Chapter 5: Locked Out in Silk

This week, business trip. Amazon ping: [Fresh golden durian box delivered.]

Jing: [Sorry to bug you again, could you keep an eye out for my package? 🐶]

Two minutes later.

Tyler: [Got it. Durian. Put the whole box in the fridge.]

I can practically smell his disgust through the screen. Not everyone’s cut out for exotic fruit.

Jing: [Thank you so much! 🙇‍♀️]

No clue if this durian is a reward or a prank from the universe. I brace myself for either.

Right then, TikTok serves me:

"Best Durian Detector—Security Scanner."

I shake my head, but my fingers are already forwarding it to Tyler—then I think better of it. He doesn’t need more reasons to think I’m a weirdo.

Am I nuts? Maybe. At least I’m consistent.

After a day of meetings, I get back to the hotel. My phone buzzes. Tyler.

Did the durian nuke his fridge? I imagine him holding his nose, cursing my taste in snacks.

Nervously, I open the chat.

First message:

X-ray of the durian! He actually scanned it. Only Tyler.

Second message:

[Showed it to a coworker who likes durian. Said it’s pretty good.]

I sit bolt upright. Relief and a laugh bubble up. He’s such a dork.

Jing: [Officer Bennett! Thank you so much! 😿]

Tyler: [When are you back?]

Just a few words, but my heart does a backflip. Is he just being practical, or is there more?

Jing: [Reporting in, Officer Bennett~ I’ll be home Friday afternoon~]

Tyler: [Okay. I’m on duty tomorrow. Pick it up yourself.]

Tyler: [Code’s still the same as before.]

So he just wanted to confirm pickup. I try not to read into it.

Whatever. At least the durian survived.

Friday, I get home. Tyler’s not around. The apartment’s quiet, but it feels charged, somehow.

The durian I’ve been craving is chilling in the fridge, practically singing my name.

Next to it, a box of meltaway chocolates. A sticky note: [From Nana—to thank you.]

I lug the durian and “Nana’s gift” home. The box is heavy, but my heart’s floating.

Crack open the shell—the rich, sweet aroma explodes. It fills the whole apartment, clinging to everything.

I scoop out a piece. The thin milky skin gives way to soft, sticky ice cream-like flesh. I close my eyes. Pure, creamy bliss.

A reward durian! I feel like I hit the jackpot.

As I savor this little miracle, I send a thank-you note. He needs to know how much I appreciate it.

Jing: [Perfect, juicy, glistening durian pic.jpg]

Jing: [This durian! Sweeter than first love! You have to try it! 🤩🤩🤩]

Tyler: [...]

Tyler: [Thanks. No need. You enjoy.]

Figures. I pout. Some people just don’t get it. I’ll convert him one day. Watch me.

After a bath, I slip on a camisole nightdress, ready for some face mask zen. The night is peaceful. I’m finally relaxing.

Beep beep beep! Door lock low battery alert. Seriously? Tonight?

I pop the battery cover. Lotion-slick fingers fumble with the tiny batteries. Where are the spares? Oh, right—I used the last ones. Panic sets in.

Should I run to the store, or get delivery? Either way, I’m way underdressed.

A booming voice from the hallway:

"3B! Package! Left at your door!"

There’s a familiar little box at my neighbor’s door. My rescue, delivered with zero fanfare.

Our company’s R&D is too efficient. They don’t mess around with new releases.

Thank god Tyler’s not home. If he saw me like this, I’d never recover.

I dash over, grab my package, and scurry back. The hallway’s empty, but I still feel exposed.

Clunk.

I tug at my door handle. Nothing. The lock won’t budge.

Pull harder. Still nothing. Panic ratchets up.

Half a minute later, reality hits:

I, Lin Jing, am locked out on a Friday night. In a nightdress. Amazing.

Break the door? My arm would snap. The repair bill would finish me off.

Call for help? Not in this outfit. I’d rather camp in the hallway.

Key? Oh, right. It’s at work. Brilliant.

I look down. Silk camisole, barely-there shorts, wild hair. I’m a walking disaster.

