Chapter 49

Yoko

The hot water streams down my back, but instead of feeling relaxed, my brain is doing the mental equivalent of cartwheels off a cliff.

Faye's coming over.

She texted me ten minutes ago—

Faye

Done with everything. I'll be there in 30 minutes, baby. ❤️

And now here I am, standing in the shower like it's supposed to wash away the anxiety brewing in my chest.

Spoiler: It's not working.

What if Dad asks her weird questions? What if he brings up my childhood poetry phase? What if he talks about that time I cried over a Shakespeare sonnet like it was a breakup letter?

I groan, pressing my forehead against the cool tiles.

Okay, mental note: Warn Dad to not go full interrogation mode.

I finish up quickly, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around myself. As I blow-dry my hair, I catch myself in the mirror, giving my reflection the "You got this" pep talk.

It's just dinner. With my dad. And my girlfriend. Who also happens to be my teacher. Totally normal. Nothing to panic about.

My eyes drift to the wardrobe.

Okay... what to wear?

I rummage through my clothes, rejecting everything that feels too "I'm trying too hard" or "I don't care at all"—because, let's be honest, I do care. After what feels like an eternity of debating with myself, I settle on simple denim shorts. Casual. Chill. Normal.

But the top? Oh, I know exactly what I'm wearing.

I grab Faye's black oversized shirt—the one she left at my place a while ago, the one that still faintly smells like her perfume. I fold the sleeves up, the fabric soft against my skin, and for a moment, I let myself smile like an idiot.

Okay. This feels right.

I take one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the shirt and trying to calm the butterflies throwing a rave in my stomach.

You got this, Yoko.

Just as I'm about to head out, Ham whines from the corner of my room, his big golden retriever eyes staring at me like "Why are you stressing, human?"

I laugh softly, giving him a quick scratch behind the ears. "Alright, buddy. Let's do this."

With Ham trotting by my side, I head downstairs to the living room, mentally bracing myself.

It's just dinner. With Faye. And Dad. What could possibly go wrong?

I head downstairs with Ham trotting beside me, his tail swishing like he's the happiest dog in the universe, completely unaware of the emotional chaos unraveling inside me.

The first thing I notice is the smell. It's good. Like, suspiciously good.

I step into the kitchen to find my dad at the stove, humming to himself while stirring something in a pan. There's a pot bubbling beside him, and the aroma of garlic, herbs, and what smells like roasted chicken fills the room.

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. "Wow, Dad. You're actually not burning food this time. Impressive."

Without missing a beat, he shoots me a look over his shoulder. "Careful, Yoko. I might just burn your portion on purpose now."

I laugh, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, yeah. But seriously, this smells amazing. What is it?"

"Roast chicken with garlic butter sauce and some rosemary potatoes. Figured I'd pull out the fancy stuff since someone is bringing their teacher-slash-girlfriend over." He winks, clearly having way too much fun with this.

I roll my eyes but can't fight the grin tugging at my lips. "Okay, but like—seriously, Dad—don't go hard on her later. No grilling. No detective interrogation. Just... be chill."

He chuckles, flipping a piece of chicken with far too much confidence. "Chill? Me? I'm the definition of chill."

I raise an eyebrow. "Says the man who deduced my entire relationship like he's Sherlock Holmes."

"And I was right, wasn't I?" he fires back, grinning.

I groan dramatically. "Dad. Please."

He waves me off with a spoon. "Relax. I won't scare her off. Much."

Before I can respond, he claps his hands together. "Alright, help me set up the table, Miss Literature Star."

I roll my eyes but grab the plates and utensils, arranging them neatly on the dining table while Dad fusses over the food. Just as I'm placing the last fork down, there's a knock at the door.

My heart jumps. I glance at Ham, who's standing by the window, his tail wagging like a metronome set to "excited." He's not barking, just wiggling with anticipation.

It's her.

"Faye's here," I announce, feeling my pulse quicken.

Before Dad can even move, I'm already halfway across the living room, practically speed-walking to the door like I've been waiting for this moment my whole life.

