Chapter 6
CONFESSIONAL 1128.5
Yang, Dal (Head Chef, Serenade: Juniper Ridge)
Trust is a chef’s best ingredient.
Not just your front-of-house team or the sous chef sweating on the line beside you. I mean cooking itself. You throw a knob of butter and a splash of balsamic in your hot skillet, you know every time you’ll get a deglazed pan and a perfect beurre noir. It’s science, right?
Science and trusting your instincts as a chef.
[glares at camera]
Yes, every fucking time.
Mostly.
Fine. I’m not fucking foolproof, okay?
* * *
Istare in tongue-tied awe as Lana drops her top. It floats to the floor in a cloud of pink silk as her thumbs hook the band of her shorts. “I want you, Dal.” She shimmies the silk down over her hips and lets them fall at her feet in a whisper.
Her eyes don’t leave mine as she kicks them aside. “Clear enough for you?”
I make a strangled noise like a man going under, which I guess I am. I’m drowning in my need to taste her.
“Jesus.” I gape like I’ve never seen breasts before. “You’re unreal.”
“Oh, trust me, buddy.” She sticks out her chest and hooks a hand on her bare hip. “They’re very real.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I swallow hard, fighting to get blood back in my brain. “I just meant?—”
“I know what you meant.” Her chin tips up and I remember all over again why I’m nuts about her. It’s this crazy blend of sweetness and spice, of boldness and unbearable softness.
I need to say this first. “I respect you.”
She gives a sharp little laugh, then stops when I stare without smiling. “I’m serious.” I drag a hand down my face, fighting to focus with so much glorious flesh on display. “You’re smart and clever and sexy as fuck—” Where was I going with this? “Our methods might be different. Our approach to the truth. But at the end of the day, I respect the hell out of you.”
“Dal?” The light hits her eyes, setting off sparks of delight.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to touch me”—she licks her lips, smiling—“or are you going to stand there yapping about how much you respect me?”
Like I have any choice in the matter. There’s no way not to want Lana Judson. I’m drawn to her like a magnet, like a moth to a flame.
My brain claws at the edge of the cliff, grasping for purchase as lust pulls us down. “I didn’t bring—” Lust turns my voice to a growl. “I don’t have condoms.”
Her smile almost smolders. “No shirt, no shoes, no cock sock, no sex.” Her hair skims her breasts as she tips her head toward the bedrooms. “Don’t worry. I’ve got?—”
“No.” I catch her waist, not willing to go one second more without touching her. Tasting her like I’ve been dying to do. “I want this.”
She tilts her head. “You want wha—oh!”
That’s all she gets out as I scoop her up into my arms. She stiffens at first, surprised, and then melts into me. Her legs clench my hips and I’m wrapped in the softest, sweetest embrace I’ve ever known.
Kissing her throat, I breathe in the scent of sea salt and peaches. There’s an oversized towel on a hook by the sink and I snatch it while backing her toward the island. It’s thick granite, and cold, but I lay out the towel with one hand.
I’m cupping her ass as I kiss my way down her throat. She tastes like honey as I set her down gently. Her breasts bounce, and I draw back, panting. Perfect rosebud nipples beg for my mouth. I need to taste her.
“Oh my God, yes.” She grips the back of my head as I devour one breast, then the other. She’s so soft, so soft, I nearly lose my mind. Struggling to stay in control, I let my tongue swirl her nipple.
Lana cries out and throws back her head. “So good.” She keeps chanting the words like she’s not even aware that she’s speaking. “So good. Oh my God, so good.”
I know the feeling. Thank God for loose sweatpants is all I can say, since my dick’s determined to bust out of my pants. We’re moving so fast, and somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s a warning bell buzzing. There’s some reason I vowed not to do this, but hell if I remember why. I’m too dizzy with lust, too hungry for just one taste. That’s all. Just once.
Releasing her breast, I draw back wild-eyed and panting. “I need to taste you.” I’ll die if I don’t.
She brushes blond hair back off of her face. “Weren’t you just tasting me?”
Shaking my head, I let my gaze drop. “Open your legs.”
“Oh.” It’s barely a word, more like a breath, but she does it.
As her thighs ease apart, I groan with desire.
“Good girl.” I say it to watch her shiver. That’s her thing, isn’t it? I could read something into it, or I could go with the flow.
