Chapter 4
CONFESSIONAL 1102.5
Yang, Dal (Head Chef, Serenade: Juniper Ridge)
Of course I don’t give a fuck about surprise visits from the health inspector. Swing by anytime, I’ve got nothing to hide.
I never understood that.
Why the fuck would you panic for inspections? My dad always said, “A good chef runs his kitchen like he runs his life. If everything’s out in the open, no one can question you.”
[frowns at camera operator]
Things outside my control? I don’t—that doesn’t make sense.
Can you repeat the question?
* * *
Ican’t believe I fucking kissed Lana.
Not just kissed her.
I held her on my lap to feel her grind against my?—
“Earth to Dal.” My brother rolls through the front door of our cabin with Mouse prancing ahead. “You in zombie mode?”
“Hey.” I unhook the dog’s leash and ignore Ji-Hoon’s question as he zips past me on his way through the living room. He’s watching me way too closely. When his eyes skim the ink on my pec, I grab my shirt off the sofa and yank it on quickly.
Ji-Hoon rolls his eyes and cruises past. “Why were you staring out the window like that?”
“Waiting for you.”
It’s such a blatant lie that he snorts. “Sure you were.” He rolls the chair around me as I coil up the leash and tuck it in Mouse’s bin by the door. I hand her a treat while I’m at it, a baked-from-scratch biscuit made with?—
“Would this have anything to do with you getting home late last night?”
“No.” I scratch Mouse’s ears so I don’t have to look at my brother. The dog leans into me, groaning. One leg rabbit-kicks to the side as her tail swishes. For the millionth time, I’m grateful not to be a dog. They suck at hiding emotion.
“Good girl.” I shift to give Mouse a two-handed neck rub. “You like that? Does that feel good?”
My brother snorts again. “No wonder Lana thought what she did.”
“Fuck off.” I never should have told him on our break last night.
Ji-Hoon sniffs the air dramatically as he wheels around me, carefully dodging Mouse’s tail. “You smelled like perfume when you came home after work.”
The man has the nose of a bloodhound. “You’re full of shit.” Abandoning Mouse, I head for the kitchen. “Want lunch?”
The dog wanders off to her bed, but my brother’s on the scent of something better. “Where’d you take that dessert last night?”
“I threw it in the trash becausemakgeolli sucks.” I start pulling things from the fridge. A block of good cheddar, butter from Tia’s farm. I made fresh tomato soup yesterday, so that’ll go great with grilled cheese. “Did you grab bread?”
“I know you’re lying.” He wheels around to watch me work. “Want to know how?”
Absolutely not. “The bread?—”
“Here.” He yanks a loaf from the shopping bag in his lap, waving it around like a magician before tossing it at my chest. I catch it easily, turning away so I won’t see him watching me.
“I also grabbed two of their zucchini chocolate chip muffins,” he continues. “Patti and Colleen said to tell you hello.”
“Thanks.” I set to work making his favorite grilled cheese, slicing Asian pears thin enough to tuck between slices of brioche. Summer’s just getting started, and I glance out the window at little kids splashing in the pond.
We used to play like that. Ji-Hoon would dunk me, then run off laughing as I chased him down the shore. When we got bored with that, we’d race around spraying each other like dipshits with water guns.
Mom and Dad stood in the sand holding hands, both in shirts with the Yang’s Spicy Sauce logo. They wore them everywhere, loyal to their role as the happy, family-friendly faces of the brand.
Know what’s nuts?
It wasn’t an act. They really were that fucking happy.
“Ow.” I glance at my finger, annoyed that I’ve nicked the tip with my knife.
“You okay?” Ji-Hoon wheels over, concern etched on his brow.
“I’m fine.” I’m not even bleeding. “Just a scratch.”
Screw soup. I’ll freeze it and do salad instead. Something bright and crisp with the butter lettuce I pulled from the garden and?—
“I know you’re lying about Lana.” Ji-Hoon’s not letting this go. “Want to know how?”
“Nope.”
“I just saw Lana at the café.”
My knife stills in the pear. I don’t meet his eyes, but I’m sure he knows he’s got my attention. “So?”
“So she was talking with her sisters.”
I’m not looking up. I’m not going to ask. I won’t give him the satisfaction of?—
“She said something about me?”
In the corner of my eye, I see Ji-Hoon grin in triumph. “She told Mari she talked with you about the Entertainment Weekly article, so apparently you weren’t lying about that.”
“No shit.” I go back to cutting the pear, making paper-thin slices with the blade of my knife.
My brother keeps going. “Lauren starts grilling her about talking with you yesterday and Lana’s all perky and professional, telling her sisters about the gardens.” He’s smacking his lips now, my butthead big brother. “Then Lana says something about makgeolli.”
