Chapter 16
My mom shoots me a look of daggers. “Why I try to kill Morgan? She so nice and pretty. Smart girl. Strong girl. Perfect girl for you.”
I gently pat Morgan’s back, and her coughs ease enough for her to say, “Thanks, Eomma-nim.”
I raise a brow. “Eomma-nim?”
“Yes. I tell her to call me Eomma-nim.”
Damn, that was fast. The term’s normally used by a son’s wife, but when a son’s girlfriend uses it… I should’ve known my mom would tell Morgan to call her that the moment they met.
It’s basically the Korean equivalent of Barbara telling me to call her Mom . A big deal. My face might read annoyed thanks to my mom’s pushy presumptions, but damn if I’m not happy right about now.
Mom continues, pointing an accusing finger at me. “If I tell her that, why you think I try to kill?”
“It was a joke,” I say, exhaling slowly, already wondering how many more sighs I’ll let out before she leaves. With Mom, my record’s twenty sighs in one hour. With Dad, it’s thirty-two. With my grandfather, it’s infinite. “Anyway, what time did you get here—and why are you here?”
Morgan reaches behind her and pinches my thigh—the infliction of pain, the universal sign of a woman telling you to shut the hell up.
“She said you told her I had a bad day and lost my home,” Morgan says, warmth in her voice. “So, she had the kindest thought to come over and cook me some comfort food.” Her lips curl into a tender smile. “Thank you, Eomma-nim. Truly. No one’s ever done something like this for me before.”
Mom’s jaw drops. “No even your mom?”
“No,” Morgan says, still smiling.
I tense, worried the thought might sting—but when I glance over, she’s still smiling. And giggling.
She continues, “Honestly, I wouldn’t want her to—or my dad. They’re both horrible cooks. I grew up on grilled cheese, pre-made salads, and Hamburger Helper.”
“What is this Hambaga Helpa?” Mom asks, tilting her head.
Morgan laughs harder, her whole body shaking, and the sound warms my chest. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“No, no. I will try it. One day, Morgan cook Hambaga Helpa for me, okay?”
The oh-shit look on my girlfriend’s face has me cracking up, and I bend to kiss the top of her head. Mom’s eyes light up. Great. Now she’s looking at me like I just handed her a grandchild. Like I said—presumptuous. She’s the worst kind of audience.
Good God, I want her to leave. Not that I don’t love the woman who gave me life, but this is Morgan’s first full day living here. I want privacy. Even if Morgan doesn’t mind the intrusion, I do. A man’s allowed to be selfish once in a while.
“You want me to leave, don’t you?” Mom asks me in Korean. Why am I not surprised she can read my goddamn thoughts?
Sigh number two. “Maybe. How did you feel when Grandma suddenly appeared on your doorstep after you and Appa first moved in together?”
She smirks before glancing at Morgan and then back at me. “Point made. But don’t lose this one, Jiho. She’s perfect. Fuck Grandpa and his opinions.”
My brows shoot up. I knew she wasn’t Grandpa’s biggest fan, but fuck him? I thought I was the only member of this Park family who held that particular sentiment. But unlike me, does she actually walk the walk? Or do the chains of cultural expectations hold her back too?
Morgan’s cheeks turn red. There’s nothing more embarrassing and frustrating than knowing you’re the topic of conversation in a language you don’t understand.
Thankfully, Mom picks up on it and switches back to English. “Sorry, Morgan. I ask Jiho if he want me to leave. He say yes, in a seashell.”
“In a nutshell,” I correct with sigh number three, earning a harder pinch from Morgan.
“You’re more than welcome to stay, Eomma-nim . Ignore your son.”
I roll my eyes just as Mom laughs, saying, “I always ignore Jiho. And Appa. Most ignore Grandpa.”
Jesus. She’s talking about the old man a lot today. “Eomma, what did you say to Morgan about Grandpa?” I risk asking in Korean again. I want to be the one to have that difficult conversation.
Mom blinks twice, checks her watch, and scurries to grab her bag. “Oh, look at time. Appa has doctor appointment, and I have car.”
“Of course he does,” I mumble, just as Morgan steps off the stool, coming to my side. My arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer, a reflex at this point.
Mom gestures to the food and then the fridge. “You keep food. No forget kimchi in fridge.”
“We won’t,” Morgan says assuredly. “Thank you, Eomma-nim . This truly made my day.”
“You very welcome, Morgan.” She looks at me, her smiling mom face turning serious. She adds quickly in Korean, “I want her as my daughter-in-law.”
Well, at least I know exactly where Eomma wants this relationship to go.
Her gaze flicks back to Morgan. “I tell Jiho, you come my house for dinner next-next Saturday. You meet Appa, but Grandpa have poker night. He be very far away.”
Smooth...
Morgan glances at me. “Next-next? So, not this Saturday, but the next one?”
“Yes,” I sigh—number four. “But she can’t, Eomma . She has family game night that Saturday.”
“You remembered that?” Morgan asks, surprise flickering in her eyes. I guess that’s one more thing her ex-asshole lacked—memory.
I shoot her a reassuring smile. “Of course, baby. I’ve had it marked in my calendar since the last one.” The warmth in her eyes melts my damn heart.
She turns to my mom. “Why don’t you and Mr. Park join us? Jina and John can come too. You do like games, right?”
“Yes!” Eomma shouts, clutching her bag tighter with excitement. “Me and Appa love game very much!”