I choose the latter, dipping my head to taste her sweetness. She’s so wet, so ready, that the first stroke of my tongue has her bowing back onto the counter.
“You like that?” I whisper, licking again. “You’re so wet, Lana. So wet and so luscious.”
It’s a word I’d use for the softest fruit, maybe kiwi or peaches or other sweet treats. Pots de crème, or pepper jelly, spicy and sweet. She’s every delectable taste all rolled into one, writhing and lush on my tongue.
“Dal.” She cries out as I ease one finger inside her. “Oh my God. Please don’t stop.”
Why would I? Someone could hold a gun to my head right now, and I’d die happy and satiated. She’s slippery and snug, squeezing my fingers as I ease another one inside her.
Her back arches off the counter and she cries out again. “Like that,” she whimpers as I sip at her clit. “Jesus, I’m almost there.”
I can tell by how she’s clenching me. By the pull of her sex, the needy squeeze of her around my fingers. My dick throbs with envy, desperate to be inside her. It’s all I can do not to take her like that. Just tear off my pants and plunge deep into her wet heat.
But some small shred of self-restraint holds me back. This is about Lana. And she’s close, so close, just another soft lick and?—
“Oh my God!” A shriek rips out of her before she stuffs a potholder between her teeth. Her nails rake my back as I lick and thrust and lap every last drop of sweetness.
When she starts to come down, I gentle my touch. She’s trembling and twitching and making sounds that aren’t words at all. If I didn’t know better, I might think she’s crying. Or is it laughter?
“Dal, oh my God.” She sits up with a shudder, laughter in her eyes as she swipes at one eye. “That was—I don’t even—” She chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I can’t form words.”
“You don’t need to.” I kiss her softly, skimming my lips along her jawline. “I’ve got you.”
Lana laughs and seems to regain some composure. “Dal.” She grips my chin in both hands and kisses me deep and hard. It goes on for hours, or maybe just minutes, but I’m breathing hard by the time she draws back. “In the category of things I never thought I’d say, I need to recover from that insane orgasm and stop sitting naked on my parents’ counter before their housekeeper shows up.”
“Good plan.” I kiss her again, wanting her still.
Wondering if I’ve just quenched my thirst or created a craving that won’t ever stop.
* * *
We don’t havesex after that. Not the non-oral kind, though God knows I want to. Only a fierce determination to stay in control held me back.
We’re driving home now, me at the wheel of my Honda, Lana wearing pink sunglasses and humming along to some song on her phone.
“Who is this?” I slow as the Juniper Ridge sign slides into view.
“The band is called Japanese Breakfast.” She laughs and I’m not sure what’s funny. “They’re not Japanese. The lead singer grew up in Oregon, but her mom was Korean and her dad was Jewish-American.” She shrugs and drums her fingers on the dash. “She’s also the bestselling author of a book called Crying in H-Mart.”
I glance over at her. “The American chain of Asian supermarkets?”
“Yep. Great book.” She watches me pull through the gated entrance to Juniper Ridge. “It’s a memoir about the author’s Korean heritage, plus food and family and grief and?—”
“Do we need to talk about what happened?”
Lana freezes, then flips her sunglasses up. Blue eyes sweep my face without judgment. “Would you like to talk about what happened?” When I don’t answer, she touches my arm. “Because I thought we could send out wedding invites next week.”
“Very funny.” I nod to the guard as Lana gives him a great big smile and a wave. “I just thought you might want to talk about it.”
“Do you?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
She considers me for a moment. “I can’t decide if you’re being sweet or kind of a dick, but I meant what I said last night.” She unbuckles her seatbelt as I slide into the parking spot next to my cabin. “I understand you don’t want to get involved, and I’m on board with the idea that putting your tongue in my pussy does not constitute getting involved.” My God, the mouth on this girl. “And if you want, we can wipe the whole thing from our collective memory. What happens at the coast stays at the coast.”
“You can do that?” I’m not sure I can, but she’s saying what I thought I wanted to hear.
So why does it sting?
“Of course I can do it.” She turns to drag her pink duffel from the backseat, and I try not to look at her ass. “Can’t you?”
“Sure, yeah.” I rake a hand through my hair. “So it’s settled.”
“Yep!” Lana’s bright smile puts the sunshine to shame. Off to my right, silver light sparks off the pond. I’m conscious of birdsong, of cinnamon wafting from the bakery.