No way I’m leaving the building like this. I’d be the talk of the lobby for weeks.

The hallway light clicks off. I stand there for five minutes, a ghost in the dark. My options are running out.

I turn to my neighbor’s door, punch in the code. I hesitate, but desperation wins.

Mechanical voice:

[Welcome home.]

Nana greets my “illegal entry” with a wag. She looks up, tail thumping, happy to see me no matter what.

I glance around and spot the camera in the corner. I know Tyler checks the feed when he’s away.

I grab a pen and paper, scrawl two big words: [You there?]

I walk to the camera, hold up the sign, and flash a hopeful smile. Please, let him be watching.

One minute, five minutes…

Nothing. My anxiety skyrockets.

Getting desperate, I scoop up Nana and silently mouth at the camera:

"See? Your precious dog is in my hands. If you don’t answer…"

Ten minutes later, just as I’m about to give up—

"Jing."

Tyler’s voice crackles through the speaker. Relief hits me like a wave.

"What are you doing?"

"Ty—Tyler! Help!"

I put Nana down, look up at the camera.

"I—I accidentally locked myself out, and, I’m not wearing anything—no, I mean, I didn’t bring anything…

"Could you lend me a T-shirt? And, do you have any cash? I need to take a cab to work to get my key…"

Tyler goes silent. After a beat:

"Got it. Wait half an hour, okay?"

"Uh? Okay, okay…"

"Good."

The air goes still. I flop onto the couch, limbs everywhere. Nana curls up next to me, head on my lap. She’s the only one not judging.

She glances up with those wise, sympathetic eyes. If she could talk, I know she’d say, "You’re in deep, girl."

Wait, no, I don’t need him to come back! The thought of him seeing me like this is almost worse than being stuck.

The lock chimes, 'Welcome home—.' Tyler’s back. His voice is calm, but his eyes are sharp as ever.

He spots me, unreadable as always. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed, amused, or just tired.

He pats Nana, then heads to the bedroom. I hear drawers opening and closing.

Soon, he comes out with an oversized T-shirt. He tosses it to me, then disappears again.

He glances my way, then returns with a black suit jacket. He holds it out, and for a second, his expression softens.

"Give me two minutes to change. I’ll drive you."

"Ah, okay, thank you, sorry for the trouble…"

The moment I pull on the soft shirt, his scent—clean, soapy, a little woodsy—fills my nose. My heart skips. It’s like wearing a hug. I’m doomed.

Imagining Tyler’s scent was one thing. This is real. I hug myself, feeling oddly protected.

Bedroom door opens. He emerges in jeans and a fresh tee, hair tousled. I can’t meet his eyes. I’ll combust if I do.

In the car, the T-shirt is still a bit short. Every time I shift, it rides up. I clamp my knees together, shrinking into the seat. Please let this ride be short.

Tyler doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness. He’s all focus, hands steady on the wheel.

He passes me the suit jacket. I drape it over my lap, grateful for the coverage. The fabric’s still warm from his body.

Thank god, work is only ten minutes away. Every red light feels like a cosmic joke.

The car rolls into the garage.

"Jing, it’s late. I’ll go up with you."

No room for argument. I nod, grateful and mortified.

At the office, I scan in and hunt around my desk. My fingers finally close around the key. Hallelujah.

I clutch it like a prize, heading out. Tyler’s waiting, back to me, watching the big lobby screen.

Our new product promo is looping—showcasing tools for ultimate sensory pleasure. I cringe. Of all the times.

Stuff I see every day at work, but with him standing there, it’s a whole new level of awkward. My cheeks go nuclear.

Worst of all, he’s holding an A4 sheet. It’s our company’s infamous visitor quiz: "New Era X Knowledge Challenge (U.S. Edition)." Of course.

Worst of all, he’s holding a letter-size sheet. It’s our company’s infamous visitor quiz: "New Era X Knowledge Challenge (U.S. Edition)." Of course.

I really should’ve checked my horoscope. Mercury’s in retrograde, right?