I take a deep breath, smooth down Faye's shirt–which I'm still wearing, by the way–and open the door.

And there she is.

Faye stands there, still wearing those sleek black pants, her oversized black shirt tucked in effortlessly, the loose strands of her tied-up hair framing her face in a way that makes my heart stumble. Her eyes meet mine, and that soft, knowing smile spreads across her lips.

"Hey," I breathe, feeling suddenly very aware of my rapidly beating heart.

"Hey," she replies, her voice soft and warm, sending a little shiver down my spine.

But before I can completely melt into a puddle, Dad's voice cuts through the moment. "Oh! Ms Peraya!" he calls from the kitchen, his tone way too cheerful. "Come on in!"

Faye chuckles softly, stepping inside. She hands Dad a bottle of red wine, holding it out with both hands like she's offering a peace treaty. "Here you go, sir. I thought this might go well with dinner."

Dad waves his hand, laughing. "Please, don't call me 'sir.' Makes me feel old. Just call me Edward."

Faye chuckles, a little awkward but still charming. "Alright... Edward." Then she glances at me with a playful glint in her eye. "And please, don't call me Ms Peraya. We're not in school. Just call me Faye."

Dad grins. "Well then, Faye, have a seat. Dinner's ready."

Before he can say anything else, I grab Faye's hand, tugging her gently toward the dining table like I'm rescuing her from the inevitable Dad Teasing Extravaganza.

Faye squeezes my hand lightly, and the simple gesture sends a wave of warmth through me. We sit down, and as Dad brings over the food, I shoot Faye a quick glance, silently praying this dinner doesn't turn into a comedy of parental embarrassment.

But knowing my dad?

Yeah... I'm not holding my breath.

Dinner kicks off smoothly enough. The table is set, the roasted chicken smells amazing, and Ham is lying by my feet, his tail occasionally thumping against the floor like he's part of the conversation.

Faye sits beside me, her arm resting casually near mine, but I can feel the slight tension in her posture—the subtle giveaway that she's bracing for whatever my dad might throw her way.

Dad takes a bite of the chicken, nodding in approval at his own cooking–classic–then looks over at Faye with a warm smile.

"So, Faye," he starts, his tone light and casual like we're all just old friends catching up over dinner. "How long have you been teaching at MeowingHam High?"

Faye swallows her bite gracefully–because of course she does–then responds with that smooth, confident voice that makes my heart do unnecessary flips.

"This is my first year at MeowingHam," she says, smiling. "I transferred from another school to teach English Literature here."

Dad nods, clearly intrigued. "Ah, a fresh face. And what got you into teaching literature? Always had a thing for books?"

I nearly choke on my water because wow, Dad, way to make it sound like she's flirting with novels.

But Faye doesn't miss a beat. She chuckles softly, glancing at me for a fleeting second before answering. "Yeah, you could say that. I've always loved stories—how words can shape the way we see the world. Teaching felt like the natural next step."

Dad hums thoughtfully, chewing on a piece of potato. "That makes sense. Yoko's the same way—always had her nose in a book since she was little. I swear, I thought she was going to turn into a novel at one point."

"Dad," I groan, sliding lower in my seat, but Faye laughs, and damn it, her laughter makes it very hard to stay embarrassed.

"Well," Faye says, glancing at me again with that soft, knowing look, "I guess we've got that in common."

My heart screams.

Dad nods approvingly, clearly pleased with himself for connecting dots that didn't need connecting. "So, Faye, when you're not inspiring young minds, what do you like to do? Any hobbies?"

I brace myself, because if Faye mentions anything remotely poetic, I might actually melt into the floor.

Faye smiles, resting her elbows lightly on the table. "I like photography. Capturing small, quiet moments. It's a nice contrast to all the noise that comes with teaching."

Dad chuckles. "I can imagine. High school kids aren't exactly the quietest bunch."

I snort into my drink because understatement of the century, but I catch Faye's eyes, and the warmth there makes my chest ache in the best way.

