for me to have peace and quiet. I need to work on my portfolio,” Farrah said pointedly.
“Ok.”
“Ok.”
Farrah reopened her magazine, and they fell into silence.
A minute later, Blake’s stomach growled.
She glared at him.
“What? I can’t control the noises my stomach makes.” Blake forgot he’d skipped dinner. No wonder his body was rebelling. He grabbed his laptop from the other table. “What do you want to eat?”
“I’m not the one who’s hungry.”
“Come on, you need fuel for your imagination. You said food can inspire design.”
Farrah exhaled sharply. “I’m not going to get any work done tonight, am I?”
Dimples creased his cheeks. “There’s Thai, Indian…oh shit, McDonald’s has 24-hour delivery here.”
“We did not come all the way to Shanghai to eat McDonald’s.”
After some bickering, they settled on Malaysian. Forty-five minutes later, the delivery guy arrived with two bags of steaming hot takeout. Blake met him downstairs and brought the food up to the library, where he and Farrah wasted no time digging into the feast. Beef rendang for him, Hainanese chicken for her, plus chicken satay, roti canai, and sambal fried okra to share. Oh, and mango sticky rice for dessert, because it ain’t a full meal without dessert.
“Where are your girls?” Blake lifted a forkful of beef to his mouth. The rich flavors of lemongrass, ginger, cinnamon, and other spices he couldn’t name exploded on his tongue. Damn. Rendang looked like shit (literally), but it tasted like heaven.
Blake liked simple foods. Tacos, pizza, and burgers were enough to satisfy him, but after two weeks in China he was developing an appreciation for international cuisines.
He drew the line at chicken feet, fish eyes, and yak penis, though. There were some animal parts humans shouldn’t eat. Period.
“Out.” Farrah ripped off a piece of roti canai and dipped the flatbread in curry sauce.
“Why aren’t you with them? I thought the four of you were joined at the hips.” Blake didn’t understand why girls traveled in packs like wolves, even to the bathroom. Especially to the bathroom. What did they do in there, throw a party?
“My throat hurts so I sat tonight out. Better safe than sorry.”
“If you said something earlier, we could’ve ordered some chicken noodle soup.”
A small smile touched Farrah’s lips. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Their gazes lingered on each other. Farrah’s eyes resembled pools of melted chocolate. Beautiful, delicious melted chocolate.