The morning sun filtered through the worn-out curtains of Umi’s modest kitchen, casting a warm glow over the cluttered countertops. The sizzle of frying tempeh filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of sambal and the occasional clatter of a spatula. Umi, a striking woman of thirty with curves that could stop traffic, stood by the stove, her hijab neatly pinned, framing her sharp, no-nonsense face. Her tight apron hugged her body like a second skin, accentuating every dip and swell as she moved with practiced precision. But beneath her composed exterior, a storm brewed—directed squarely at the man sprawled on the sofa in the next room.
“Abah! Kamu tuh ya, rebahan mulu kayak gak ada kerjaan! Ini dapur panas, aku capek, eh kamu malah asik main hape!” Umi’s voice cut through the quiet house, sharp and dripping with exasperation as she slammed a ladle against the edge of the pan. Her dark eyes flashed with irritation, though she knew her words would likely fall on deaf ears.
From the living room, a lazy grunt echoed back. “Sabar, Mi. Bentar lagi aku bantu. Lagi scroll penting nih.”
“Scroll penting apaan? Video kucing lucu? Atau meme gak mutu?” she snapped, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the stove, muttering under her breath. “Laki-laki kok gini amat.”
She was in the middle of chopping shallots with a vengeance when the doorbell chimed, a sudden intrusion that made her pause mid-slice. Wiping her hands on her apron, she adjusted her hijab and strode to the door, her irritation still simmering. When she swung it open, she froze for a split second, her breath catching in her throat.
There stood Jonny, the new American neighbor who’d moved in just last week. At fifty, he carried an air of rugged confidence, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His tight white tee clung to his muscular frame, leaving little to the imagination, and those damn shorts—short enough to make Umi’s gaze flicker downward before she caught herself. The man exuded a raw, unapologetic masculinity, and something about him screamed trouble. Big trouble.
“Mornin’, Umi,” Jonny drawled, his deep voice laced with a casual charm as he leaned against the doorframe, a lopsided grin on his weathered face. “Sorry to bother ya so early, but I’m out of sugar. Got any to spare?”
Umi crossed her arms, her posture defensive, though her heart gave an annoying little thump. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze with a cool stare. “Sugar? Pagi-pagi gini mau bikin apa, Jonny? Kopi manis biar hidupmu lebih manis dari yang udah ada?”
Jonny chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. “Well, darlin’, life’s already sweet enough standin’ here talkin’ to you. But yeah, coffee’s the plan. Gotta start the day right, y’know?”
Her lips twitched, fighting a smile despite herself. “Hmph. Tunggu bentar, aku ambilin. Jangan berdiri di situ kayak patung, masuk aja. Tapi jangan ganggu, aku lagi sibuk.” She turned on her heel, her tone clipped, but there was a faint flush creeping up her neck as she led him into the kitchen.
Jonny followed, his heavy footsteps echoing behind her. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her hyper-aware of the way her apron cinched her waist, the way her hips swayed with each step. She cursed inwardly, grabbing a small jar of sugar from the shelf with more force than necessary.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the jar toward him, her voice a touch too sharp. “Ambil secukupnya. Jangan kebanyakan, nanti aku yang repot beli lagi.”
Jonny’s fingers brushed against hers as he took the jar, a fleeting touch that felt like a spark of electricity shooting through her. Her breath hitched, and she yanked her hand back a little too quickly, her eyes darting to his face. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did, judging by the glint in his blue eyes and the slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
“Much obliged, Umi,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, almost a purr. “Didn’t mean to rattle ya. Just figured a sweet thing like you might have somethin’ sweet to share.”
Her eyes narrowed, though her cheeks burned. “Sweet thing? Hati-hati mulutmu, Jonny. Aku bukan kue yang bisa kamu puji-puji seenaknya. Lagian, aku udah nikah, lho. Jangan main-main.”
“Oh, I ain’t playin’, darlin’,” he replied smoothly, leaning a little closer as he scooped sugar into a small container he’d brought. “Just statin’ facts. And don’t worry, I respect a married woman. Just… can’t help noticin’ when someone’s got a fire in ‘em. And you? You’re burnin’ hot.”
Umi’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. She turned away, busying herself with the stove to hide the way her hands trembled slightly. “Kamu kok gak malu-malu ngomong gitu? Orang Amerika emang begini semua apa cuma kamu yang gak tau malu?”
Jonny laughed again, the sound warm and infuriatingly attractive. “Just me, I reckon. But hey, if I’m makin’ ya uncomfortable, I’ll tone it down. Wouldn’t wanna overheat this kitchen more than it already is.”
“Udah panas dari tadi, Jonny,” she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she stirred the pot with unnecessary vigor. “Bukan gara-gara kamu. Ini kompor, tau gak?”
“Sure, sure,” he said, his grin widening as he capped the container. “I’ll get outta your hair. Thanks for the sugar, Umi. Maybe next time I’ll borrow somethin’ a lil’ spicier.”
She whipped around, ready to snap at him, but he was already halfway to the door, tossing a wink over his shoulder. Her words died in her throat, replaced by a frustrating mix of annoyance and something else—something dangerous that curled low in her belly.
From the living room, Abah’s voice broke the tension like a dull knife. “Mi, siapa tadi? Kok lama banget? Makanan udah mateng belum?”
Umi’s jaw clenched, her irritation flaring anew. “Tetangga pinjem gula, Bah! Kamu sih gak peka, cuma teriak-teriak dari situ. Bangun dong, bantu aku sedikit!”
Another grunt, followed by the faint sound of Abah shifting on the sofa. “Iya, iya, bentar.”
She shook her head, muttering curses under her breath as she turned back to the counter. Jonny’s presence lingered in the air like a forbidden scent, and as she caught her reflection in the small mirror hanging near the sink, her fingers absently traced the edge of her neck. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and her lips parted slightly as her mind replayed that fleeting touch, that infuriating smirk.
“Apa yang aku pikirin ini?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the stove. Guilt gnawed at her, sharp and insistent, but beneath it, a thrill pulsed—a dangerous excitement she hadn’t felt in years. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the food, but the seed had been planted. And deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time before it grew into something she couldn’t ignore.
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