He’s reading the menu. “Chana masala burritos? Chicken wing burritos.”
“I promise they’re good.”
“Ice cream burritos.” Jihoon looks suspicious. “Really?”
“They’re better when you’re drunk,” I admit. “Even sober, you won’t regret it, cross my heart and hope to die.”
His eyebrows rise. “Dramatic for a burrito. You order for us. I like surprises.”
I shudder. I hate surprises.
I order two burritos to share: the tofu and the pasta. We take the silver-wrapped rolls to a bench on the corner. The streetlight is broken, making it feel dim and intimate, with the people walking by on the sidewalk becoming performers in a show we’re watching.
My conversation defaults to Canadian Standard Basics: Occupation Query. “Hana didn’t mention what you do for a living.”
He hesitates. “I’m in the entertainment industry.”
“Ah, that’s what you meant about your parents wanting a more stable field.”
He nods as he inspects the pasta burrito. It’s packed with cheese ravioli and mini vegetarian meatballs in sugo that’s been covered with parmesan before being rolled in a spinach tortilla. “It’s competitive.”
“Entertainment. Do you work in K-dramas?”
He takes a bite, then another. “It’s good,” he says in shock. “Dramas aren’t your thing? You liked the one we watched.”
“Hana loves them, but generally I find them too melodramatic.”
Jihoon raises his eyebrows. “This from the woman who thought I was a mobster.”
“I never said that, but in my defense, you wear a mask and hat everywhere. What should I think?”
“That I value good sun protection,” he says with a serious expression.
“It’s night.”
“They also keep me warm.”
“In the summer?”
He clears his throat. “Back to your dislike of K-dramas.”
“I don’t have a lot of time, and the episodes are movie length. Is that what you work on?”
He shakes his head. “I’m a music producer and a songwriter.”
Interesting. “Any songs I’d know?”
Jihoon glances away. “How well do you know K-pop?”
I frown. “Not at all, but I need to learn more for a client. Have you heard of a band called—” I falter for a moment, trying to remember. “Starry?”
The tofu burrito has a wasabi mayo that I forgot to warn him about until he bites in, sniffs, and gets glassy-eyed. He said he liked surprises, but I assume that doesn’t include a horseradish-based chemical burn in his nasal passages. I pass him a napkin. “Sorry, I should have told you about the wasabi.”
After recovering, Jihoon says, “The band you’re thinking about is StarLune.”
“That’s the one. I hear they’re popular. Do you like them?”
He pauses. “You never heard of StarLune?”
