“Are you?” He taps the wooden spoon against the pot. “Quitting, I mean. It’s been months since our last talk about it, but the money is still there ready for you to use.” He tastes the broth, adds a pinch of something.
Aaron serves me a fragrant bowl of stew, the spices perfumed just right. As I take my first bite, I’m stunned by how close it is to my mother’s recipe.
“How did you get this so authentic?” I ask between spoonfuls.
He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “I may have called your mom last week. She was surprisingly willing to share family secrets once I mentioned I was cooking for you.”
“You called my mother?” My spoon freezes halfway to my mouth. “And she answered? And gave you her sacred recipe?” I knew Aaron and my mother had gotten close over the past few months, but I didn’t think it was this close. I guess she really likes Aaron as well.
The kimchi jjigae coats my tongue with the perfect balance of sour and spice, exactly the way my mother makes it. Each spoonful warms me from the inside out, the familiar taste of home somehow more potent coming from Aaron’s hands. “She also sent me photos of you in middle school, braces and all.” He grins, dodging the napkin I throw at him. “Kidding! But she did sound happy someone was feeding you properly.”
After scraping our bowls clean, we migrate to the couch. The lingering taste of gochujang still burns pleasantly at the back of my throat as Aaron pulls me against him. I settle into the crook of his arm, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, my stomach full and content. This is becoming our ritual food, thencouch, then talking about our days in full, unfiltered detail. It’s domestic in a way that would have made me hyperventilate three months ago.
“So,” he says, voice casual but his heartbeat quickening beneath my ear. “Demi visited the office today, huh? What did she want?”
“Just to remind me that I’m emotionally constipated.” I trace circles on his knee. “And to ask when I’m going to quit.”
“I don’t think you are emotionally constipated anymore. You express your feelings very well with me. But about the ‘are you quitting’ question, what did you tell her?”
I sigh.Let me just get this over with. I shouldn’t be a chicken about this. It’s Aaron. “Do you—are you seeing anyone else?” I blurt.
Aaron’s hand stills against my back. “When do I have time to see anyone but you? Hell, I don’t want anyone but you. If you wanted me to be your man, you could’ve just asked. I’ve been waiting for you to finally want to make this official.”
I have to look up to see if he’s joking, but he isn’t. The way he’s looking at me now, like I’m not just a puzzle he wants to solve, but a mystery he wants to live inside for a while and it makes my skin tingle. Not in a fun way. In the all-new, you’re-about-to-change-everything way.
“So, you’re not seeing anyone else?”
He lets out a laugh, the kind that bubbles up from deep in his gut. “Minji, I haven’t even thought about another woman since you walked into that conference room in June. I am obsessed with you.”
I want to laugh, but all my muscles have gone rigid. I am not used to being the person who initiates these conversations; my family’s love language is ‘passive-aggressively refill your rice bowl and hope you get the hint.’ Even now, I want to shrink away, but he pulls me closer.
“I didn’t think—” I start, then regret it. “I mean, I wasn’t sure if… It’s not that I didn’t want you to be my boyfriend. I just didn’t know if you wanted?—”
He interrupts me with a look, the one that says, ‘Please, for the love of God, don’t overthink this to death.’ He’s patient, but there’s a kind of desperation there, too.
“I want to,” he says. “Now, come here, I think I owe you a prize for initiating something so out of the norm for you.”
“A prize?”
He nods. “Take off your clothes and sit on my face.”
“You’re going to have to say please,” I tell him, using the last scrap of composure I possess. “Say, ‘please, Minji, sit on my face.’”
Aaron’s mouth twitches, humor and hunger braided perfectly together. “Please, my wonderfulgirlfriend, sit on my face.”
CHAPTER 41
MINJI
I turneddown the Sheridan case. Now, two weeks after handing off every file, I stand in my empty office, my heart pounding with excitement for what comes next. My phone buzzes on the bare desk. It’s Aaron, right on time.
Aaron
Ready for lunch?
Followed by a string of food emojis that make me smile despite the strange melancholy of this moment. I run my fingers along the edge of the desk. For seven years, this space was my world. Now it’s just glass and wood, cleared of the trophies and files that once made it mine. I expected to feel sad or at least a little doubt, but instead, I feel surprisingly light. Relieved and excited for what’s ahead.
“Minji?”