So far, so good. The conversation's light, the food's great, and Dad hasn't started grilling Faye like a suspect on CSI: Parental Edition. But this is just the starter course. And knowing Dad...

The main event is coming.

I'm halfway through a bite of roasted chicken, finally feeling like I can breathe again, when Dad decides to open his big storytelling mouth and completely ruin my life.

"So, Faye," he says, all casual-like, like he's not about to commit character assassination, "has Yoko ever told you about the time she rewrote Romeo and Juliet when she was, what... eight?"

I freeze mid-chew. Fork suspended in the air. My soul? Already ascending.

Faye, sitting way too close beside me, perks up immediately, her eyes glinting like she just hit the jackpot. "Oh? No, she hasn't." Her voice is all sweet but I can feel the impending doom dripping from every syllable.

I turn to my dad, silently pleading with my eyes: Don't do this, old man. We can still save this dinner.

But no. He's on a mission.

"Oh, it was priceless," Dad continues, completely ignoring my silent death glares. "She was furious they both died. In her version, Romeo and Juliet ran off together and opened a bakery called 'Bun & Juliet.'"

BUN & JULIET.

I nearly choke on my chicken.

Faye? Faye snorts so hard I swear the air shifts in the room. She's trying to cover her mouth with her hand, but the damage is done.

"Dad," I groan, my face hotter than the oven that cooked this chicken. "Why."

"Oh, don't pretend you weren't proud of it!" Dad fires back, grinning like he just won Parent of the Year. "You even made me taste test your 'Montague Muffins.'"

Faye loses it. She's wheezing beside me, her face flushed from laughing so hard. She leans into me, her shoulder bumping mine, and I swear I can feel her amusement vibrating through my entire body.

"Montague Muffins?!" she gasps, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "That's genius!"

Genius? No. Crippling embarrassment? Yes.

I slide down in my chair, wishing for the sweet release of the earth swallowing me whole. "I hate both of you."

But Dad is just getting started. "Oh, and don't even get me started on her pirate phase."

No. No, no, no—

Dad's grin widens like he's about to drop the final bomb. "She refused to answer to anything but 'Captain Yoko Sparrow' for three months. Made me call her that in public. She even wore an eyepatch to school."

Faye makes a sound that's somewhere between a snort and a gasp, and I'm 90% sure she's about to fall off her chair. She clutches my arm, gasping for breath, her eyes sparkling with pure evil delight.

"Captain Yoko Sparrow?!" she wheezes. "You're kidding."

I wish he was kidding.

"I am so serious," Dad says, nodding like this is the proudest moment of his parenting career. "She even made me hide treasure maps around the house. One time she got mad at me for losing her imaginary parrot."

I slam my fork down, my face buried in my hands. "I'm moving to another continent. Effective immediately."

But Faye leans in closer, her voice low and way too amused. "Oh, I don't know... Captain Yoko has a nice ring to it."

I am deceased.

This is it. Death by Dad and Girlfriend Tag-Team Teasing.

RIP Yoko. Survived mid-year reviews, but got buried under Montague Muffins and pirate maps.

I groan dramatically, slumping over my plate, while Faye giggles beside me and Dad smirks across the table.

This dinner was a mistake.

By the time I've been thoroughly roasted alongside the chicken, I decide it's time to take control of this runaway train.

Before Dad can dig up another childhood disaster—I'm sure the "Mermaid Princess" phase is lurking in his memory—I blurt out, "So, Dad, how's work?"

There. Distraction 101.

Dad pauses mid-laugh, setting down his fork like he's just remembered he has an actual adult life outside of tormenting me.

"Ah, you know," he says, leaning back in his chair. "The usual. Meetings, deadlines, more meetings. Sometimes I wonder if they pay me just to sit in rooms and nod thoughtfully."

Faye chuckles beside me, her arm lightly brushing mine, and damn it, even her laughter feels like a warm hug. "That sounds exhausting," she says, her voice soft but genuinely interested. "Do you travel often for work?"

