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“Dolaon geoseul hwanyeong habnida, Spenser-ssi,” the barista greets me, her warm welcome back coupled with a smile, as she hands over my tea.
“Kamsa habnida,” I reply, thanking her with a small head bow. I love the chance to slip in and out of Korean every chance I get.
And it’s taken some doing for me to switch from coffee to tea, but with a smallyakgwaon the side, it’s paradise. The little flower-shaped cookie is just enough to keep a certain macchiato with cinnamon stubbled face someone from dancing through my thoughts.
At least some of the time, anyway.
This is my life now, and with every day that passes, it feels a little more comfortable and a little less like I’m missing my right arm.
But if I thought Brian would just take goodbye for an answer, I was dead wrong.
Every evening, like clockwork, he sends me a message.Sometimes in English, sometimes in Korean. Always quirky and sweet, like,Shoved six peach muffins in my mouth. Thinking of you, or something ridiculous like,Halmeoni fed me extra strong kimchi. Not sure I’ll survive.
And every single one inflates my heart just a little bit more.
I’ve already pitched a four-part series to Trent, and when he heard it, he insisted it’d be a feature. I still can’t quite wrap my head around it—my work, my story, front and center.
And everywhere I go, Taylor’s already scouted the most picture-perfect spots for me. Little corners of Seoul where the light hits just right, where I can take selfies—my real face, no filters—for all the world to see under my new handle: @WithLoveJules.
It feels surreal, me constantly taking selfies. Like when I was slurping a mouthful ofjajangmyeonnoodles—who knewthatwould go viral?
And now, when I catch a smile from a random stranger, I don’t hide. I smile back. For once, I’m being recognized for all the right reasons.
For just being goofy and campy and . . . me.
And next week...next week, my family will be here. Mom, Dad, Colby, Halmeoni—just thinking about it makes my heart hike right up my chest.
Mom even offered to stay behind with Angi, which I didn’t expect. Somehow, Brian pulled some strings and got her sentence reduced to house arrest. A really long house arrest, but locked up at home, nonetheless.
And remarkably, Mom agreed, determined that as a family, we would help Angi through it. Because it’s not about big expectations. Just little wins.‘Haru haru,’she now says—day byday. Brian even had his own men watch over Angi around the clock, giving my family the chance to finally relax and enjoy their time away.
And knowing Brian’s still tied to them, knotted up in the sweet, messy tangle that is my family, makes me miss him all the more.
And as Halmeoni says, any man who’d do this for our family?He loves you more than a steaming bowl of bibimbap on a cold day.Which, coming from our family, is saying a lot.
When the bright day drifts into a festive city evening, I feel the pull to reach out. I imagine his voice, steady and sure, telling me everything’s okay. Other nights, I miss him so deeply it aches, like a piece of me is adrift, lost at sea, and he’s the only one who can give it back to me.
But then the moment slips away, and eventually, I drift off, letting the distance hold. I go to sleep, wake up, rinse, repeat.
And I know it’s not that I don’t love him. I do. I love that man with every inch of me. But fear? That’s always been my shadow—clinging on, refusing to let go, no matter how hard I try.
But slowly, surely, I know the day’s coming. That moment where I shove aside all this worthless, stupid fear and take the damn leap my heart’s been begging for.
That’s why, maybe, just maybe, today’s the day I stop being a coward and let him back in. Right where he’s always belonged.
CHAPTER 54
Jules
“Look!” Halmeoni points ahead, leading Mom and Colby toward a stunning view of the distant temple. We’re walking through this beautiful garden just outside Seoul, the soft wind carrying the scent of flowers and pine.
Eomma and Halmeoni chat away up ahead, their voices mingling with the rustle of leaves. Colby’s trailing behind, his camera snapping away like he’s on assignment, and I know the little drone in his backpack will make an appearance soon enough.
The backdrop is breathtaking—blue mountains rolling into a gold and green horizon, the temple standing proud and serene against it, like something out of a watercolor painting.
Dad lingers back as we walk, me tucked under his arm, his steady presence grounding me like it always does. He motions at a bench, and he nudges me gently. “Let’s take a selfie here.”
“Okay,” I agree, settling in next to him, the perfect view behind us.