“So?” I hate when he turns into super sleuth.
And here’s Ji-Hoon’s big aha moment. “You didn’t take the makgeolli until last night. You saw Lana after that conversation in the garden.”
There’s no point arguing. “You’re getting salad, not soup.” Take that, nosy asshole. “I made too much jalape?o honey dressing, so you’re having that on your salad.”
“Excellent.” Ji-Hoon wheels around to stare right at my face. When he does this, I don’t stand a chance. “You kissed her, didn’t you?”
How does he guess this shit?
When I don’t respond, he grins. “I know because Lauren accused her of having a love-bite on her neck, and instead of denying it, Lana put her hand on her throat.”
The knife clatters from my hand. Goddammit.
I look up to see him grinning like a jackass. “Lana had a hickey?”
“No.” He grins. “But the fact that she could have gave her away. That’s what Lauren said, anyway.” He watches me grate cheese onto thick slices of brioche. The pears go on top with a drizzle of honey and another slice of bread.
“And judging by your face,” he continues, like I’m not ignoring him, “Lauren wasn’t wrong. You did kiss Lana.”
I decide no reply is my best option, since discussing this like a sane human isn’t getting me anywhere. That lasts for all of one minute.
“I think it’s great,” he says. “At least I won’t be the only Yang brother with a hot girlfriend.”
A growl slips out before I can stop it. “You’ve met Rosa Pato twice.”
“Three times,” he fires back, wheeling around to face me. “And we’ve been chatting online for a year. She’s amazing.”
He’s not wrong there. Rosa Pato is a legend. The daughter of a Guatemalan lawyer and a Haitian supermodel, she’s as beautiful as she is smart. My brother’s a lucky man.
Rosa’s also a fierce activist for the disabled community, ever since losing her brother four years ago. She and Ji-Hoon met at a fundraiser last year and kept in touch.
I’m happy for my brother. I am.
But I’m also guarded.
“Are you and Rosa meeting up in person again?”
“Yep.” He grins and starts setting the table. “We’re talking about getting together right here in Oregon.”
“She’s traveling to visit you?” This does sound serious.
“I guess I’m just that irresistible.” He’s not wrong there.
“Be careful.”
“You worried I’ll knock her up?”
For fuck’s sake. “Just—” Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. “Wash your hands. Lunch is almost ready.”
Ji-Hoon salutes me, though I notice he’s using one finger. Not a nice one, either.
I slide the sandwiches into the hot skillet and finish off the salads. By the time my brother rolls back down the hall, I’m slinging our plates on the table. I nudge a bowl toward him. “There’s the fucking ginger chutney you like.”
“That should be our next marketing tagline.” He spreads a napkin in his lap. “It’ll go great with your last one—‘Fuck you, I’m not picking out the pistachios.’”
“Eat while it’s still hot.” I bite into my sandwich, enjoying the marriage of salty and sweet. Our uncle Korain taught me to make this. Ji-Hoon and I would clamber at the counter, begging in Korean for him to let us split one more. Dad dipped his in Yang’s Spicy Sauce, because of course he did.
Back then, our parents were alive.
Back then, my brother’s legs worked.
Back then, I hadn’t fucked up his life.
“Hey.” Ji-Hoon sets down his sandwich. “I know what I’m doing with Rosa.”
“I know you do.”
“And I’m just messing with you about Lana.”
“I know.”
“And practicing my spy skills.”
“Fine.” I chew thoughtfully. “How are you so good at that, anyway?”
“People don’t always see the guy in the wheelchair.” He shrugs and bites into his sandwich. “They’re so busy trying not to stare that they overcompensate and don’t see you at all.”
A knife spears my heart. I set down my sandwich and take a big gulp of water. I’m scratching my chest absentmindedly when the doorbell rings.
“I’ve got it.” Dropping his sandwich, my brother rolls to the door. Hand on the knob, he looks back and grins. “By the way, I told Cooper Judson they could swing by the house.”
For fuck’s sake. “Why the hell is Coop?—”
But that’s all I get out before Ji-Hoon throws open the door. “Come in, come in.” He wheels back to let Cooper pass, and that’s when I see her—Lana.
She glances at me and I expect her to blush, but no. She just pastes on a smile and sips from a mug that says, That’s a horrible idea. What time? “I hope we’re not interrupting.”
“It’s fine.” I shove the last bite of sandwich in my mouth and stand to clear my plate. “What’s up?”
Gabe’s behind Cooper, camera rolling as Coop chats with my brother. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Tell me what?” God, I hate secrets.
