I pull into a parking spot in front of a small storefront with warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk.Korean characters are painted on the window alongside English text, and through the glass I can see mismatched tables, handwritten menus, and the controlled chaos of a family-run kitchen.
“Korean food,” I say, surprised but pleased.“I love Korean cuisine.”
“I know,” Eve says with a grin.“I’ve seen those pamphlets from Seoul Kitchen sticking out of your desk drawer.You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”
The fact that she’s been paying attention to details like that makes my pulse kick up.“Observant.”
“It’s one of my better qualities,” she says, getting out of the car.“That, and my excellent taste in restaurants.”
The restaurant is exactly what she described in the car—small, warm, with the kind of authentic atmosphere that can’t be manufactured.We slide into a booth by the window, the city lights painting patterns across our table.
“I spent a summer in Seoul during college,” I say, scanning the menu.“Ate nothing but street food and loved every minute of it.”
“When?”Eve picks up the other menu.
“Second year.There was a graphic design internship.My first internship.”
Eve looks intrigued.“What was Korea like?I’ve never been there.”
“Beautiful.I picked up a little of the language as well.When I started my company, I took a proper language course.Two of my clients’ companies are located in Korea, so it helps if I can speak the language.”
When Eve stares at me, I ask, “What?”
She tries to appear nonchalant, her eyes lowering to the menu.“Nothing.I didn’t know you could speak other languages.Makes me wonder how much I know about you.”
“Told you I’m a mysterious man,” I tease her.
She snorts.“Okay.Why don’t you be mysterious while looking at the menu?I want to eat.”
We order way too much food—bulgogi, kimchi jjigae, banchan that covers every inch of the table.Eve’s animated as she talks about more restaurant recommendations, and I find myself watching the way her hands move when she gets excited about something.
“Try this,” she says, loading up a piece of lettuce with meat and rice.“And don’t you dare put too much gochujang on it.I know you think you can handle spice.”
I take the bite she’s prepared, and it’s perfect.The flavors hit just right, and I nod approvingly.“Not bad, Lopez.You might actually have decent taste.”
“Might have—?”She starts to protest, then stops herself.“You know what?Next time we’ll go to a place of your choosing.See what your taste is actually like.”
“Are you saying you want to take me out on a date next time?”I grin, leaning back in the booth.“I can handle being wined and dined.”
She meets my eyes directly, her gaze flashing with annoyance even as her cheeks stay pink.“Don’t make me kick you.”
I’m about to say something when I see her gaze shift to something beyond my shoulder.Her playful expression is replaced by wariness.I follow her line of sight but don’t see anything unusual through the window.Just the usual evening foot traffic, a few cars parked along the street.
“Everything okay?”I ask, but she’s already turning back to her food, stabbing at her bulgogi with exaggerated force.
“Fine,” she blinks.“I thought I saw someone.”
“Who?”I turn to look but the street is empty.
“Maybe I was imagining things,” she says slowly.“Let’s just eat.”
Eve has developed this habit of putting food on my plate.
“Try this.”
“Here.”
It’s a cute habit, one that I’ve only recently discovered.She doesn’t seem to have noticed it, and I’m not going to point it out.She’s very self-sufficient from what I've learned, but she also likes to take care of people she considers hers.
