Chapter 27
Stifling a giggle at my work desk, I hit send on my phone, happily firing off a slew of photos to Elaine. For three weeks now, since the day Grandpa showed up unannounced like a bad omen with legs and a cane, her family has been battling some awful, Ohio-spawned virus. First, her eldest daughter went down, then her youngest, then her husband.
Now, it’s her turn.
So, while she’s busy barfing into a toilet, I figured she might as well have a slideshow of my romantic weekend getaway with Jiho to scroll through. The man flew us out to Napa Valley, and if it weren’t for the endless, mouthwatering wineries and restaurants surrounding us, I probably would’ve kept him in bed the entire trip.
It really was the best part.
But just so Elaine can picture that, too, I may have accidentally slipped in a photo of shirtless Jiho among the scenic views, lovey-dovey couple shots, and sunset snaps. That’s what she gets for insisting on living in the freaking Arctic tundra and not warm, sunny Texas.
My phone vibrates with a response from Elaine, a long line of emojis.
Basically, the photos made her happy, but also, fuck me for sending them while she’s suffering. A laugh escapes me, unable to hold it in this time, earning a look from my curmudgeonly coworker, Harry. Granted, it’s Monday, but the man’s a total killjoy.
Whatever. I miss my friend.
All things considered, I feel like I haven’t talked to Elaine in forever, save for little texts here and there. Past me would have despaired and wallowed from the separation, particularly in Panda Express and the 2005 Pride & Prejudice film. But current me has better habits.
Not to mention a boyfriend. A smoking hot one, at that.
Jiho and I have settled into a happy routine, dreading our work days apart, savoring every evening together, and treasuring our weekends like they’re sacred. Actually, we cherish every second we get, whether it’s something as simple as cooking dinner side by side, stealing kisses in the gym, or curling up on the couch with no agenda but each other. Even the mundane moments feel special, like time slows just for us, stretching out every laugh, every touch, every conversation into something worth holding onto.
I have to hold onto every moment. Every second, day, and week I spend with Jiho means I’m that much closer to my departure.
My move’s been weighing on me lately, especially since my clothes don’t fit anymore—in the best way possible. They’re too big. I expect them to be even looser when Jiho comes to visit me in Seoul. He already set up a gym membership for me through one of his friends, and I plan to make the most of it.
Looking down at my lap, I note the loose fabric around my thighs and smile ear-to-ear, already planning another pre-Seoul shopping spree.
And now curmudgeonly Harry looks confused. When I wave, still smiling like an idiot, he rolls his eyes and focuses back on his work.
Yeah, Harry. My loose clothes and happiness are none of your freaking business.
I wonder what would happen if I told him he looks prettier when he smiles… Probably an HR violation.
Honestly, though, my happiness has little to do with my loose-fitting clothes. If I were still the same size as when I met Jiho, I’d be just as happy.
Sure, I feel healthier and stronger, but more than that, I have a man who loves me and is on a personal mission to make me the most confident woman alive. And I’d be a damned liar if I said he wasn’t succeeding.
The pesky butterflies in my stomach flutter at the thought, convincing my fingers to flip to that shirtless photo I sent Elaine.
My eyes stare at the screen, bidding my brain to memorize every single nook and cranny that is Jiho Park. But the photo can only do him so much justice. Good thing I have access to the real thing—I’ll be sure to study up later tonight.
A sudden ping draws my attention, my phone slipping from my hand and making a loud thunk on my desk.
“Come on, Morgan. I have a deadline over here,” Harry snarks in my direction.
I scowl. “Three words, Harry—noise-canceling headphones.”
He points his pen at me. “The news says Bluetooth is bad for your brain.”
“Okay, four words—wired noise-canceling headphones.”
A pause. “When do you leave again?”
I inhale to professionally tell him to fuck off, but another ping sounds. Ignoring Harry, my eyes flick to my computer, finding two instant messages from my boss, telling me to come to his office pronto.
Replying with a quick, “On my way,” I push myself away from my desk, hiking up my too-big pants and walking twenty-some feet through a row of cubes to his desk. My boss, “S.H.” as we call him, sees me approaching and waves me in.
“Hi, S.H. How are you?” I greet, casually sliding into one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
As far as bosses go—especially hard-ass Korean bosses—he’s a good one. Pretty hands-off and easy on the micromanaging. But he expects us to do our jobs and do them well. Any fuck-ups aren’t well received and usually end in him shouting. Shit, I hope I didn’t fuck up because I really don’t like when he shouts.
“I’m doing well, thank you, Morgan,” he says in a barely-there Korean accent, eyes still on the computer. After giving his mouse a final, thorough click, he fixes his gaze on me. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t take up much of your time. Do you have your visa documents yet?”
Interesting topic—maybe his Korean HQ counterpart told him to check in with me. “Not yet, but I received an email this morning saying they’ve shipped. I should get them on Friday.”
He nods, seeming relief washing over his face. “That’s good to hear. The person you’re replacing in Seoul resigned early, which means we have to advance your departure. I just got off the phone with the travel department, and they’re moving your flight up to July fifth.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blurt, unsure I heard him correctly. “July fifth? As in two weeks from Saturday?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“What about the holiday?” Luckily, even with leaving on the fifth, I can still attend the Fourth of July party at Sook-ja and Hyung-chul’s house. I’ve been dying to see what it’s like to be part of Jiho’s family, to experience their traditions, their inside jokes, the happy dynamics—regardless of Grandpa.