And just like that, they're off.

Dad launches into one of his classic work stories—something about a client who thought Singapore was in China–which, to be fair, I almost wish it were so I could hide there–Faye listens intently, asking the occasional question, nodding along like she isn't secretly plotting to tease me the second Dad leaves the room.

I sit there, silently thanking the universe for this brief respite. But deep down, I know this isn't over.

After dinner, Dad insists we don't lift a finger. "You two just relax," he says, waving us toward the couch. "I'll handle the dishes. Desserts coming up soon."

Dessert? The only thing getting served right now is my dignity.

But I don't argue. I grab Faye's hand–because I can–and lead her to the couch. We sink into the cushions, Ham curling up at our feet like he's settling in for Act II of "Yoko's Humiliation."

I'm this close to pretending everything is fine when I feel Faye's gaze on me. I glance over. She's got that look—the one that says, "I'm about to make you regret everything."

"What?" I mumble, trying to sound annoyed, but my face is already burning.

Faye chuckles softly, leaning in just enough for her breath to tickle my ear. "I'm just picturing Captain Yoko Sparrow leading her bakery crew into battle over Montague Muffins."

I groan, throwing my head back against the couch. "I knew I shouldn't have invited you tonight."

Faye laughs, low and sweet, and I can feel it vibrating through me. "Oh, please," she teases, nudging me with her shoulder. "You'd miss me too much if I wasn't here to witness all of this."

I cross my arms, doing my best impression of a sulking child–which, ironically, is probably just adding fuel to her fire.

And just when I think she's done—nope. Her eyes drop to my outfit, and that smug little smile widens.

"And," she adds, her voice dripping with fake innocence, "I see you decided to wear my shirt tonight. Couldn't resist having a piece of me close, huh?"

I stare at her, deadpan. "I hope you know I'm stealing this permanently now."

She laughs, leaning over to kiss my cheek, her lips lingering just enough to make my heart do stupid flips. "Good. It looks better on you anyway."

I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Fine. Maybe tonight isn't all bad. But if Dad brings out baby photos for dessert, I'm out.

Surprisingly, dessert goes down without a side of embarrassment. I manage to eat my slice of chocolate cake in peace—no pirate stories, no bakery puns, just... calm.

Dad pours himself and Faye a glass of red wine, and soon enough, the two of them are deep in conversation, like they've known each other for years.

"So, Faye," Dad says, swirling his glass like he's suddenly some wine connoisseur. "You ever think of writing your own novel? With all that literature love, it must've crossed your mind."

I glance at Faye, curious myself. But she just smirks, tilting her glass slightly. "I'm an established poet," she says, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. "That counts, right?"

Dad chuckles. "Poet, huh? That explains why Yoko's essays sound like mini love letters to Shakespeare."

I AM GOING TO SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST.

But Faye? Oh, she's loving this. She just sips her wine, shooting me a teasing glance that makes my stomach flip in ways it really shouldn't in front of my dad. After dessert, Dad leans back in his chair, stretching like he's just conquered parenthood.

"You know," he says casually, "since you've both had a couple of drinks, why don't you stay over, Faye? It's not safe to drive."

I nearly choke on my wine. My eyes snap to Faye, silently screaming, "SAY YES, PLEASE SAY YES."

Faye catches my pleading gaze, her lips twitching like she's trying to hold back a smile. After a long, overly dramatic pause–because of course she has to make me sweat–she finally sighs.

"Alright," she says, looking at Dad. "I'll stay. Thanks for the invite."

VICTORY.

Dad stands, grabbing the empty dessert plates. "I'll handle the dishes. You two go relax."

Best. Dad. Ever.

As soon as he turns his back, I lean in close to Faye, my voice low and dripping with mischief. "Let's go up to my room," I whisper, giving her my most innocent look—which, let's be real, isn't fooling anyone.

Faye chuckles, setting her glass down. "Okay," she murmurs, her voice soft but laced with something that makes my heart race.