But Ji-Hoon looks thrilled about this one. Lana, not so much. Uneasiness fills her blue eyes as she looks at me. “I’m sorry,” she says like she means it. “We can do this another t?—”
“No, come on.” My brother grins and wheels back to face me. “I wanted you to be the one to tell him.”
Irritation sharpens my voice. “What the fuck are you all talking about?”
Lana’s unruffled, maybe because she’s used to having assholes come unglued at her. “The Best of Oregon chowder contest.” She grins and bounces on her heels. “You won!”
I blink and then frown. “I entered?”
“You did.” My brother’s grin fills in some pretty big gaps. “With your coconut curry chowder.”
I won’t even ask how that happened. Lana’s watching me with an “aren’t brothers a pain in the ass” look that makes me feel mildly better about this whole thing.
“You’re the champion in the ‘Creative Flair’ category,” she explains. “In addition to a plaque to put up at Serenade, they’ve asked if you’ll help judge next year’s competition.”
“Which starts immediately.” Cooper claps his hands together. “They’re giving you plenty of time to taste your way around the state.”
I look at Ji-Hoon. Travel with a guy in a wheelchair gets challenging in the best of circumstances. “No.” That came out harsh. “No, thank you.”
Cooper looks crestfallen. Lana looks…unsurprised?
“We anticipated you might have questions.” She clears her throat like nothing fazes her, and I hate how much I admire that. “The committee acknowledges that celebrity chefs?—”
“Which you are,” Ji-Hoon adds obnoxiously.
Lana keeps going. “You have schedules to keep, restaurants to run,” she says. “They understand that. Which is why they give you ten months to spread out the judging.”
Ten months to travel around the state, tasting chowder? “Doesn’t matter. A head chef can’t just leave his restaurant.” Surely they know this.
“Exactly.” Lana smiles like she knew I’d object. “Which is why Sean Bracelyn offered to sub for you.”
“From Ponderosa Resort,” adds Cooper, like I don’t know who Sean Fucking Bracelyn is. Only the most famous chef in the Pacific Northwest.
“Sean’s got his own restaurant to run.” Even as I say it, I know Lana’s got an answer.
“He’s on paternity leave with baby number two.” Lana tries not to look triumphant. “Scheduled himself out for a whole year, but he’s getting restless six months in. Says he’d love a chance to keep his skills sharp.”
“I’ll work right alongside him when you’re out,” Ji-Hoon adds. “So will the rest of the team, so no balls get dropped.”
“Doesn’t seem fair,” I point out. “You not getting any time off.”
“Don’t worry about that.” My brother grins. “Sean knows a great temp agency. Said they can hook us up with a front-of-house sub whenever I need a break.”
Hell. They really have thought of everything. “I’ll have to think about it.”
My brother opens his mouth to argue, but Lana steps in. “Understandable.” She cuts a look at her own brothers, which I interpret as, “butt out, dickheads.”
Sliding a hand in her bag, she pulls out a big envelope. “Here’s the info packet and the permission forms. I also emailed you all the details so you could take your time reading at leisure. I can check back tonight to see if you have questions.”
I pick apart those sentences, searching for ways to say no. Dammit, there isn’t one. “Fine.”
“Great!” Cooper high-fives my brother, who smacks him back with equal enthusiasm. As Coop turns to me, I inwardly sigh.
“Thanks.” I should maybe say more. Look at the camera or shake Cooper’s hand or something, which I do. “It’s an honor.”
Lana catches my eye and grins. Liar, she mouths, but she still shakes my hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
As they troop to the door, I glare at my brother. The second they’re gone, I cross my arms. “Care to explain?”
“What?” He rolls to the table to finish his sandwich. “Your chowder kicks ass. I thought everyone should know it.”
“It’s a riff on Dad’s recipe.”
“So?” He shoves a hunk of sandwich in his mouth. “Isn’t every recipe a riff on another one?”
That’s not the point. “You know I don’t love the limelight.”
Ji-Hoon rolls his eyes. “Yet you live on the set of a TV show.”
“Whose idea was that?” Not that I fought him on it. It’s true I wanted a restaurant of my own. A chance to start over in a place not clouded with memories.
Also true? I might not hate the limelight that much.
“Look, just don’t enter me in contests without telling me.” I can grudgingly admit I’m proud of that chowder. “Thank you, though.”
Ji-Hoon beams. “You’re welcome.”
How is it possible to be pissed at someone you also love this much? Who you’d gratefully give both kidneys to, even if he didn’t need one?
My chest twists up tight, and I sigh. “I mean it.”
The gravity in his gaze says he knows I mean more than chowder. “I know.”