I want to see if his mom really does smile at everyone like Jiho says, friend and frenemy alike. If his dad actually works nineties rom-com quotes into conversation, like it’s something normal dads do. And if Jina pretends not to care while making sure everything goes off without a hitch, all the while John stays close.
I want to know what it feels like to belong there, to see my place in his world before I have to leave it.
S.H.’s brow furrows, yet somehow, not a single freaking wrinkle forms. Koreans and their top-tier skincare. “Unfortunately, American Independence Day isn’t observed in South Korea, and you’re needed there. In South Korea.”
I blink. “Right, of course. Sorry.”
“I thought you’d be happy, considering how excited you were when chosen to go. Keep in mind, this was one of the conditions for your promotion.”
“I am. Happy, I mean.” The words tumble out, my throat tightening as I swallow hard.
Am I happy about this? No. Absolutely not. That’s four fewer weeks with Jiho. Four. A month, stolen from us just like that. We had plans, places to go, memories to make, and a foundation to set in stone before distance and an entire year separate us.
A whole damn year.
My hands curl into fists in my lap, nails biting into my palms. But it’s not like I have a choice. I love my job. I deserved my promotion. I busted my ass for it, sacrificed for it. Jiho knows that too—always supporting me, always encouraging me about my impending doom—I mean, move. Always reminding me that it’s only for a year.
Only a year? Only?
I can barely breathe when he’s not beside me. How the hell am I supposed to survive a whole year, barely breathing?
Asking him to give up his career and the life he built for himself and his family isn’t exactly fair, either. The thought has crossed my mind, sure, but how selfish would that be?
The answer is astronomically. That intrusive thought belongs in the Morgan-shut-the-fuck-up vault deep inside my brain, and I intend to keep it there. Not to mention, he’s never brought it up, either. He most likely, simply, somewhat heartbreakingly, doesn’t want to come.
Dr. Semi-Useless would probably say this whole fucking thought process borders on codependence. It’s important to maintain your sense of self, Morgan.
Yeah, yeah. Maybe she’s right. I’ve never been co-anything before. Not even with Douche-Face Supreme. I clung to my independence like a lifeline back then, the only thing keeping me afloat.
So, what does it mean that I’m so willing to let go now? That I’d rather drown in Jiho and he in me than keep both of us above water?
Fuck the door, Jack. I’m drowning with you.
“Yes, S.H.,” I repeat. “That’s perfectly fine. But what will I do for housing? My apartment’s lease doesn’t begin until August.” The uncertainty of changing plans gnaws at me. Originally, I was to leave on the last Thursday of July, arrive in Seoul on Friday, spend a couple nights in a hotel while I recoup from the flight, then move into my apartment on Sunday.
“We’re reaching out to the apartment’s management office in hopes they’ll adjust the contract. If not, we’ll extend your hotel reservation instead.” My lips must’ve curled at that—spending weeks in a tiny hotel room—because he adds, “Try not to worry, Morgan. The company will take care of you, I promise.”
I almost laugh cynically. Telling Morgan Asterman not to fret over sudden plan changes is like telling the sun to rise in the middle of the night. But I rein in my pressing cynicism because S.H. is my boss. And as I said earlier, I like my job.
Instead, I channel every smile Harry ever pissed on and plaster them all to my face. “Sounds good.”
Nodding, S.H. answers. “I know this is quick, so if you need any assistance, let me know. I’ll make sure you get what you need.”
When his phone rings, he picks it up, answering, “Yobo-seyo?”
I take that as my cue to leave, and with steps heavier than before, I make my way back to my desk, plopping into my chair with a dramatic huff.
Catching my slouched reflection in the little mirror I keep nearby, I grimace. Yep, wrinkles.
But a sudden buzz from my butt straightens my spine, and I slowly fish out my phone, bringing it up to my face. Just like that, my frown turns upside down the second I see a new message from Jiho.
I shriek, my phone—again—launching from my hands and smacking against the desk the moment his photo pops up on the screen. He’s wearing nothing but a short apron, and from underneath it, the unmistakable end of his very lengthy dick peeks out.
“I give up,” Harry whisper-seethes, snatching his laptop and stomping towards my cube. “Seriously, Asterman, when do you leave?”
“Soon,” I mutter, clutching my phone to my chest. We might have cubes at K-Tech, but the walls are short with barely any semblance of privacy. Meaning, had I kept my phone on my desk, Harry would’ve seen Jiho at his almost-finest. To be at his finest, he’d have to lose the apron.
Harry mumbles, “Not soon enough,” before taking off in the direction of the nearest empty conference room.
Rude.
I type out another message to Jiho.
I don’t try to hide my smile. This man.
This wonderful, hilarious, intensely sexy man somehow knows exactly how to bring me to life with something as simple as a text.
It’s ridiculous, really, how much of me belongs to him now. The way a single message from him can shift my entire mood, making me laugh and swoon and pine, pine, pine.
My heart lightens, my body relaxes, and suddenly four less weeks doesn’t seem so…ominous. So final.
Maybe it’ll be okay. I’m not with Jiho now, and I’m fine. I’m smiling, I feel full, I feel loved. More than that, I feel secure, like no matter where I am, he’s still mine, and I’m still his.
Maybe this distance for a year can work.
No.
Not maybe.
It will work.
It has to.
Because one thing’s certain—Jiho Park has ruined me. Completely, irreversibly, beautifully. There’s no going back, and there’s no moving forward without him.
I know he feels the same, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to like what I have to tell him.