Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emma stared at her empty cup as though she could read the tea leaves. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the gift of divination, so she had no idea what the tea leaves were telling her to do. What was she still doing in the café? Why couldn’t she make herself leave? She couldn’t risk Auntie Soo’s chances of signing the YogurtBerry family. And think about how good it would feel to put a down payment on a commercial kitchen space. But even her imagined elation—not to mention her very real guilt—couldn’t force her to her feet.
She’d been late to her matseon because she couldn’t decide what to wear. Then her hair wouldn’t cooperate, and the perfect shade of lip gloss kept evading her. She told herself she was fussing over her appearance because she’d promised Auntie Soo that she would be on her best behavior— not because she’d hoped to see Michel.
She had made up her mind. She’d made the smart choice to not see Michel again. The problem was she did see him—the moment she stepped into the café—and it took an alarming amount of willpower for her to turn away and walk over to her prospective husband candidate, Paul Lim, instead.
While she didn’t feel an immediate connection to Paul—like the connection she’d felt with Michel—Emma tried her hardest to give him and their matseon a real chance. And she was glad she did, because he turned out to be a really nice guy. His very square nails were hardly a distraction. She couldn’t care less about his slightly high-pitched laugh making her ears ring. No. Big. Deal. What mattered was how much they had in common—which turned out to be a lot . Around 60 percent of their conversation consisted of You, too? Me, too!
Then why did she decline his dinner invitation, making excuses about preparing for tomorrow’s lessons? Why was she sitting in the café practicing tasseography? Because… She tilted her cup this way and that, watching the tea dregs shift at the bottom.
Because she should at least tell Michel that she couldn’t see him again. He was the wrong man for the sensible and stable future she envisioned for herself. She could already tell they would hardly have any common background. With Auntie Soo’s reputation and her culinary school on the line, now was not the time to explore their unexpected attraction.
But she owed him an explanation. They were virtual strangers, but it still felt like the right thing to do. And Emma almost always tried to do the right thing.
“May I join you?”
She knew who had spoken even before she raised her head. That voice. That accent. Heavenly butter and sugar.
“Please,” she whispered.
Please ? Why couldn’t she have said yes, you may ? Or sure ? Even yup yup would’ve been better than her breathy please . She’d been avoiding this moment—or had she been looking for reasons to justify it?—but seeing him again felt so good. Which was not good. It was bad how good it felt… how happy it made her.
Michel gracefully lowered himself onto the chair across from her and gave her a breathtaking smile. “I was hoping we’d meet again.”
“Yup yup,” she said. Yeah, she was wrong. Please definitely sounded much better than yup yup .
Emma squeezed her eyes shut. It was her heart. There was something wrong with it. It was doing this weird hiccupping thing—like it did when she watched a rom-com with the perfect ending. Her arteries must be clogged from all the madeleines she’d consumed in the last couple of days. All that sugar and butter could not be healthy for her.
“I’m looking for a husband,” she blurted.
Michel sat up in his chair and stared at her with his mouth hanging open. He caught himself and promptly closed it, but something bright—like hope—lit up his eyes. Hope? She had to be misreading his expression. Why would he look hopeful about her looking for a husband?
“You’re…” He pressed a fist to his lips, but a bark of laughter burst from him. “You’re looking for a husband?”
“Yes.” Mortification washed over her. He wasn’t hopeful . He was amused . What did she think? That he hoped he could be her husband? She felt ashamed of her brief burst of elation. How ridiculous. She would never marry some random man she met at a hotel café. It belied everything the Madame Ddu Method stood for. A common background was the key to a stable relationship. She raised her chin. “What I mean is that I won’t be seeing you again.”
All traces of laughter left his face, and a smooth, impassive mask fell into place. Emma wished he would go back to laughing at her. This polite stranger felt too much like a… stranger. And Michel had never felt like a stranger to her. From the moment he ordered those madeleines for her, his warmth and kindness had drawn her to him. Clearing her dry throat, she raised her cup to her lips, but lowered it remembering it was empty.
Michel’s gaze dropped to her cup. Even though his expression remained stoic, he immediately turned to catch the server’s attention. “Anne.”
She hurried to their table. “What can I get for you folks?”
