The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) by Michele Gorman

pleasant I-was-expecting-milk-but-got-cupcakes sensation either. Bread doesn’t taste like bread, either, but at least it only tastes of Styrofoam.
    Hong Kong’s food stores are truly an adventure in foreign palates. Pushing my miniscule cart through narrow aisles, I didn’t even recognize everyday foodstuffs. Anyone who’s had a self-catering holiday abroad knows the disorientating feeling of staring blankly at rows of boxes or bags without having the faintest idea what they are. Sometimes there are helpful drawings, but they’re mostly a mystery. Might be sugar, might be flour. It’s not a mistake you want to make as you stir your morning coffee.
    Our supermarket has more varieties of rice than I’d ever imagined possible, yet there’s virtually no cheese. And the milk, well, I spent a long time staring at cartons labelled ‘milk beverage’ or ‘milk drink’ with lots of Chinese lettering. So far we’ve failed to find milk that tastes like it came from a cow.
    ‘Those flowers reek, Hannah. You’ve got to get rid of them. Seriously, I’ll buy you new ones. Oh, by the way, Chloe called yesterday. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. It’s on the machine.’
    ‘Thanks.’ It’s not the first time Stacy forgot to tell me about Chloe’s calls, but I don’t want to fight over it. I guess there are some things we both gloss over. ‘Have I got time to call her now?’
    ‘Not really. The guys said it’ll take a while to get to the Buddha. We can take the MTR to Lantau, but then there’s a bus. We’re meeting them in half an hour in Central.’
    By ‘the guys’ she means her colleague Stuart and his identical twin brother Brent. In just the few weeks since they met, Stuart has already become Stacy’s favorite work playmate. I met them a couple days ago and they are just as nice and fun as Stacy said. Being ginger, neither sibling holds any romantic potential whatsoever, so they’re in the running to become our safe best friends. That means there’s no risk that they’ll suddenly come down with a case of the wish-I-could-kiss-yous.
     
    Within two hours we’re on a hilly Lantau road with our fates in the hands of a bus driver who thinks he’s driving for Team Ferrari. To be fair, he’d have more time for the road if his pesky mobile didn’t demand all his attention. We had a little fright when its ring sent him diving into the bag wedged under the brake pedal, but the damage from sideswiping that lorry wasn’t too bad. This is one of those bigger-vehicle-bigger-headline situations. There are at least fifty victims on the bus. It catches air as we crest another hill. Stacy has even stopped talking. ‘Isn’t he going to slow down?’ she finally entreats.
    ‘He must know what he’s doing,’ Brent reasons, in a rather bouncy Somerset accent that sounds as if his words are on elastic bands. ‘He drives this route all day.’ He’s seated nonchalantly while I dig the stuffing out of the seat back with my fingernails.
    ‘That’s not an established fact,’ I say. ‘How do you know this isn’t his first day?’
    ‘Is he driving like it’s his first day?’ Stuart thinks he’s joking but since he’s brought it up...
    ‘He’s driving like it’s his first day behind the wheel. Any wheel. Plus, there’s construction. Look, it’s only one lane.’ Concrete barriers divide the already narrow road, protecting the digging equipment from maniacal bus drivers. A well-used guardrail runs alongside the edge of the road and a temporary stop light signals the entrance to this slalom course. The light is red. The bus carries on. Clouds float level with the guardrail.
    ‘Did he just run the light?’ Even Brent looks a little nervous now.
    ‘I think he did.’
    ‘Maybe the light doesn’t work.’
    ‘Or maybe it does, and there’s a bus coming the other way.’
    We all squint into the hazy distance, but the hairpin turns make it impossible to see more than a couple of hundred yards.
    Kapunk! Something