* * *
It doesn’t take longfor me to feel like a grade A prick.
And when I feel like a prick, I cook for people.
“I’m going out,” I call to Ji-Hoon, who’s in his room painting as he video chats with his girlfriend. “See you at four.”
“Don’t be late,” he yells back. “We’ve got a full house tonight.”
Typical. Not that I mind having a high demand for what I’m slinging in the restaurant. It’s the whole fucking point of this job. Lana wins people with sweet smiles and good cheer. I win them with sweet cream and honey.
That, plus a few more ingredients, went into this recipe I’m carrying like an offering from my kitchen to her office. It takes me a bit to walk across campus to the lodge where she works. To her door at the end of the hall. It’s just enough time to rehearse my apology.
Sorry I’m a grumpy asshole.
Sorry I’m not more excited about the chowder thing.
Sorry I can’t let my guard down for one single, solitary?—
“Because the story’s under control, okay?” Lana’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “There’s no need for a preemptive distraction. I’ve got this handled.”
I freeze in the hall at her sharp tone. Her door gapes open an inch, so this can’t be a secret conversation. She’d shut the door if it was, right?
Doesn’t make me less of an asshole for lurking in the hall. I should go.
“My sex life is not your business.”
Or maybe I should wait here.
There’s a pebbled glass panel in her door, and I pick out her shadow sitting hunched at her desk. One hand holds a phone to her ear, while the other keeps tugging her hair.
Hair that’s soft and silky and smells like fresh peaches. I wonder if whoever she’s talking to knows it. An ex, maybe? Someone who’d broach such an intimate subject. Jealousy gurgles in my gut as I grip the fluted dessert cup that holds my meager offering.
“Mom,” she says, and my shoulders relax. I really should stop eavesdropping.
“That’s completely different.” Her voice sounds brittle, and I know this isn’t my business, but— “Where did you hear that?”
I’m frozen in place, hoping no one spots me lurking out here. If I move, will she see me?
“That’s—okay, fine.” Lana huffs and drops something on her desk. “There’s someone I’m interested in, but it’s not relevant here.” Another stretch of silence. “Because I’m not using my love life as a distraction.”
Whoa. Interesting. Even hearing only one side of this chat, I’m reading between the lines. For whatever reason, her mother wants Lana in a tutu, twirling for a crowd on the red carpet.
So to speak.
“I’m not discussing this right now.” She sounds firmer this time, but there’s a tremble in her voice. “Someone’s at my door, okay? I have to go.”
Shit.
There’s a thump of her phone and then silence. I hold my breath. Maybe that was an excuse. If she doesn’t know I’m here, I can still back away. Just tiptoe down the hall like I didn’t just overhear a whole conver?—
“Dal?”
“Yeah?” So much for that idea. “How’d you know it’s me?”
“I recognize the shape of you.” Her voice warms just a little. “And I don’t know many other people who’d stand outside my door holding a dessert cup.”
Shit.
This feels awkward. “I can come back if it’s not a good time.”
“It’s the best time.” She gets up and comes to the door. As she pulls it open, I’m hit with the full force of those blue eyes. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I’m such a jackass. “Here.”
“For me?” She takes it like I’m handing her the holy grail. “Wow, thank you.” She cocks her head to study it. “That’s not makgeolli.”
Her pronunciation’s perfect this time. “You’ve practiced.”
“Yes.” She tilts the tall dessert cup in her hands. “I watched YouTube videos until I got it.”
“Impressive.” I nod at the dessert cup. “That’s mango pudding.”
“Yummy.”
I should say something, right? “I wasn’t eavesdropping on your call.”
“Okay.” It’s not clear from her face if she believes me.
“Your door was ajar, but I wasn’t intentionally listening to you talk about your sex life.” Shut up, Dal. “I mean not talk about it. With your mom.”
Her smile’s getting tighter, and I know I’ve touched a nerve.
“It’s fine.” Her voice sounds so perky I nearly believe her. “Just family stuff, you know?”
“Yeah.” Boy, do I know. “Sorry.”
“No problem.”
I should get back to the kitchen. “Got a second?”
“Sure.” Her eyes dart to her office. “Did you want to speak in private?”
Those words feel laced with meaning. I clear my throat, needing to set the record straight. “I didn’t come here hoping to fuck on your desk, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
If she’s shocked, she doesn’t show it. “That’s good.” She doesn’t flinch at all. “I don’t enjoy papercuts on my ass.”
Fighting a smile, I pull a spoon from my pocket. “Here. You can eat while we talk.”
“Thanks.” Her fingers brush mine as she plucks the utensil from my grip. As she floats through her office, my fingers tingle where we touched.