“Would you like another cup of tea, Emma?” His voice and accent remained exquisite, but it no longer reminded her of sugar and butter. Now it sounded like ice cream that was too frozen to dig a spoon into.
“Yes, please,” she croaked.
“Green tea, right?” The server smiled at Emma’s nod and turned to Michel. “Anything for you?”
His eyes flicked to Emma before he began to shake his head. He wasn’t staying. Of course not. But she wasn’t ready to see him go, so she blurted, “He’ll have the same.”
A slight arch of his brow was the only sign of his surprise as he faced her again. He sat stiffly with his back pressed against his chair as though to create distance between them. At least he didn’t leave.
“Android Hyun Bin chastised me for having a caffeinated drink late in the afternoon.” Emma said the first thing that popped into her head to fill the silence. Even after her refusal to see him again, Michel was considerate and respectful of her needs, unlike said android.
“There’s an android version of the Korean actor?” A confused frown broke through his indifferent mask.
“You know who Hyun Bin is?” Emma blinked like an astounded owl. She hadn’t expected Michel to understand the reference.
“My friend Isabelle is a huge fan of his.” A hint of warmth returned to his eyes.
The constriction in her chest loosened a smidgen at the same time something sharp dug into her stomach. She welcomed his warmth, but didn’t like thinking that this Isabelle person might’ve prompted its return. When Michel cocked his head to the side, she realized he was waiting for her answer.
“My date from the other night,” she said. “He looked a lot like Hyun Bin.”
“I don’t see it, personally.” He coughed, glancing away. “But why an android?”
“This is mean”—Emma cringed—“but he had no perceivable personality.”
“Is that why you…” He stared pointedly at her napkin, his mouth twitching suspiciously.
“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again.” Affronted laughter burst from her as relief rushed through her. Michel seemed like… Michel again. “That’s so ungentlemanly of you.”
“My apologies,” he said with a very gentlemanly bow of his head. But the amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes didn’t look apologetic at all—just ridiculously attractive.
“But yes,” Emma continued before she became completely sidetracked, “I practically chased him away by being gross. He was perfect on paper but…”
“Perfect on paper?”
“Mm-hmm. Remember that complicated story I mentioned?” She waited until Anne finished setting down their tea in front of them. “In Korean culture, there are these arranged first dates called matseons. A matchmaker—my godmother in this instance—collects and compares loads of background data on the candidates and their families to find a match that ensures compatibility.”
“So these dates you’ve been having… they were matseons?” That bland, unreadable expression settled across his features again. “Your goal is to enter into an arranged marriage? Based on a common background and compatibility? Based on data collected by a matchmaker?”
“Y… yes.” She didn’t like how unsure she sounded—how unsure his questions made her feel. What happened to being a die-hard believer in the Madame Ddu Method?
“But why?” His frustration broke through his stoic fa?ade. “What about the unquantifiable… the real-life connection? What about… about love?”
“Real-life connection? You mean attraction? Attraction only makes people illogical. It makes them ignore obvious incompatibility.” She sat up straight, certain in her conviction again. “As for love, what happens when it fades? They’ll have nothing to fall back on if they don’t have anything in common. What began as an exciting, hopeful relationship would turn into an ugly lie they’d trapped themselves into.”
Michel slowly shook his head, his eyes a little sad. “You can’t really believe that.”
“You might find it odd, but it’s just a cultural difference—” She bristled, going on the defensive.
“I think our cultures are well aligned in this instance,” he cut in with an edge to his voice. “I’m quite familiar with arranged marriages.”
She snapped her mouth shut at his tone and studied his face. “And you don’t approve of them.”
He sighed and spoke more gently. “That hardly matters now, does it?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” She wrung her fingers under the table.
It didn’t—it shouldn’t—but Emma couldn’t ignore the ache spreading in her chest. She wanted to know if he really believed in love. How was he so certain? And how was he familiar with arranged marriages? Why didn’t he approve of them even though they were accepted in his culture like hers? She wanted to know in what other ways their cultures aligned. She wanted to know him .
She felt herself wavering on her decision not to see him again. What was the harm in one date? Just a few hours, really. What Auntie Soo didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Even the Crones wouldn’t be able to make an issue out of a single date. Not that they would ever find out. It wouldn’t delay her from achieving her dream, and she certainly wouldn’t be risking her heart. It would be something fun to do. A rare self-indulgence.
