“We did fine without serving toast triangles in baskets.”
“It’s a nice touch.”
“It’s straight up tomfoolery.”
“Why not set ourselves apart from other local places that do breakfast and brunch? Eunjae sent me pictures from a few cafes in Seoul, they serve the food in all these fun ways—”
“Ryan put these ideas in your head? You're taking business advice from a singing waiter?”
A deadly silence. “Sorry, what did you just call him?”
“You heard what I said!” The grimace on Denny’s face could’ve been carved with a sculptor’s chisel. “That was too much of your own money to spend on nonsense. You needed that for your salon.”
“I didn’t mind spending it,” his sister replied, fuming, “and I’ve still got enough left.”
Eunjae hurried to distract them. “That sign up there. It’s where we turn, isn’t it? To get to the house?”
Gradually, the town had reverted to a patchwork of fields and citrus groves. Homes were larger here, spaced farther apart. Their sedate faces peeked out between fences and rows of trees. He motioned at a historical marker well on its way tobeing swallowed by the surrounding greenery. “Langley House,” Jiyeon read out loud. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Hang a left, Ryan. There should be a gate.”
And what a gate it was, towering over them in glorious swirls of wrought iron, flanked by palm trees and wild honeysuckle. Eunjae gazed up at the place where they’d be living until the show wrapped in late November. Langley House presided over a wide, sweeping drive, draped in shreds and tatters of morning mist. He counted two floors and a round tower, all roofed in rosy Spanish tile. There was something watchful about the arched windows and doors. The house radiated an expectant air, as if waiting to decide how it felt about them.
“Wait a second,” said Denny. “You’ll need the new code.”
“You had them change it again?”
Eunjae received a grunt in reply. Meanwhile, the cell signal must have seen drastic improvement. Three phones went off, buzzing like hornets as an influx of messages went through at once. Jiyeon reached for hers and grabbed the wrong device by mistake — her battered flip phone, no sim card, dead battery. This still went with her everywhere despite the fact that her digital life had migrated to the newer phone months ago.
For a few seconds that seemed to stretch forever, Eunjae kept his foot on the brake and watched her hold that old phone in the palm of her hand, running a thumb over a scratch marring the screen. An emotion flickered on her face, there and then swiftly gone. She switched it for the newer model, swiping past a solid wall of notifications on the lock screen. Eunjae wanted to say something, but in the end, he didn’t.
The gates swung inward on silent hinges. Vans and pickup trucks jammed the driveway. Crew members had been on site for days, gearing up for filming to begin. The grounds thronged with people carrying crates and cables, ladders and sound booms. Eunjae steered the car down a narrower, unpaved trackthat branched away from the main drive. Rounding the corner, the back of the house came into view. The walls of this wing were sun-warmed adobe. “Dates back to the late 1870s,” Denny informed them. “Everything else was built later on, when the family hit it big.”
After the mini history lesson, Eunjae was directed to park under a tree. His terrifying driving instructor only made him redo the job twice. Jiyeon was the first to climb out, protesting Denny’s tyranny the whole time.
The sheer size of the property became evident. They glimpsed a tennis court and the high walls of a kitchen garden in the distance. Not far from where they stood, another building crouched beyond a tall, manicured hedge. Much smaller than Langley House, it appeared to be some sort of cottage.
“Look at the light,” Eunjae said, helping with the bags. The sun was finally coming through the fog. Transfixed, he took a few photos with his phone. “Wish I had my camera.”
“Let’s find it. You put it in the duffel bag, right?”
A deafening series of chimes struck the air, startling both of them. The doorbell. Then came footsteps and shouted greetings, the rumble of suitcase wheels on polished floors. “Helloooooo,” someone hollered. “We’re heeeerrreeee!”
It was Jesse's voice, bounding through the house as though his words had sprouted legs. But it was someone else who came dashing down the hall ahead of him: a ball of wispy white fur, ears unfurled like the wings of a plane, sporting a collar of shiny red leather. Jiyeon tugged on Eunjae's sleeve. “Is that… a dog?”
Denny muttered something unintelligible. A prayer? An oath? Mystified, Eunjae said, “But none of us has a dog.”
Afterward, he would struggle to sort out which new arrival slammed into him first. Was it the puppy, flying down the hallway in a fluffy blur? Or was it Jesse, squealing in excitement, a beret balanced on his bright, blond head? Either way, itreminded him of being at the beach, bowled over by a rogue wave.
They had no time to recover. This was a rogue wave made of brothers in flashing sunglasses and ripped jeans, designer coats and Italian leather boots. Namgyu smothered both of them in a bone-crushing hug. Nicky strolled in behind him, walking backwards for some reason, followed by Kazu with a Vuitton bag meant to carry at least two large toddlers securely through TSA. He also had Max in a headlock.
“Those girls will have a full album before we do,” Kei complained, his words reverberating in the house’s cavernous foyer.
A frowning Jungwoo rolled his suitcase over the threshold. “We’ve got plenty of songs.”
“Would you fucking drop it already, Keiichi? We’re producing two tracks for them, not twenty.”
“Sit down,” Denny commanded, cutting the reunion short. He pointed at the puppy. “And you don’t have the security clearance required for this meeting. Out.”