We both stand, and I call over to Dad, trying to sound casual even though my brain is spiraling. "We're heading up to my room now!"

Dad waves from the sink like this is totally normal. "Alright, goodnight, girls!"

"Goodnight!" Faye and I chime in unison, trying not to sound suspiciously eager.

I grab her hand—because I can—and lead her toward the stairs, my heart pounding like it's trying to escape my chest. Her fingers are warm against mine, grounding me and sending all kinds of thoughts racing through my head.

As we reach my bedroom door, I glance back at her, my mind buzzing with anticipation.

Tonight, it's not Ms. Peraya. It's Faye. And we've got the whole night ahead of us.

The second I shut the door, the soft click of the lock barely echoes before Faye is on me.

Her hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against her, and her lips crash into mine with a hunger that makes my knees buckle. It's not slow, it's not careful—it's desperate, like we've been holding back all night and the floodgates just burst.

Her mouth moves against mine, hot and demanding, and I can feel the tension that's been building since dinner snap like a rubber band stretched too far. Her fingers grip my hips, sliding under the hem of her oversized black shirt that I'm wearing, her touch searing against my skin.

I melt into her, my hands threading into her hair, fingers tangling in the loose strands that escaped from her tie. The scent of her—warm, familiar, intoxicating—wraps around me, pulling me deeper into her orbit.

We finally break apart, both of us breathless, our foreheads resting against each other, hearts racing like we've just run a marathon.

"I missed you, baby," Faye whispers, her voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

I let out a soft laugh, brushing my thumb across her jaw. "I missed you too, babe."

My eyes drift down, taking in the sleek black pants, the oversized shirt tucked in just right, and the way she somehow looks like she stepped out of my most dangerous daydreams. I bite my lip, grinning up at her. "And seriously... you are so hot in this outfit. Like, unfairly hot."

Faye chuckles, that low, sinful sound vibrating through me as she leans in closer, her lips barely grazing mine.

"Oh yeah?" she murmurs, her breath warm against my skin. "You're not looking too bad yourself... wearing my shirt and all."

I open my mouth to retort, but before I can get a word out, her lips are back on mine—this time slower, deeper, like she's savoring every second. Her hands roam over my body, mapping out every curve, every inch she's missed, and I swear I can feel my heart implode.

I tug her closer, needing more, craving more, and she responds with a soft, teasing bite to my lower lip that sends a spark shooting straight through me.

This isn't just kissing. It's a confession, a claim, a silent promise that tonight—she's mine.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

We break apart, breathless, our lips still tingling from the intensity of it all. My heart feels like it's trying to escape my chest, and the air between us is thick—charged with something electric, something inevitable.

I look up at her, my voice a little shaky but laced with the same desire burning in her eyes. "Do you... want to shower together?"

It's not even a question, really. The answer is already there, simmering between us.

Faye doesn't hesitate. She just smirks—that slow, dangerous curve of her lips that makes my knees weak—and murmurs, "Okay."

Before I can even process that one word, her hands are at my waist, and suddenly I'm being lifted off the ground. I gasp, instinctively wrapping my arms around her neck, my legs curling around her hips as she carries me toward the bathroom like I weigh nothing.

The door swings shut behind us with a soft click, and the sound echoes in the small space, mingling with the thrum of my racing pulse.

Faye sets me down gently, her fingers trailing along my sides, sending shivers across my skin. Her eyes meet mine for a brief, charged moment—dark and full of heat—before her hands move to the hem of her oversized shirt I'm wearing.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she peels it off me, her fingers brushing against my bare skin as the fabric slides up and over my head. Goosebumps erupt across my body, but I'm not cold. Far from it.

Her eyes rake over me, and the way she looks at me—like I'm something to be worshipped—makes my breath hitch.

Then it's her turn.

I reach for her shirt, tugging it free from where it's tucked into those sleek black pants. She lets me, her hands dropping to her sides, eyes never leaving mine as I peel the fabric away, revealing smooth skin, the taut lines of her body beneath.

