“For you,” he said, placing the heavy basket on the hallway table like a peace offering. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought everything.”
“I like everything.” Umma was clearly trying not to smile. “Thank you.”
Then her papa stepped into the room, freshly changed into a charcoal quarter-zip and pressed slacks, like a man whounderstood the occasion but had no interest in putting on a show.
“Gage,” Papa said, giving a firm, but not unfriendly, handshake.
“Thanks for having me, sir.”
There was a pause, just long enough that Bea stopped breathing.
Her father gave a nod. Not approval. Permission to enter his house.
“Drink?” Papa asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
“Sounds great.”
“Red wine, or beer?”
“Red wine if you have it.”
Bea watched every move, her brain already logging details for Claire’s debrief later. Gage took off his coat. She hung it up with hands that were starting to sweat.
The table was set, the galbi-jjim simmering gently on the trivet. Bea untied her apron and slipped into her seat just as Gage took the chair beside her. His eyes lingered on the food for half a second. Then on her.
Recognition. His favorite Korean dish.
She blushed. Her umma caught it and said nothing.
“So,” her papa said, cutting into his rice, “you work in finance?”
“I do.”
Bea placed a serving of beef short ribs onto Gage’s rice. He thanked her with a small quirk of his lips.
“Private firm?”
Gage nodded, attention back to her papa. “King Global Capital.” He placed a zucchini fritter in Bea’s bowl.
“Like…your name, King?” Umma asked, spooning doenjang jjigae over her rice.
“Yes.”
“That’s your family?” her papa asked.
“It is.”
“That must keep you busy.”
“Yes, sir, it does.” He still hadn’t had a single bite.
“So you’re a millionaire or something?”
Bea gripped the side of her rice bowl tightly.
“Billionaire, technically,” Gage replied, tone dry, like he didn’t think much of the word.
Her papa and umma stopped midmotion. Her umma was reaching for the kimchi; her papa was about to have a mouthful of food.