“Have you decided to marry the man you met today?” Michel held her eyes, willing her not to look away. “Is that why you won’t see me again?”
“I…” She couldn’t draw a full breath. Was that what she meant? She couldn’t even remember what Paul Lim looked like with Michel sitting in front of her. Why was it she couldn’t see him again? “I haven’t decided that I’m not going to marry him.”
“What about the other men?” He took a slow sip of his tea, watching her from under his lashes.
“I have definitely decided not to marry them.” Of that, she was certain.
“So the last one had the personality of a microwave.” He rubbed his jaw in thought, drawing her gaze to his five-o’clock shadow. “What was wrong with the others?”
“There was nothing wrong with them…” She trailed off, distracted by his motion. What would it feel like to scrape her fingernails along his jaw? She shifted in her seat, her fingertips tingling with phantom sensation. “I couldn’t imagine going on another date with them, much less spending the rest of my life with them.”
“Because?” he cajoled.
“The man at my first matseon hardly spoke at all.” She couldn’t even recall his name.
“Well, that must’ve been awkward.” Michel came to her defense without hesitation. She ducked her head to hide her smile. “What about the second matseon?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that.” When he raised his eyebrows in question, she sighed. “He talked too much.”
“Some people love to hear themselves talk.” He scoffed, indignant on her behalf, but couldn’t quell the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth. “That could grow tiresome rather quickly.”
“Mm-hmm.” She narrowed her eyes at him, catching on to his game. He wanted to convince her the arranged first dates were hopeless. She couldn’t help but feel flattered… and relieved… that her blunt refusal to see him again wasn’t enough to dissuade his interest in her. “My third matseon partner loved cats. And I’m allergic.”
“Yes, of course.” He nodded with impressive gravitas. “Asking him to give up cats for you would’ve been cruel. You couldn’t possibly do that to him. Or the cats.”
“You’re full of shit.” Emma couldn’t hold back her grin any longer. “You know that, right?”
His deep, rumbling laughter set off a thousand butterflies in her stomach. He propped his bare forearms on the table, his shirtsleeves rolled past his elbows. She found unmistakable evidence of rippling muscles there as his broad shoulders shook with mirth. The butterflies migrated to flutter at her throat.
“Tell me the truth.” His deep, conspiratorial whisper felt hot and intimate even though amusement still crinkled his eyes. “What about your date today bothered you?”
She considered flipping him off. Or she could argue that Paul Lim was flawless. But in the end, she leaned forward, irresistibly drawn to him, and confessed, “His nails were really square.”
“God have mercy on us all.” Michel made a valiant effort to deliver the line with a straight face, but he looked positively delighted with her admission.
“You must think I’m outrageously picky.” This was fun. He was fun. She worked hard on worthwhile endeavors—strived to make her life meaningful. But when was the last time she’d allowed herself to have fun… just because?
“There is nothing wrong with being picky.” He held her gaze until her smile faded and her blood pounded in her ears. “You deserve someone who knows what you’re truly worth. And those men had no idea.”
“Are you saying you know better?” She meant to sound haughty, but her voice came out husky and unsteady.
“I do,” he said with quiet certainty. “You are radiant and full of life. You are strong-willed but kind. You are… I have never met anyone quite like you.”
She should tell him he knew nothing about her, but all she could do was stare. When he looked at her like that—with something like awe—she almost believed he really saw those things in her.
They were both bent over the table, and not even a hand’s width separated their faces. He smelled like sandalwood and spice. His rich brown eyes had specks of gold in them, and they were staring at… her lips. Her tongue swept out to wet them, and his pupils nearly swallowed the brown of his irises.
“Go out with me.” His voice dipped so low that it sounded like a growl.
A shiver went down her spine, and her toes curled in her shoes. She had to be smart. There was so much at stake. Her godmother’s reputation. Her culinary school. Now was not the time to answer the wild call of attraction…
Oh, what the hell.
“Okay.” Emma nodded to make sure he understood she was saying yes. Sorry, Auntie Soo. But it would be just this once. As a present to herself. One date and he would be out of her system. “I will go out with you.”