I start to speak, but snap my mouth shut when I feel another sneaky pinch, this time on my ass. She’ll pay for that one later, and judging by her playful grin, she knows it.
Five minutes and two more sighs later, we wave goodbye to my mom. The second the door closes, Morgan turns to me, folding her arms.
But I intercept her thoughts. “Exactly how mad are you?”
Her turn to sigh. “I’m not mad. I actually really like your mom, which is new for me. I just wish I’d known she was coming. I only had on one of your t-shirts, for heaven’s sake. She now has top-secret knowledge about my body—info I never imagined my boyfriend’s mother would ever possess.”
I close the distance between us, hands finding her waist. Her arms unfold, resting on my forearms at my touch. And her touch alone is enough to make my dick hard. Well, that and the mental image of her in just my shirt, no pants, no bra. For the sake of the argument, I’ll say no panties either. And she smells like my soap.
Fuuuck. “You had on one of my shirts—and only my shirt—and didn’t send a photo?”
Morgan bites back a smile, and my dick hardens even more. This woman. “Stop looking at me like that, Jiho Park. I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”
Dammit, she is. Her lips might be teasing, but her eyes are serious.
Telling my dick to wait in line, I pull her in for a hug, kissing her forehead. “Sorry, baby. I check in with my parents every day. I didn’t mean to mention your situation. I’m just… really excited you’re here.”
“You are?” she asks, tilting her chin to look at me.
“Of course. And if I’d known she’d bolt over, I would’ve warned you.”
A smile lights up her face. “I know. And like I said, I’m not mad. I enjoyed meeting her, but…”
“But what?” I sway us a little, trying to ease whatever’s coming.
“She basically said you’ve never been happy in a relationship. That it’s your grandfather’s fault. And—”
Fuck, there’s an and.
“That you listen to him too much. Also—”
Double fuck.
“That I need to be strong and fight for you when he gets in the way, like he’ll be the reason we end things. I know we decided to call it quits after three months, but I don’t—”
I don’t even think—just grab her face and kiss her. Hard. Fierce. Pouring every ounce of certainty into it, making it clear that what she just said holds zero goddamn weight between us.
Three months. My grandfather. Fuck it all.
The day I finally stand up to the old man is coming faster than I thought. Soon. Maybe even the next time I see him. And weirdly, I think my mom’s the reason.
I’m still pissed she showed up unannounced, but I’m also grateful. Grateful for the example she and my dad set. They’re living proof that my grandfather’s outdated ideologies hold no real power. That people raised in the ultra-traditional version of our culture, can still choose for themselves. Still direct their own lives.
My parents might be overbearing, but they’re my fucking heroes. And today, in this moment, I’m choosing to be like them.
I break our kiss, pressing my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling. “That’s never going to happen,” I whisper. “I won’t let it.”
“Which part?” Morgan murmurs against my lips.
“All of it. My grandfather. The three months. I’ll let the bastard disown me. And once you move to Korea, we’ll talk every day. I’ll visit whenever I can. Whatever it takes to make this work, I’ll do it, Morgan.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “You’d give all that up for someone you met six days ago?”
“You keep reminding me how long I’ve known you, like I can’t count,” I chuckle, brushing her cheek with my thumb. “But yes. Time doesn’t matter when something feels this right.”
Her gaze flicks to her laptop, her brows pinching for a second. “So… Does this mean I can forward my mail here?”
I blink slowly and flick her nose, drawing those golden-brown eyes back to me. “Please tell me you didn’t flip shit over that.”
“I may have flipped shit. Just a little,” she says shyly.
Taking her hand, I guide us to her laptop, sitting and pulling her onto my lap. With my arms braced around her and my chin on her shoulder, I bring up the screen and type one, two, three, four into the password box. Hitting enter, the web page pops up.
“Really?” I mutter. “Your laptop, too?”
She cringes. “It’s easy to remember.”
Laughing, I navigate to the New Address box—completely filled with X’s.
“Don’t ask...” Morgan mumbles.
Smiling against her shoulder, I murmur, “Wasn’t going to,” then delete the x’s, enter my address, and hit submit. “Turn around, baby.”
Morgan turns, straddling me and wrapping her arms around my neck. Pressing a kiss to my cheek, she whispers, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” I say, arms wrapping tightly around her waist. “Maybe I wasn’t clear, but this is your home now—address included. Got it?” She nods against my cheek, and I gently pull back to look at her gorgeous face. “I’m serious, Morgan. Fuck the three months. This is our home for as long as you want it to be. You and me against the world, baby. What do you say?”
My eyes catch hers, saying everything I don’t— can’t —put into words. The sadness melts from her face, her head bobbing once, then again. Up and down, up and down. My heart pounds harder in my chest, full of pure, unfiltered joy.
I love this woman.
Ah, yes... That’s what I can’t say.
The moment the thought courses through me, my fingers twitch against her skin. I mask it with another kiss, letting the dance of our tongues shove the anxiety as far down as it’ll go.
I can’t be so crazy—so out of control—as to tell her I love her. Time may not be a factor in the pacing of our relationship, but love? There’s no need to rush that.
Love needs to be controlled. The last thing I want is to scare Morgan off the second after she agreed to try this for the long haul.
Morgan’s hands slide to the waistband of my shorts, pulling me in tighter. “Let’s go upstairs, baby,” she purrs between kisses.
A low growl vibrates from my throat at the promise in her words, my dick jumping to the front of the line.
But in my note this morning, I promised her something first. And I’m always a man of my word.