As soon as I get the door shut, I take a seat. “I came to say I’m sorry about last night.” Not just last night, either.
“Which part?” She digs in and starts devouring the dessert. “The part where you felt me up, or the part where you freaked out when I touched your tat?”
“Kissing you.” Though now that I think of it, I should apologize for the rest of that. “It was a mistake. I crossed a line and I’m sorry.”
Lana looks at me with clear blue eyes. “I straddled your lap and tore off your T-shirt like I owned it. If lines were crossed, we’re both responsible.”
“Still.” This isn’t going how I’d hoped. I’m distracted by her tongue darting out to lick a dab of pudding off her lip. “We have to work together. I don’t want to make things awkward.”
“You realize that’s the premise of the show, right?” She shoves her spoon in the cup again. “Strangers couple up and we catch it on film.”
“Should I have brought a camera crew with me last night?”
Her smirk makes me wish I’d brought three more desserts. “That might make it tough to pretend it didn’t happen.” Blue eyes hold mine, searching my soul. It’s hard not to squirm. “Your tattoo. It’s your family’s company logo.”
I guess looking up Korean pronunciations wasn’t the only task on Lana’s to-do list. “Correct.” I don’t owe her more, so why do I blurt the rest? “It’s covering the scar I got in the accident.”
My only fucking scar. Our parents died. My brother lost feeling from the waist down. I got a fucking owie. How pathetic is that?
“I see,” she says, and I wonder what she sees. Something not great, since she relents and shifts the subject. “What’s the real reason you don’t want to make out with me?”
I flinch. “When did you turn blunt?”
“Maybe I’m learning from you.”
That’s doubtful. I consider pretending there’s no other reason, but bluntness got me this far. Might as well go all in.
“I dated a foodie influencer.”
“Cherri Chiffon.” Her eyes don’t leave mine. “I know.”
Of course she checked me out before I came to Juniper Ridge. “We were together three years. Her follower count grew from two thousand to two million.”
“Because of you.” It’s not a question, so I don’t bother nodding. “She used you to further her career.”
“Probably.” There’s more to it than that, but that’s plenty. “Since then, I don’t get involved with influencer types.”
“I’m not an influencer, so?—”
“Public relations, content creation—po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” I recall her affection for tubers. “You know what I mean.”
“Please.” She scoffs. “Hardly the same thing.”
“They’re both about curating an image.” My jaw starts to tense. “Spinning reality to be whatever the fuck you want.”
“Harsh.” She looks like she might argue, then shrugs. “Agree to disagree.”
We’re getting into the weeds here. “So we shouldn’t kiss again.” Even as I say it, my gut churns with regret. “No offense.”
“None taken.” The flash in her eyes says otherwise, but Lana’s one hell of an actress. She digs her spoon into the dish and brings it to her lips. “What’s in this, anyway?”
Thank God for a smoothly executed subject change. “You like it?”
She nods and licks the back of the spoon. “Mango and coconut, obviously. Is that mint?”
“Yes.” I’m surprised she noticed, since it’s barely a whisper of fresh, minced spearmint. “And honey.”
She tastes it again and I can’t stop watching her mouth. The bliss on her face stirs something I’d hoped to ignore. “Is that lemon or lime?”
“Lime.” Another good catch. “Only a squeeze.”
“It’s delicious.” She takes another taste. “Sweet and tart and zingy and tangy.”
“You’ve got a sensitive palate.” Why does that sound dirty?
“Thanks.” She scrapes her spoon on the bottom of the bowl, then brings it to her lips. “Amazing.”
“Do you cook?”
“A little. Not well.” She sets the bowl aside. “I love food.”
“Especially potatoes.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes stray wistfully to the bowl. “I could eat twenty more of those.”
I make a mental note to save her some more, then wonder what the hell I’m thinking. I’m not here to make friends. “There’s something else.”
“Besides the apology and mango pudding and an insult to my profession?” She doesn’t look annoyed at all. “What’s up?”
I drag my palms along my thighs, feeling itchy and useless without a saucepan in my hand. “I wanted to talk about the season finale.”
“Sure thing.” Her tone’s light and easy, her blue eyes bright. “Did you feel okay about how it played out?”
There she goes again, being just so damn…nice.
“Yeah, it was fine. Surprisingly unvarnished.”
She beams like I’ve said magic words. “I thought so, too. We paid special attention to the editing.”
“Editing?” I don’t know what she means. “It seemed like pretty much what happened.”
“That’s my point. We wanted it to feel authentic. Real. Not overly edited.”
