I try not to be sore. Today is about Jihoon. “For now.”
He grins. “We’ll see.”
Ten
I organized a car and driver today through Luxe, and Gregor, who had now finished with an earlier job, is waiting to take us to the next destination. We greet each other as I introduce Jihoon and put my tote on the seat between us. I’ve known Gregor since a small incident involving another one of Luxe’s clients last year, and we get along well.
Jihoon pulls off the mask and rubs behind his ears. “You’ve put so much work into this.”
“I liked doing it for you.” I glance out the window at the people passing by on Bloor Street. It’s always busy in this stretch, with people grabbing coffee or buying mangoes and flowers at the corner stores.
Gregor drives us to the weekend farmers market that is our next destination. The summer harvest is on display under the high warehouse ceiling, and Jihoon walks between tables of corn on the cob and rustic baskets of beautiful frosted plums. I buy him a goat cheese and roasted butternut squash panini and take him to a picnic bench by the ponds.
I drink my cider as he looks around. “What is this place?” he asks.
“Reclaimed industrial space. They used to make bricks here, so we’re sitting in the old quarry.”
We check out the pond when we’re done, a picturesque view ofoverlapping water lilies. A ripple catches my eye, and I point at it. “A snapping turtle!”
Two things happen at the same time. Jihoon turns, and my outstretched hand hits him square in the chest. He falls back, arms shooting out as he tries to regain his balance.
He’s going to fall into the water. I am such a bad host. This is why I never have guests.
Then he does this wild superhero twist and sort of leaps back onto the boardwalk. I can’t even describe it. It’s like a gymnastics move. He’s a little wobbly, and I grab his shirt and haul him away from the edge.
Bad move, Ari, because now his hands come around my waist, and he steps into me. I can feel the warmth of his body against mine. I haven’t been this close to a man for a year, let alone a man like Jihoon. He’s so different from the ones I usually meet, who might as well be spit out from the same factory. They all like craft beer and Jet Skiing at the cottage with guys they met in university, who are all like them.
My face tilts up and his down, and his hand slips lower to tighten on my hip.
“Daddy, look, a turtle!” The squeal of a small child, in combination with the appearance of many other small children flanked by frazzled, coffee-clutching adults, breaks my reverie. I step back, carefully, but Jihoon follows me.
“Ari,” he says, watching me intently.
I shiver when he says my name like that. Before he can continue, a kid Naruto-runs down the boardwalk with her arms extended behind her, chanting, “Birthday, it’s my birthday.” It’s anarchy, and I take the opportunity to disengage.
I’m fairly sure, like in the high-90s percent sure, that Jihoon was going to kiss me, or he would have, had it not been for the mask he wears everywhere. I need to think it through because, wow, I wantthat, too. I also have to be certain. Flirting is fun and fantasizing is fantastic, but kissing is a whole different level. It changes things. Exactly how done is he with his ex?
“The game,” I say with the least amount of desperation I can manage. There was no game for this stop, but I need a moment to corral my thoughts into their usual tight order.
“Right.” Now he moves away, and I have to restrain myself from closing the distance between us.Be smart, Ari. Consider the consequences.
I think fast. “The point goes to the first one to see a water animal. Frog, fish, heron, duck, or turtle. Start on the count of three. Eyes closed until we count down.” I wait until he obediently squeezes his eyes shut. He’s so cute. I want to kiss him tenderly and romantically and then wrestle him to the ground.
“One,” I say.
“Dul,” says Jihoon.
“Three.” We both open our eyes and start scanning. Jihoon bends to gaze deep into the murky depths, and I do my best to not check him out and risk my inappropriate rubbernecking being reflected in the water. It’s a losing battle because he’s right in front of me, black jeans clinging to every curve.
I yank my eyes back to the water as my heart rate slows from the dual shock of nearly sending Jihoon into the pond and then having him pressed against me. Jihoon, apparently engrossed by the search for fauna, seems unperturbed by the incident, so I follow suit, pushing the mess of thoughts to the side. Nothing can happen, nothing should happen, so I need to concentrate on being a good host.
Too bad the way he felt against me, and the way he looked at me, is something I can’t easily forget.
I see movement on the shore. It’s a duck. Could be a mallard, might be a canvasback, but I’m no biologist, and those are also the only duck species I know. “Duck,” I say with great pleasure.
He swivels to look. “You win.”
Jihoon’s such a graceful loser, I feel bad about my triumph over gaining a worthless point in a meaningless game I created. “We’re tied.”
