“I wasn’t singing off-key on purpose,” I protest, feigning offense. “That was my genuine musical talent on display.”
Minji laughs, that same wild, genuine laugh from twelve years ago. If I could, I’d capture it in a jar and keep it close forever.
“Come on,” I say, reaching for her hand. “Let’s get inside before this rain gets worse.”
We hurry to the entrance, press close under my umbrella. Once inside, I lead her to the elevator, feeling every nerve come alive where her fingers are tangled with mine. It amazes me how magical this feels, Minji in my apartment on a rainy workday, both of us damp and carrying years of memories.
“You know,” I say as the elevator climbs, “I used to imagine this. Running into you again, getting a second chance.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Did your imagination include me losing a partnership and contemplating quitting my job?”
“No, but it did include you being just as stubborn and brilliant as you’ve always been.” I squeeze her hand. “Some things never change.”
The elevator doors open, and I lead her down the hallway to my apartment. I unlock the door, and she steps inside, kicking off her heels.
“It feels good to be home,” she freezes for a moment.
My heart swells at her words. Home.
“Well, make yourself comfortable,” I say, hanging up my jacket and taking hers. “I’ll get started on those turkey sandwiches.”
Minji wanders down the hallway toward my bedroom while I go to the kitchen. Hearing the shower run makes me smile. She seems so comfortable here, and I wish she could stay forever. There’s a quiet closeness in this—Minji showering in my bathroom while I make lunch, as if this has always been our routine instead of something new and uncertain.
The domesticity of it all hits me hard. This is what I’ve wanted since college, though I couldn’t have named it then. Just the simple pleasure of existing in the same space, knowing she feels safe enough to make herself at home.
I’m stacking turkey on sourdough when she appears, wrapped in my bathrobe, wet hair slicked back. My breath catches in my throat. Fuck, she is an absolute Goddess.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, gesturing to the robe. “My clothes felt like I’d been wearing them for days.”
“Mi casa es su casa,” I reply, trying to sound casual when all I want to do is cross the room and pull her into my arms. “Though that was a quick shower. You could’ve stayed in there longer.”
“I didn’t want to be inconsiderate,” she says, perching on one of my kitchen stools. “Besides, I was getting hungry.”
I slide the finished sandwich across the counter to her, watching as she takes a bite, humming with appreciation. “So,” I say, leaning against the counter. “What’s the verdict on lunch?”
“Not bad for someone who threatened me with ribs and mac and cheese,” she replies, a smile playing at her lips. “Though I’m still curious about that particular culinary skill set.”
“Oh, I wasn’t kidding about the ribs.”
Minji takes another bite, studying me. “I’d like to try them sometime.”
“How about tonight?” I suggest. “I could make a grocery run while you nap. You look exhausted, Minji.”
She starts to protest, then stops herself, shoulders sagging slightly. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been watching you for years.” I move to stand beside her, gently tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
The echo of my words from college hangs between us, and I see recognition flash in her eyes.
“You said that to me before,” she whispers. “That night during the fever.”
“And I meant it then, too.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “The bedroom's all yours. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours if you’re not up.”
She hesitates, sandwich half-eaten on her plate. “Will you…” she begins, then looks away, embarrassed by whatever she was about to ask.
“Will I what?”
“Stay with me? Just until I fall asleep.”