I’m conscious of how much I want Lana all over again. “Look—” I’m not even sure what to say. “I know I said before that I don’t really date influencers. Or PR people. Or?—”
“Dal?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you hear me trying to convince you to date me?”
“No.” That should be relief I’m feeling. Any minute now, it’ll hit. “So I guess that’s it.” I stare at the cabin I share with Ji-Hoon. Is my brother inside waiting? I was gone for one night and already I miss him. “I should probably get ready for dinner rush.”
“Great!” She gets out of the car, bouncy and cheerful as ever.
I draw a deep breath and push open my door, snatching my bag from the back as I follow her onto the walkway. “So I was thinking the next chowder stop should be—” I freeze in my tracks, blinking in case I’ve seen wrong.
There, on the sunbaked walkway in front of my cabin, stands Uncle Korain.
He’s smiling and waving and resting his hand on Ji-Hoon’s wheelchair like it hasn’t been six years since we laid eyes on each other. My heart twists through the bars of my ribs, then drops like a slab of slick beef.
“Dal.” He smiles and steps toward me, dark eyes just like my father’s. “Surprise.”
“Samchon.” I don’t even know I’ve spoken Korean until he smiles.
“Joka.”
Uncle.
Nephew.
Like we’re defining who we are to each other. Like the years and the conflicts that kept us apart could just melt like heated butter.
Then he’s wrapping me up in a hug that smells like chilis and ginger. Like my father. Like home. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Uncle Korain.” What is he doing at Juniper Ridge? “I didn’t expect to see you—” Here? Today? Ever?
I’m not even sure what I mean.
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” He turns to my brother and chuckles. “I expected you both to be here, but this was even better. I got a day to catch up with Ji-Hoon.”
I glare at my brother, who could have texted a warning. He shrugs as I turn back to Korain. “I couldn’t be more surprised if someone filled our Coke dispenser with soy sauce.”
My brother laughs and wheels forward. “I tried to call, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”
“There’s no service over the mountains.” That’s assuming he tried in the last few hours, though I should have seen an alert when we stopped for gas. I look back at Korain. “Where are you staying?”
Lana steps up and sticks out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Yang. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Lana Judson.” Pumping his hand, she throws me a smile stuffed with questions. “I’m sure Ji-Hoon filled you in on Juniper Ridge protocol, but we need to get you a name badge and have you fill out some paperwork.” She waves in the general direction of the lodge. “Cameras rolling all the time around here. I’m sure you know the drill.”
Uncle Korain chuckles, a soft, earthy rumble that sounds just like my dad. “Lana Judson.” Her name sounds like birdsong in his softly accented English. “You’re even prettier in person, dear.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” She looks at me and rocks back on her heels. “Cabin sixty-three is free for a few days. That’s one of the spots we keep for guests.”
She’s tossing a lifeline, offering space between Korain and me if we want it. I can’t decide if I do.
“Thanks.” I look at Uncle Korain. “Is that okay? You’re staying a bit?”
He nods and claps Ji-Hoon on the shoulder. “That’s perfect.” He looks at Lana. “Thank you for your hospitality. Can I offer you a gift basket of Yang’s Sauces?”
“Not necessary, but I won’t say no.” Her smile feels contagious. “I love the doenjang sauce.”
“That’s my favorite, too.” Korain rubs his hands together. “We make it a little like a Japanese miso, but with an earthier punch.”
“Whatever you do, it’s magic.” She turns her smile on Ji-Hoon. “Did everything go okay with Chef Sean at the helm?”
“He’s an excellent chef.” My brother looks at me. “And he doesn’t swear at the customers.”
I give a low growl, but Lana just laughs. “I’m sure everyone missed Dal’s passion.”
“Speaking of passion…” Ji-Hoon spins his chair, so he’s staring straight at me. “How was the trip?”
“Good.” I don’t look at Lana, but I doubt her expression shows anything. She’s better than me at hiding her feelings. She’s probably not even blushing. “O’Brien’s definitely makes the list. We tried chowder at a couple other stops, too.”
Lana grabs the baton and runs with it. “There’s this cute café called Ugly Mug with a traditional clam chowder that’s really awesome.”
Uncle Korain smacks his lips. “Did you bring some back for us?”
“No.” I soften my voice as Lana cuts me a sharp look. “We didn’t bring a cooler, and four hours was too long to have chowder sitting in a car.”
