"I won once." I protested, and Hwan immediately shifted closer to press his shoulder against mine, his warmth seeping into my side.
"Luck doesn't count." Tae-min shot back, dropping into an armchair with boneless grace, sprawling like he owned it.
"I called him 'maknae,'" I told the room, watching Tae-min's ears go red all over again. "And 'sweetheart.' He almost had a stroke." Tae-min sputtered incoherently, his face flaming. Hwan burst out laughing, the sound bright and delighted. Jin-ho looked up from his notebook with what might have been a smile, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
Three scents on my skin now. Three bonds humming warm in my chest.
Two more to go.
I was actually looking forward to it…and maybe I really didn’t have a reason to run or hid who I really was or what I really wanted. Jeni was right…and I knew when I told her she would just give me a knowing look and tell her I owed her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
KEIRA
Min-jun's kitchen looked like a war zone. Ingredients covered every available surface — vegetables in neat piles, proteins in various states of preparation, sauces and seasonings arranged in what I assumed was some kind of logical order that only made sense to him. The air smelled like garlic and ginger and something sweet that made my mouth water.
"Don't look so scared." Min-jun was tying an apron around his waist, his movements practiced and easy, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched my expression. "It's just cooking. Nothing's going to explode."
"You say that now." I eyed the mountain of ingredients with open suspicion, crossing my arms over my chest as if the vegetables might attack at any moment. "But I once burned instant ramen. The kind you just add water to. I'm a danger to kitchens everywhere."
"How do you burn instant ramen?" He paused mid-tie, genuine confusion crossing his features as he stared at me, his hands frozen on the apron strings. "You literally just boil water."
"I got distracted." I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat at the memory, my gaze dropping to the floor. "There was a really good song on, and I may have... forgotten the pot existed."
"For how long?" He finished tying his apron, reaching for a second one that he held out toward me, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Long enough for all the water to evaporate and the noodles to turn into charcoal." I took the apron reluctantly, fumbling with the strings as they tangled in my fingers. "The smoke alarm went off. My neighbor called the fire department. It was a whole thing."
Min-jun stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Then he burst out laughing — not the polite, controlled laugh I'd heard from him before, but something deep and genuine that made his whole face transform, his dimples appearing in full force as his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"That's the most tragic cooking story I've ever heard." He crossed the kitchen to stand behind me, his hands gentle as he took the apron strings from my fumbling fingers, his chest warm against my back. "Here, let me."
His fingers brushed against my lower back as he tied the apron, and I felt the rose pink bond pulse warmly in my chest. His scent wrapped around me — vanilla and fresh bread, warm and comforting in a way that made something tight in my chest loosen.
"There." He stepped back, surveying his handiwork with a satisfied nod, his hazel eyes sweeping over me approvingly. "Now you look like a real chef."
"I look like a disaster waiting to happen." I smoothed my hands over the apron, trying not to think about how close he'd just been, how my skin still tingled where his fingershad brushed. "Are you sure you want to trust me with your grandmother's recipe? What if I ruin it?"
Something shifted in his expression at the mention of his grandmother — a flicker of old grief, quickly masked by warmth, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "You won't ruin it. I'll guide you through every step." He moved to the counter, gesturing for me to follow with a wave of his hand. "Besides, my grandmother always said the best food is made with love, not perfection. She burned plenty of things in her time."
"Really?" I joined him at the counter, surprised by this revelation, my eyebrows climbing toward my hairline.
"Really." He picked up a knife and handed it to me handle-first, his hazel eyes soft with memory, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "She once set the kitchen curtains on fire making my grandfather's birthday cake. Twice. The same curtains." He paused, the smile deepening as he lost himself in the memory. "My grandfather kept buying new ones. Said it was worth it for her cooking."
"That's either romantic or a fire hazard." I accepted the knife, testing its weight in my hand, feeling the balance of the blade.
"Both." He agreed, positioning a cutting board in front of me with an array of vegetables, his movements efficient and practiced. "Probably both. Okay, first step — we need to cut these vegetables. Thin slices for the cabbage, rough chunks for the zucchini."
I stared at the vegetables like they might bite me, the knife suddenly feeling very dangerous in my inexperienced hands. "How thin is thin?"
"Like this." He moved behind me, his chest brushing against my back as he reached around to guide my hands, his warmth enveloping me completely. "Hold the knife here — yes, like that — and let the blade do the work. You don't need to press hard." His hands were warm over mine, his breath stirring the hairat my temple as he guided me through the first few cuts. The rose pink bond hummed with contentment, and I found myself relaxing into his presence in a way I hadn't expected.
"Good." His voice was soft, encouraging, close enough to my ear that it sent shivers down my spine. "Just like that. You're a natural."
"I'm absolutely not a natural." I protested, but I was smiling as I continued cutting, the movements becoming easier with each slice. "You're just a good teacher."
"Maybe." He stepped back, giving me space to work, but I could feel his eyes on me — watchful, warm, patient. "Or maybe you're better than you think you are."