I glance down at my hands. “I guess I never understood what went into a show like this.” I hesitate. “My parents did a lot of TV stuff, back in the day.”
“I’ve seen some of the vintage spots for Yang’s Spicy Sauce Blends.” She watches my face like she thinks I might yell. “They were cute. Very wholesome.”
“Yeah.” I guess that’s how you’d describe the whole family donning chili pepper costumes, with Mom and Dad and Uncle Korain chasing each other with fire extinguishers while camera crews taped it. “My point is that I grew up getting in the spotlight sometimes, but it all felt carefully crafted.”
“That’s advertising, though,” she says. “Not unscripted television.”
I snort because I know what that’s code for. “Isn’t that just a fancy way of saying reality TV?”
Lana winks. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”
The echo of my own words should annoy me, but it doesn’t. “Look, I’ve got concerns with the chowder thing.”
“I’m listening.” She’s not just saying that. I can tell by how she scans my face. How she sits up straighter in her chair. “What’s the issue?”
Where do I start? “When my parents died—” No. Not there.
My mouth dries out and it takes me a few tries to swallow again.
As I study her face, Lana’s eyes fill with sympathy. Not pity, though.
That’s enough to keep me going. “My dad and my uncle built this massive family empire.” The second I say it, I know she understands. The Judsons faced much bigger fame than we ever did. “Yang’s Spicy Sauce Blends were the top-selling condiment in sixteen countries. Family was the core of the brand. Ji-Hoon and I grew up starring in commercials with our parents and our uncle.” The words are coming easier now, but my heart’s still twisted up tight. “I remember this one ad where we pretended to catch our parents kissing in the kitchen and—” My voice breaks again and I give up. As I squeeze my eyes shut, a growl slips out. “Fuck!”
“I know.” She touches my hand, and I suddenly breathe again. When I open my eyes, her blue ones stay locked with mine. “I’ve seen that commercial. It’s sweet.”
The elephant steps off my chest. “You have?” I don’t think it ran in the U.S.
“Yes.” Her eyes don’t leave mine. “Part of our due diligence when we chose you and Ji-Hoon to come to Juniper Ridge.”
“Ah.” I wonder what else she knows.
Maybe not this. “We were driving from my parents’ place in Seoul to my uncle’s second home in Busan when the accident happened.” I pull some air through my lungs. “Ji-Hoon was sixteen, and I was twelve, and we were dicking around in the backseat like stupid boys do.”
“I know how that goes.” Fondness and sympathy swirl in her eyes. “I have three brothers.”
“Yeah.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Mom warned us two or three times to cut it out, but we were little dipshits.” I can see she understands that part, too. “Dad finally got fed up. He turned around to yell at us and—bam!” I clap and she jumps and I feel like a dick again. “The truck came from a side street. We never even saw it.”
Her eyelashes flutter like she’s blinking back tears. “They died instantly?”
“Dad did.” My throat feels tight. “Mom was in a coma for a while. My dad’s twin brother and I took turns staying with her and with Ji-Hoon.” Uncle Korain and I didn’t leave that damn hospital for weeks. “My uncle’s big on the power of positive thinking.”
When I pause, Lana fills in the blank. “Is that why you’re not much of a glass-is-half-full guy?”
“Kinda.” It goes deeper than that, though. “He was so sure we could manifest positive outcomes.” I pitch my voice to sound like Uncle Korain. “‘Believe your brother will walk again, Dal, and it will be so.’ I fucking believed it with every inch of my twelve-year-old body. ‘Your mother will wake up, boys—count on it. All you must do is believe.’”
“Jesus.” Lana swipes at her eyes. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid.”
Tell me about it. “I don’t want to bore you with details?—”
“None of this is boring, Dal.” She puts a hand on my arm and my breath hitches. “This played out in the media?”
She’s always one step ahead. “Yeah. By then, the Yang family was sort of a well-known commodity. Folks saw us on TV and thought they knew us, right?”
“Yes.” Her eyes say she very much gets it. “I understand completely.”
“Uncle Korain became the family spokesperson. He was on TV constantly with updates. Telling the public what they wanted to hear. Doctors would say something encouraging, and he’d take it and twist it and go on TV. He said it was all about giving them hope.” I believed him then. Now? “Maybe it was more about selling sauces.”
There’s no surprise in Lana’s eyes. Just understanding. “To be fair, I’m guessing sauce sales kept the medical bills paid.”
“Sure, I get that.” But the constant spin took a toll. “When Mom died, he turned his attention to convincing everyone Ji-Hoon could walk again. We went on this ridiculous, live talk show, all three of us. ‘He’s a fighter,’ Korain told the cameras.” I’m imitating his voice again, sounding so much like Dad that it scares me. “Uncle Korain would stare right at the camera and say all this stuff.”
