Chapter 11
Anna
The smell of coffee is supposed to be something nice to wake up to.
But not when you live alone.
My brain takes a second to boot up, caught in the sluggish limbo between sleep and reality, but as soon as I hear the low hum of someone singing—ugh, Joel—I’m officially done with this morning and I haven’t even gotten out of bed.
I crack one eye open, willing myself to be wrong.
But no.
Somewhere on the other side of my bedroom door, I catch the sound of a cabinet closing, then the distinct clink of pans being placed on my stovetop.
What. The. Hell.
I groan, shoving the blankets off and rolling out of bed. I don’t even bother checking the mirror—I already know I look like I’ve lost a fight with my pillow, and honestly? That’s the energy I’m bringing into today.
Fuck it.
Joel should not be in my kitchen. He should not be existing in my space like some kind of domestic rock god, humming to himself like he has some sort of right to my kitchen.
Did he even buy his own food? Because if that man so much as touched my last pack of kimchi noodles, I’m committing a crime.
I need coffee. And I need him to not be here.
Flinging open my dresser, I grab the first hoodie I can find and pull it over my sleep shirt, already deciding I’m heading straight to Bean There, Done That.
If I have to be awake and conscious enough to deal with Price, I need massive amounts of caffeine for my suffering.
Maybe I’ll even catch Carlie there because I need to vent.
I yank my bedroom door open and step into the kitchen, prepared to fight for my sanity, my caffeine, and my last shred of peace.
Joel is standing at the stove, flipping something in a pan with way too much ease, like this is his apartment and his morning routine, and I’m just some visitor in his domestic fantasy land.
His hair is a tangled mess, his sweatpants are hanging loose on his hips—something I totally did not notice—and he’s barefoot, which for some reason annoys me more than anything else.
“What,” I say, voice still rough from sleep, “the actual hell are you doing?”
Joel barely glances at me before returning his attention to whatever he’s cooking. “What does it look like, Ace? I’m making breakfast.”
I squint at him. “For who?”
He grins. “Us.”
I snort, heading straight for the coffee pot because it’s full and I might need a weapon. “Absolutely not.”
Joel flips the spatula dramatically, sending something golden brown into the air before catching it. “Wow. So much hostility so early in the morning. It’s almost like you don’t appreciate my efforts.”
I glare at him, yanking the coffee pot off it’s warmer with more force than necessary, then slam it back into place.
I hate how good it smells.
I cross my arms. “Did you poison this?”
Joel turns off the burner, feigning deep thought. “Depends. Do you consider a dash of cinnamon poison?”
I blink at him. “Cinnamon?”
He sighs dramatically. “Yes, cinnamon. It brings out the flavor of the beans. Now, I know what you’re thinking.
We’re eternal enemies, doomed to cohabitate under one roof for the next couple of weeks.
Why on earth is he making me a delicious breakfast and coffee that tastes like it was blessed by the gods?
” He picks up a plate and gestures toward me.
“So, want some pancakes, or should I throw these in the trash in a fit of heartbreak?”
I narrow my eyes at the stack of perfectly golden pancakes sitting on a plate. I have to admit, I’m slightly impressed—more than I should be. My stomach, the traitor, tightens with interest, but I ignore it. “Go to hell, Price.”
He gestures at himself. “Me? What did I do?”
“You exist. That’s enough.”
“I forgot you are not a morning person.” He throws his head back and laughs, and I hate that my stomach does something weird over it.
I cross my arms. “Did you even buy this food? Or did you just forage from my kitchen like some kind of musical raccoon?”
Joel places a hand over his heart, like I’ve just mortally wounded him.
“I’ll have you know, I bought it. I do have money, you know,” he says, pointing toward a reusable grocery bag sitting on the counter.
“See? Eggs, coffee, butter, all mine. You should be thanking me for upgrading your kitchen staples. You didn’t even have real milk, Anna.
Not everything has to be a Korean staple. ”
“I don’t drink almond milk because it’s Korean, dumbass,” I say, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. “Some of us don’t trust cow juice.”
His eyebrows lift. “Cow juice?”
“Don’t act like that’s weird. You were literally just singing to your pancakes.”
Joel grins again and leans against the counter, watching as I hover next to the coffee pot, waging an internal war.
I could pour a cup of coffee.
The pot is right there and I’m clutching my cup like a lifeline—which, to be fair, isn’t far from the truth.
The wake-up juice is already made…
I bite the side of my lip, deliberating.
For some reason, it smells like sin and temptation.