“Fair enough.” Korain looks at Lana. “Guess I should fill out that paperwork?”
“I’ll text my sister right now.” She pulls out her phone and types one-handed. “Ji-Hoon, you know where Mari’s office is?”
“Yep.” My brother wheels past, deliberately bumping me with his elbow. “Don’t disappear, Dal. I want to hear all about the trip.”
I doubt he’s wondering about the chowder. “Sure.”
“See you in a few.”
He wheels away with Korain on his heels, just a happy family without grief or pain or anger. I watch them go, hating the hot brick in my belly.
“You okay?”
I look at Lana. “Yeah, why?”
She tucks her phone in her bag and cocks her head. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because the uncle with whom you have a strained relationship just showed up out of the blue.” Folding her arms, she watches me much too closely. “And I know we agreed we’re not getting involved, but it’s still a lot to process. I’m just checking in with you.”
My throat makes a clicking sound as I swallow. “I’m good. Ready to get back to work.”
“Great.” Her eyes flash with something I can’t read. “So I’ll see you around.”
“Sounds good.” Squeezing my keys, I watch her start to turn. “Lana, wait.”
Blue eyes spear my core she turns back to face me. “What?”
I’m not sure where to start. “I had a good time.”
It’s not hard to see that she’s weighing her words. “Same.”
“Not just what happened last night.” I clear my throat. “The whole trip. Walking on the beach before we left this morning. Sampling chowder. Listening to your weird music.” I actually kinda liked it.
Lana laughs. “You’re just touched that I shared my fried potato rounds at lunch.”
“That did warm my heart.” I feel like I should say more. “I know I’m a dick sometimes, but I want you to know I like you.” That sounds weak, even for me. “I like you a lot.”
Her smile could power a six-acre solar farm. “I like you, too.”
“Good.” I kick at a patch of gravel. “I’ll see you around.”
“See you around, Dal.” With that, she shoulders her bag, then turns and walks to her cabin.
* * *
The restaurant’sslammed all evening, so I barely duck out of the kitchen that night. At one point, Ji-Hoon wheels through with a bus tub of plates for the dishwasher.
“Uncle Korain’s at table six,” he calls. “Said he’d like to say hello if you have time.”
“I don’t.” I keep braising a thick hunk of beef.
It’s after ten by the time I stumble home. My brother left the restaurant thirty minutes ago, so he’s tucked in bed by the time I walk through the door. As it snicks shut behind me, I drop my bag.
Mouse trots over, shaggy tail swishing, and noses my crotch.
“Hey, girl.” I scratch behind her ears, then make my way down her neck. She snuffles my pantlegs, smelling the twelve dozen dinners I made in the last six hours. “How come you’re up?”
“Dal.”
I jump at my uncle’s voice. “Ji-Hoon let me in.” He flicks on a lamp, revealing himself at the dining room table. “Got a minute?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He gets up, wincing, and I feel like an asshole. “Sorry,” I mutter. “You startled me.” I notice another wince. “You okay?”
“Fine, fine.” He stretches up tall, then sighs. “Long flight. You remember how it is.”
“Yeah.” Growing up, we made the trip from Seoul to Boston twice a year to visit Mom’s family. Korain joined us sometimes, entertaining Ji-Hoon and me on those long-as-hell plane rides. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, joka.” He stops stretching and walks to the sofa. “I know better now than to—what’s the word?” He pauses, but I don’t have an answer. “Sugarcoat,” he continues, offering a smile. An olive branch. “I know better than to sugarcoat things with you.”
“Okay.” I grab the bag I brought from the restaurant and unload some boxed leftovers and a loaf of bread. I’ll make Korean street toast tomorrow, stuffed with egg and ham the way my father used to do it. “We’ll have breakfast here tomorrow, if you want some.” I clear my throat. “Ji-Hoon and I get up around nine.”
“Thank you.” My uncle sits down on the sofa. Mouse bounds over and hops up beside him, dropping her head on his lap. “I thought we could talk.”
“About what?” I go to the fridge and pull out a beer. It’s from a six-pack I brought home from Big One’s at Cherry Blossom Lake. I hold one up, but Korain shakes his head.
Taking my time, I flip the cap off my bottle and tip back my head. As I swallow, I feel my uncle’s eyes watching.
