“What look?” I glance up at her.
“The one you get when you’re plotting a major character development. All broody and intense.”
“Professional hazard. Always thinking about the next storyline. So, San Francisco? You’d really come?”
She nods, her expression softening. “I checked your tour schedule while you were asleep last night. San Francisco is on a weekend, so I could fly out Friday and leave that Monday. That gives us two full days together.”
“That’s two weeks from now.” I start doing some mental calculations. “I can survive two weeks if I know I’ll see you.”
“It’s just a visit.”
“Just a visit,” I step closer to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “No expectations.”
“Liar,” she playfully whispers.
“Okay, maybe some expectations. And I’m sorry for cutting you off. I thought you were going to want to end things.”
She leans into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. “I can’t end something that hasn’t begun yet. But apology accepted.”
She’s absolutely right, and the realization lands heavy in my chest. I need to stop running ahead, stop inventing a script for her that fits the ending I want. I’m a writer—of course I want the climax to come early, the grand confession, the page-turning sweep of emotion. But I need to remember this is her story too. I want insta-love, while she is taking on a whole new meaning to slow-burn.
Minji is a masterclass in restraint; she never says anything she doesn’t mean, never lets a word slip past her filters unless she’s absolutely certain it can’t be used against her. Why would she suddenly turn into the kind of woman who spills her guts after five days in my bed? Just because I want her to, just because I have a pathological need for certainty. I want to laugh and punch myself in the face at the same time.
So I decided to give her space right now. No more heavy-handed declarations, no more desperate grabs at emotional intimacy. If she wants this to be a slow burn, I’ll pace myself. I’ll hold on to the moments I get and stop panicking about the ones I don’t. She sets her mug down and moves a little closer to me. She hesitates—God, I see it, the exact moment she considers retreating—but then she closes the distance, letting her forehead rest gently against my shoulder. For several seconds, we stand like that, both breathing slowly like we’re syncing up for the first time.
And maybe we are. Maybe this is how it starts.
I pull her against me, savoring the way she fits perfectly in my arms. “I’m going to spend all night making this up to you,” I press my lips to her temple. “How do you want to spend our last night before I leave?”
Her fingers dip into my collar and pick up my gold chain as she leans in. “Let’s just stay here tonight. You and me.”
“Perfect timing. I’ve been practicing that perilla leaf soup you mentioned.”
“God, that sounds amazing.” The smile fades as she glances at her watch. “I should run. They’re all waiting for me.”
“I could swing by your office later? Seven-ish?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll come straight here. Might be stuck there awhile though.”
“No problem.” I keep my voice light despite the sinking feeling.
While she collects her scattered belongings, I’m already planning the evening—which wine to pair with dinner, what playlist would set the right mood. Something to make these last hours count before two weeks of emptiness.
She pauses at the threshold, turning back. “Aaron?”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re feeling generous, that Chinese place on Fifth? The one with those ridiculous dumplings?”
“Consider it done.” I step closer, unable to resist touching her one more time before she leaves. My fingers trace the line of her jaw, and she leans into the contact. “Text me your order so I don’t mess it up.”
“You already know what I like,” she says quietly, and there’s a double meaning there that makes my pulse quicken. Fuck. The sexual chemistry between us will be the death of me. I kiss her then, slow and thorough, trying to pour everything I can’t say into the press of our lips. When we break apart, her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing is uneven.
“Go,” I whisper against her forehead. “Before I convince you to call in sick.”
“It would be a first, but I can’t today.”
I spend the morning packing and folding clothes while mentally rehearsing what I’ll say at each tour stop. But my thoughts keep drifting to tonight. Our last few hours together before reality intrudes.