Joel watches me with a lopsided grin that I wish I could wipe off his stupid, smug face.
“You gonna drink it, or are you afraid it’ll make you start liking me?”
I drop the mug. Not on the floor—just on the counter a little too aggressively.
“I have places to be,” I announce. “I’ll get my coffee at Bean There, Done That. You know, from an actual barista who knows what they’re doing.”
Joel snorts. “You mean you’re gonna pay five bucks for the same caffeine that’s right here?”
“It’s about principle,” I say, heading for the door.
If I have to cut my nose off to spite my face, I can at least push home the point.
Joel leans against the counter, fully amused, sipping his own coffee as he watches me actively avoid the free caffeine in my own goddamn kitchen.
“Suit yourself,” he says, voice far too smug.
I’m still mentally cursing him as I fling the door open—
And nearly face-plant into Ethan’s chest.
His entire form blocks my getaway and the hand that’s poised to knock, drops to my shoulder.
“Jesus, Anna,” he grunts, steadying me like I’m some fragile thing. “Are you running from something?”
I smooth down my hoodie, straightening like I haven’t just been caught mid-escape. “Yes. You.”
But then I see who’s standing behind him.
My mother.
Oh for the love.
Every ounce of irritation, exhaustion, and general desire to commit crimes against Joel is immediately buried under years of ingrained filial obedience.
I smile. A little too tight. A little too forced.
“Hi, Mom,” I say sweetly, like I wasn’t just moments away from throwing a coffee mug at Joel’s head.
Her eyebrows lift, gaze flicking from me, to Ethan, to inside the house—where, unfortunately, Joel is very much visible and very much looking amused. I wanna throat punch that smug grin off his face.
I can feel the exact moment my mother spots him.
Because her entire expression shifts.
The smile sharpens, just a little. Like she knows something I don’t.
I don’t like it. Not one little bit.
Joel, the human disaster that he is, chooses that exact moment to walk up behind me, boxing me in.
“Morning, Mrs. Chang,” he says, all polite charm. Fake. Calculated.
I’m going to kill him.
Mom smiles back. “Joel, darling, It’s so great to see you. I heard you might be here.”
Oh my god, gag me.
Mom’s expression shifts—just the slightest knowing tilt of her head as she glances at me. I narrow my gaze when she turns her back to me so she can face Joel.
“You’re looking well,” she adds, stepping past Ethan to glide into my kitchen like she owns the place. She pats Joel’s arm as she passes.
Pats.
His.
Arm.
I watch in horror as she gives him the kind of warm, affectionate look that is usually reserved for the good Korean sons who become doctors or lawyers, not the should-be exiled best friend of my brother who ruined my goddamn life.
Joel grins like he knows exactly what’s happening and is enjoying every second of it. I envision that throat punch again.
I grab Ethan’s sleeve, dragging him slightly onto my back porch so I can hiss, “You told her. Why would you tell her about Joel?”
He pulls back with mock horror. “She’s our mother, Anna. She gets things out of people.”
I glare harder. “Good god, grow a spine, man.”
He shrugs like the traitor he is. “She might’ve mentioned you’ve been MIA the past few days, and I might’ve let it slip that Joel’s been staying in your spare room, so you’re probably occupied with all of that.”
Fantastic. Just fantastic.
I head inside to find Mom now perched in my dining chair, completely at home, like she’s settling in for a long chat.
“Well,” she says, giving me her most innocent smile. “Since we’re here to finalize plans for Mina’s doljanchi, Joel suggested we might as well have breakfast together.”
I whip around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. “I’m sorry, Joel suggested what now? It’s not even his house.”
Joel sips his coffee, looking as pleased as a cat who just knocked a vase off the counter. “I just thought, since everyone is here, why not make it a family affair?”
A family affair.
I stare at him, then at my mother—who is beaming for som god awful reason—then at Ethan, who is already helping himself to the pancakes like a traitorous bastard.
This cannot be happening.
But it is.
Because my mother is nodding like this is the best idea she’s ever heard, and Joel is setting out plates like he’s a charming and respectable member of society instead of the actual bane of my existence.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mom, I was heading out. We don’t need to—”
“Nonsense,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “We have so much to discuss. And you know food always makes planning easier. We were going to see if you’d like to go to Perkins, but this is better.”
Joel grins like he knows exactly how much I want to throw something at him. “See, Ace? Even your mom agrees with me.”
I whip back around. “I swear to god, if you don’t stop calling me that—”
“Sit,” Mom orders, voice sharp with motherly authority.