“I’d like to talk about your parents.” He clears his throat. “I saw the season finale.”
“You and a few million viewers.” I set down the bottle and study him over the counter. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
He looks at me a long time. “It wasn’t your fault, Dal.”
Spitting a curse, I look down at the counter. “The hell it wasn’t.”
“Dal—”
“Don’t you dare say Ji-Hoon had anything to do with it.” We’ve been over this before. “I’m the one who kept dicking around. Mom told us to stop, and Ji-Hoon did.” He was always better about that. “I had to keep pushing and?—”
“Dal.” Something soft in his voice makes me look up.
“What?” I can’t read what’s in his eyes. “What is it?”
Korain releases a long sigh. He closes his eyes, looking tired from more than just jetlag. “I suppose it’s time you know.”
“Know what?” I grip the beer bottle tighter. “What game are you playing here?”
“There’s no game, joka.” He pats the couch beside him, the spot Mouse isn’t occupying. “God, you look just like him.”
My father, he means. I swallow hard, wondering if another sip of beer might wash back the lump that’s formed in my throat.
What comes out of my mouth surprises me. “Their anniversary would have been next week. They would have been married thirty-two years.”
“Yes.” Korain lets out a long breath. “Which makes what I learned even harder to know.”
“What are you talking about?”
He’s quiet for a moment. The clock on our wall ticks quickly, anxiously. When he opens his eyes, he studies my face. “I found some medical records.”
“Okay.” Given all the time spent at the hospital, that’s no surprise. “For Ji-Hoon, you mean?”
“No.” He balls up his fists like he’s summoning strength. “For your father.”
I don’t understand why he’s sharing this. “Okay.” I sound like a broken record. “And?”
He lets out a long, shaky breath. “They were tucked in a box of your parents’ things. I’m not sure where they came from. Maybe that file cabinet he kept in the basement?”
I vaguely remember the cabinet. Ji-Hoon and I left so much behind when we moved to New York. “All right.”
“I didn’t find the papers until recently,” he continues. “Everything was all ajumble, and they were mixed in with documents for the business. Patents. Sauce recipes, that sort of thing.”
I don’t know why he’s telling me this. “You found medical records,” I confirm. “That belonged to my father.”
“Yes.” He looks down at his lap, stroking Mouse’s ears like the script for his next words got tucked in her collar. When he drags his gaze back to mine, there’s an ache in his eyes that I haven’t seen since that day in the hospital. Since the doctor came in and told us my dad wouldn’t ever wake up.
“Your father had Parkinson’s.”
I stare at Korain, not comprehending. “What?”
“Parkinson’s.” He draws a deep breath. “It’s a disease that occurs when brain cells that make dopamine stop working or die, and it causes tremors and stiffness and?—”
“I know what Parkinson’s is.” Even as I say it, I realize I didn’t know some of that. “That makes no sense.”
“Why not?”
For a million reasons, not the least of which I never saw my dad sick a day in his life. “That’s an old person’s disease. Dad was barely forty when he died.”
“Michael J. Fox—the American actor?” Korain waits for me to nod before continuing. “He was diagnosed at twenty-nine. Maybe your dad thought the doctors made a mistake. We’ll never know.”
“Wait.” I’m struggling to wrap my head around this. “He didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head slowly, grief creasing his brow. “I didn’t have a clue.”
That doesn’t seem possible. “You guys were brothers. Twins. You ran a business together, for God’s sake.”
Korain releases a ragged breath. “Your father seemed distant that last year. I don’t know why he didn’t share with me, but he didn’t. Maybe he thought the doctors were wrong.” He draws another deep breath. “I’m not sure your mother knew.”
“Hold on.” None of this tracks. “Why are you telling me now?”
He searches my eyes like he’s waiting for me to get it. To reach some conclusion he’s arrived at all on his own.
“The report in his file said he shouldn’t be driving,” he says as my brain begins buzzing. “Your father’s physician contacted KoROAD.”
“The agency in charge of Korean driver’s licenses.” The tingle builds in the back of my brain.
“Yes.” Korain watches my face as he strokes Mouse’s head. “He declared your dad a medically unfit driver.”
“I don’t understand.” I know as I say it that’s not true. In the back of my mind, I already get it.
“You didn’t cause the accident, Dal. Neither did your brother.” His eyes fill with kindness as he catches my hand. “Your father did.”