Anya:

  It’s nightfall and my nerves are getting the best of me. I watch the clock ticking by the hours that will bring me ever closer to my first day of school tomorrow.

  Now that I’m alone in this huge house, the guest bedroom seems to have brought out some sort of claustrophobia I didn’t know I had. So, I take my murder mystery novel in the huge kitchen. I acknowledge the irony in my choice of reading matter given I’m trying to calm my nerves, but this space does bestow a sort of peace I can’t explain. I always enjoy reading and listening to audio books simultaneously. The immersion to both senses distracts me completely from the whirl inside my mind. This story is particularly interesting. It’s a chilling tale of an African night runner, and the sound effects are an added bonus. The suspense is killing me, but just as the story takes an unexpected turn and the narrator takes a breath, there’s a tap on my shoulder and I look up to see a man standing above me.

  “Anya?” he says.

  I’m so startled, I scream and almost tumble off the kitchen stool. His reactions are fast, though, and he grabs my shoulder to steady me.

  I immediately take off my headphones and catch my breath, hand to my chest. The timing of that couldn’t have been worse.

  “Fuck,” he blurts, his body inches from mine.

  “You scared the living shit out of me,” I say, as his familiar face finally registers in my brain. “Taeho?”

  He chuckles, still clutching my shoulder.

  That’s when I notice the big barn door open behind him and it all becomes clear. “You’re… you’re the son?” I ask.

  “Um… yeah, I guess I am.” His half smile widens across his face and the effect is immediate. Does he know that smile is my kryptonite and I’m totally weakened by it.

  We both take a breath to process what we’re seeing.

  “Are you ok? Do I need to get a defibrillator from somewhere?” He smirks.

  Almost, I think, but I laugh at his joke anyway. More so because I’m glad it’s him and not some actual night runner who’s broken in and about to terrorize me.

  He’s still holding onto me, but he looks a little more disheveled than he did yesterday. His hair has fallen into his eyes, and his 5 o’clock shadow is just showing around his jawline. It suits him. He’s looking more ruggedly handsome by the minute and my heart is racing like crazy.

  Maybe that’s from the scare, though, right? Sure.

  “I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” I’m starting to babble already, and I cringe. Phrases that my ex would use start ringing in my ears: Stop being such a bumbling idiot and talk to this person like a normal human-being. I hate it.

  “It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, isn’t it?” He laughs.

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  “Yeah… serendipitous.” I think that’s a better word to describe this meeting. Or maybe a meet-cute would be even more perfect?

  No. You’re not here for this, remember? I have to mentally shout at myself.

  Plus, I’m pretty sure Mrs. Kim mentioned he’s the son who’s getting married. So, he’s taken. Off limits. Not available. All the different ways can I tell myself he’s “not on the market” are running rampant through my brain, and the disappointment is crushing. Why my brain is going to “disappointment” first is beyond me. I’m not here to find love, I’m not here for anything casual or a “some” as the Korean-dramas would say, and I’m certainly not here for a “situationship”. So why should I let emotions into this? Even if I wanted more, this guy is out of the running, and I can no longer even let myself think of him as anything more than an acquaintance. A friend? Maybe. But definitely nothing more.

  I smile a weak smile, pushing past all these stupid thoughts, and my gaze falls down to his arm as his hand is still pressed on my shoulder. The shadows cast by the dimmed kitchen lighting dance on his defined biceps. Great. That kind of thing isn’t going to help me stop thinking about him.

  He must have noticed me staring because he abruptly pulls away. “Oh, sorry.”

  No, it’s fine. You can touch me, is all I want to say to him. Saying it out loud would be wholly inappropriate knowing he’s taken now.

  God, why did Mrs. Kim’s son have to be him of all people? I mean, how many Korean parents have sons who are actually doctors? It’s probably pretty common, I know, but never in a million years would I have thought the hot doctor I sat next to on the plane would be “the” son.

  I’m a little at a loss for words after our rather awkward reconnection, but as he walks over to the fridge to rummage for food he asks, “So … are you feeling more like your old self today?”

  I’m sure he’s referring back to what I said on the plane yesterday and I’m surprised he remembered.

  “I… I’m not sure if I want to,” I reply.

  He turns away from the open fridge to face me, one eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve felt like myself since I got here. And I don’t think I hate that feeling.”

  “I see…” He trails off as the same look of concern he wore yesterday comes back to him. “So, you’re feeling like a new woman, then?”

  “Something like that,” I smile.

  “Well, I’m glad that you’re OK at least,” he says while turning back to the fridge and gathering food containers before spreading them out on the island.

  “You have a funny way of showing it. After all, you left your wife stranded at the airport,” I tease.

  “Oh, you caught that did you?” He chuckles, his smile widening even further. I can’t help but blush. “Um… I just didn’t want to get into a drama with the flight attendant,” he adds.

  “And the best way to do that was tell her I was your wife?”

  “Yep.” He doesn’t skip a beat.

  I roll my eyes. “Makes total sense,” I say sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it to make you uncomfortable. I just didn’t want what happened on the plane to become an official medical emergency. Otherwise, there would have been an inquiry and then I’d had to have filed a report.” he says while separating the food out onto smaller individual serving plates.

  “Oh, I see. So, making me your wife was an easy out for you?”

  “Guilty.” He nods at me with a wink. “But hey, how about I make it up to you?” He points at the plethora of food dishes he’s put together.

  “Your big gesture is reheating a meal that your mom made?” I snort.

  We both erupt into laughter, and his laugh is something else. I could listen to it all day but the feelings he’s giving me in the pit of my stomach aren’t supposed to be there—damn these butterflies? This seriously isn’t helping me not crush on him. Why did he have to come here at all? This hot doctor, that I thought I was never going to see again, is standing across from me on the other side of this island making me food, and making me laugh. And yet, he’s completely unattainable.

  He’s taken.

  ?Sky Mincharo