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“Don’t answer that,” Brian says, cutting the salesman off as he slides his card across the counter. “We’ll take it.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“And I can’t let you mope around the house like you lost your favorite stuffed animal,” he says, adding, “And throw in the latest digital notebook, the newest flagship phone, and anything else that’ll make a geek girl’s heart swoon.”
The salesman’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. “How about a glittery laptop case and some holographic ILove Coffeestickers?”
By this point I’m beaming like a kid about to slurp straight from Willy Wonka’s chocolate moat.
Brian looks down at me as I blink up at him in wonder. Who is this guy?
He grins. “Sold.”
After a few more shops andmy stubborn refusal to let Brian buy me anything beyond a cappuccino, we finally head home.
Well,hishome.
Not mine.
Temporary, I remind myself.
I practically have to arm-wrestle Brian to let me carry any of the bags. In the end, he relents—barely—allowing me to carry just the laptop.
It’s the first extravagant gift I’ve ever received, and I swear, I couldn’t worship it more if Jessica Pressler herself handed it to me.
We get home, and I barely make it through the door before I tear into the box, excitement bubbling up inside me like I’m unwrapping the best gift ever.
“Like Christmas?” Brian asks.
“More like ten Christmases, birthdays, and Korean New Year’s all rolled up in one,” I reply, my grin widening as I finally get the laptop out and plug it in.
“Korean New Year’s.” Brian’s voice softens. “Seollal.”
“You remember?”
He pockets a hand, his gaze drifting into the past. “Iremember your halmeoni hiding treats around the house like Easter eggs. And you, tearing through the place, hunting down peach pops like a contestant onSurvivor.”
I laugh softly, surprised by a memory buried so deep it takes both of us to dig it out. “As much as I hate to admit it, they were my favorite.”
He looks at me, his deep blue eyes locking onto mine. “Why do you think I left them alone and focused on the almond cookies?”
I tilt my head, puzzled. “I thought you liked them.”
He shakes his head, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve never really cared for almonds, Jules. I’m more of a chocolate chip kind of guy.”
A frown creases my brow, confusion knotting in my chest. “But you ate them.”
His gaze softens, a trace of something bittersweet in his eyes. “If I didn’t, your halmeoni might not have invited me back. And I wanted to come back.”
I move cautiously toward him until I’m knotted in intoxicating heat and the scent of dark spice and cedar. “Why?” I whisper.
“You know why.”
My breath catches, and my heart freezes in my chest. Because I do know.
And yet, I don’t.
I’ve loved this man for so many years, in so many ways—furious, terrified, pure—that anything less than love feels like a lie.