“Like what?”
I comb my brain, hating how the memories make me feel. “Stuff like, ‘The doctors believe that if anyone can do this, it’s Ji-Hoon.’ We got so wrapped up in the story that we all believed it.”
“Even Ji-Hoon?”
“Especially Ji-Hoon.” I uncurl fists I didn’t know I was clenching. “Then a specialist flew in. This world-famous spinal cord expert from Istanbul.” I’ll never forget the kindness in her eyes. The hope that turned to pity. “She spent five days studying Ji-Hoon, reviewing the charts. At the end of it all, she said, ‘There is no scientifically possible way he could ever walk again. Anyone saying otherwise is selling false promises.’”
“God.” Lana wipes her eyes. “Talk about taking the wind out of your sails.”
“I called her a liar.” I’m not proud of that. “For weeks, I kept trying to convince Ji-Hoon to see a different specialist. To listen to Korain when he said we just needed to pray harder, believe harder.” I shake my head, feeling foolish all over again. “My brother took my hand like this—” I grasp Lana’s in mine and energy arcs up my arm. “And he said, ‘I know you mean well, but stop. These stories, these pretty pictures you’re painting—they just make the truth harder to face.’”
“Oh, Dal.” She takes a shuddery breath. “He was how old?”
“He turned seventeen in the hospital.” Even then, my brother was the smartest, bravest motherfucker I’ve ever met. “I turned thirteen two weeks later.”
“I’m so sorry.” She blinks a few times as she gathers herself. “That’s a lot for a kid to deal with.”
“Yeah.”
“Or for a grown man.”
“I suppose.” I’m still not sure why I told her all that.
“Thank you,” she says. “It means a lot that you shared your story.”
“No sweat.” I’m gripping the arms of the chair, wondering if I can run.
“Okay, so.” She draws a shaky breath. “I’m trying really hard to connect the dots to chowder.”
I bark out a laugh. She smiles in response, and it’s like a sunshine IV dripping straight to my heart.
“That’s fair.” I lean back in my chair as the tension drains out of my shoulders. “Coming to Juniper Ridge was Ji-Hoon’s idea. A way to show a family touched by paraplegia but working side by side as equals.”
“And that’s how we’ve spun it.”
I wince and she sees it.
“Not spin,” she corrects. “It’s the truth and we show it.”
“I know.” I draw a deep breath. “Which is why this big focus on me and my stupid chowder-based growth arc doesn’t sit right with me.”
She’s quiet a second, considering. “I understand.” She studies my face for a moment. “For what it’s worth, Ji-Hoon drove the process of submitting you to the contest. He wants this for you.”
“Which is the only reason I didn’t tell you guys where to shove the stupid chowder contest when you showed up today.” That came out meaner than I meant it to. “I’ll do it, okay?”
Surprise widens her eyes. “You will?”
“Yeah.” Maybe I should have led with that. “But I needed you to know all that first. That I’m not a commodity to be spun. Neither is Ji-Hoon.”
“Understood.” She folds her hands on the desk. “What are your terms?”
“No live television.”
“Got it.” She doesn’t even blink. “I already knew that from your contract.”
Right. I forgot I included that when I signed on. It’s a sticking point left over from those interviews after the accident. “I’d like to taste the preliminary contenders without cameras present.”
Lana cocks her head. “May I ask why?”
“Because I don’t want chefs changing recipes or stepping up their game just because we’re filming.” I’ve thought through this a lot. “I want to start from the unvarnished experience.”
“That’s fair.” She jots something on her notepad. “And you’d return to the ones you like best?”
“The film crew could show up then.”
“All right.” Her pen moves quickly over the notepad. “What else?”
“If I don’t like a chowder, I’ll say so. If I don’t like the direction of a storyline, I’ll say that, too. As long as we’re truthful and transparent, I’m on board. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”
Lana lifts a brow. “Think you could sound less threatening when you’re out there tasting chowder?”
“Fine.” An urge to smile catches me off guard. “And I can try to keep cursing to a minimum.”
“Deal.” She sticks out her hand and I shake it. “It’s refreshing to work with someone who knows so clearly what he wants.”
“I do.” I hold her eyes and pray she can’t read my mind.
Because what I want more than anything is to kiss Lana again.
Like she’s hearing my thoughts, she lets go of my hand. “Then it’s settled. We’re organizing The Great Dal Yang Chowder Tour.”
The groan slips out before I can stop it. “Can we please come up with another name?”