My fingers fumble at her belt, but she's quicker. She peels off her clothing with practiced ease, and within seconds, we're both bare—exposed in more ways than one.

The shower is already running, steam filling the room and curling around us like a warm embrace. She steps in first, pulling me in after her, the hot water cascading over our bodies, blending heat with heat.

And then her hands are on me again—sliding over wet skin, gripping my hips, pulling me close until there's no space between us.

Her lips find mine, and this time it's slower, more deliberate. Each kiss is a promise, each touch a confession of everything we've been holding back. The water drums around us, but I barely notice. All I can feel is her—the weight of her body pressed against mine, the taste of her mouth, the way her fingers trace every curve like she's memorizing me.

I gasp against her lips as her hands explore, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark and filled with something that makes my heart stutter.

"You're beautiful," she whispers, her voice rough and sincere, and it's almost too much.

But I don't want to think. I don't want to breathe unless it's against her skin. So I pull her back to me, kissing her like I'll never get enough—because the truth is, I won't.

Not tonight. Not ever.

The shower's warmth lingers on my skin even after we step out, wrapped in nothing but the steam that clings to the bathroom air. My heart's still racing, my body humming from every touch, every kiss, every look she gave me under the water.

I reach for her shirt—the one I'd been wearing earlier, the fabric soft and familiar between my fingers. But just as I'm about to slip it over my head, Faye's voice cuts through the haze, low and laced with mischief.

"I don't think we need clothes."

I barely have time to process her words before her hands are at my waist, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I gasp, my arms instinctively wrapping around her neck, my legs curling around her hips as she carries me out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

The cool air of the room brushes against my damp skin, but all I feel is her—the strength of her arms, the heat radiating off her body, the way her eyes darken as they flicker over me.

She lays me down gently, like I'm something precious, something to be handled carefully, but the look in her eyes tells a different story—one filled with promises and undeniable hunger.

She hovers over me for a moment, her fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, the line of my throat, down to the rapid rise and fall of my chest. Her touch is light, almost teasing, but it sets my skin on fire, leaves me aching for more.

When her lips meet mine again, it's slower this time, deeper. She kisses me like she's savoring every second, like she's memorizing the taste of me. Her hands explore my body with a reverence that makes my breath hitch, her touch both gentle and possessive, as if she's claiming every inch of me.

My fingers find her back, tracing the lines of her spine, pulling her closer, needing to feel all of her. Our bodies press together, wet skin sliding against wet skin, hearts beating in a rhythm that feels like it belongs to us.

Her name escapes my lips in a whisper, and it's met with a soft, breathless moan from her as she trails kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, leaving a path of fire in her wake.

The room becomes a blur of heat and tangled sheets, our breaths mingling in the dim light. Every inch of my skin feels like it's been set on fire by her touch, every kiss leaving me aching for more.

But then, as Faye's lips trace a slow, burning path down my neck, a soft moan slips out—louder than I intended, echoing off the walls.

Faye freezes, her lips curling into a teasing smile against my skin. She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark and glinting with playful mischief.

"Baby," she whispers, her voice a low, amused murmur. "Don't moan so loud... your dad's right next door."

For a moment, I blink, the reality of it hitting me like a splash of cold water. But then I grin, biting my bottom lip as I look up at her, completely unbothered.

"I'll try..." I whisper back, my voice breathy and teasing. "But honestly?"

I slide my hands up her back, fingers threading into her damp hair, and gently tug her down until our lips are barely a breath apart. "I don't really care."

Her laughter is soft, vibrating against my mouth, but it melts quickly into a groan as I pull her into me, capturing her lips in a kiss that's all heat and hunger. Whatever concerns about walls and proximity existed vanish as our bodies press together, the world outside the four walls of my room fading into nothing.

She leans down, her forehead resting against mine, her breath warm against my lips.

"I love you," she murmurs, her voice barely audible but echoing in every corner of my heart.

And as we lose ourselves in each other, I realize I've never felt more alive.

Because this—this—is where I belong.

With her.

And tonight, I'm not holding anything back.