“Oooh, good idea!” She grabs her cute pink notepad. “Let’s brainstorm. There are no bad suggestions.” Her sparkly pink pen taps the pad. “How about Chowderthon?”
“That sounds like a really gross foot race.”
She makes a face and I amend my statement. “Not ruling it out.”
“No, I don’t love it either.” She gives it more thought. “Chowder Champs?”
“Too cute.”
“All right, smart guy—what’s your idea?”
I consider it. “Can we keep it plain? Chowderhounds or something?”
“Maybe.” Lana cocks her head. “We could intersperse footage of you with Mouse. Really play up the dog theme.”
“Sure.” I can tell she’s not sold on that one. “I guess if you want it to sound hip, you could do something like Slingin’ Chowder.”
Lana lifts one brow. “You’re aware that ‘man chowder’ is slang for semen and ‘chowder slinger’ is slang for penis?”
“I was not.” Jesus. “Thanks for that visual.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Is this in your job description?”
She tilts her head again. “What’s that?”
“Identifying anything that could potentially sound filthy before it makes it on the air.”
Her laugh rockets right through my core. “Funny you should ask.” She leans back in her chair. “When we launched the Juniper Ridge website, our consultant came to us with a list of words to block users from picking as public-facing usernames. Basic stuff like ‘fuck’ and ‘bitch’ and ‘cum dumpster’ and ‘creampie.’”
“That’s basic?” I’m rewiring my image of Lana.
“Anyway,” she continues, “Cooper brought the list to my office and said, ‘I bet Gabe a hundred bucks you can double this list by five p.m. Don’t let me down.’”
“Did you do it?”
“Oh, yes.” She sounds so proud that I’m smiling again. “Pretty sure I tripled the list.”
“Really?” This shouldn’t impress me like it does.
“I added gems like ‘bukkake’ and ‘daisy chain’ and ‘motorboat’ and ‘bait and tackle.’”
“I—” Wow. I’m at a loss for words. “I think I know what daisy chain is.”
“A group sex thing.” She waves a dismissive hand. “And I’m sure you’re familiar with motorboating.”
My eyes drop unwittingly to her boobs. “I’ve, uh—heard of it.”
Lana grins like she knows what I’m thinking. “Bukkake is another group sex thing—don’t google it on a public computer.”
“I’ll consider myself warned.” What was the other one? “Bait and tackle?”
She shrugs without blushing at all. “An old Navy trick. A lonely sailor would take a jar of earthworms and?—”
“Got it.” Holy shit. “Did Cooper get his hundred bucks?”
“Yes,” she says proudly. “And I made him give me seventy-five because I did all the work.”
“Damn. Never thought I’d be this impressed by someone’s filthy mouth.”
Lana beams. “Thank you.”
I clear my throat. “Speaking of sex?—”
“Were we?”
That might’ve been just in my head. “I heard you tell your mother you’re hot for someone.”
“Did you now?” She twirls her pen between her fingers. “Eavesdropping’s not very nice, you know.”
“I’m aware.” And I also know I’m baiting her. “Anyone I know?”
“Perhaps.” Her smile turns coquettish. “Except apparently, kissing me was a mistake.” She uses air quotes for that last part, and I want to kick my own ass.
“Maybe not a mistake.” I consider another word. “Ill-advised.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real charmer?”
“No.”
“Shocker.”
“What was that about, anyway?” I lean forward in my chair, hungry for the heat of her. “What did your mom want you to do for her?”
Those blue eyes flicker. Just an instant and it’s gone. Her face stays stoic, her posture unchanged. It’s like watching her hold it together with duct tape and superglue.
“Just family stuff,” she says. “You know how it is.”
“Sure.” But I’m not certain I do.
Because something tells me Lana’s still living it. She’s still that little girl twirling with all her might on the red carpet.
It’s none of my business. Lana’s well-being isn’t mine to protect. “I should get going.”
“All right.” She points at her laptop. “I’m just about done with a list of proposed chowder stops for the next few months. I’ll email it by EOB today and you can add your own ideas.”
The spark in her eyes undoes me. Maybe that’s why I say it. “You’re coming with me.”
She blinks. “Where?”
“Chowder tasting.” Was that too forward? “I’m gonna need PR help, right?”
“I suppose.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “You mean we’d travel together?”
“Sure, why not?” It’s a stupid idea, but that doesn’t stop me. “Consider it damage control. Who knows what I might blurt in public without my trusty PR sidekick keeping me in line?”
It’s such utter bullshit that she has to see through it. She does see through it, right?
“You drive a hard bargain, Dal Yang.” Lana stands and sticks out her hand. As I wrap my fingers around hers, actual lightning arcs up my arm. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”