Chapter 25. Lee Jaeheon (5)

With a tired face, Eunkyo took out her laptop and sat by the window. For some reason, she didn’t feel like going home tonight, so she stayed behind in the closed café, continuing her work alone.

Sometimes, negative emotions were oddly helpful when it came to writing—and today was exactly that kind of day.

Rain trickled steadily outside, and her mood sank with it.

So she poured herself some warm barley tea into a tumbler, grabbed a few leftover cookies, and sat in Heada’s most popular spot by the window.

‘Still not home yet, huh…’

Out of all places, her eyes landed on Jaeheon’s car parked outside. It was still there, exactly as it had been earlier that day.

Eunkyo had readily agreed to Kim Haeda’s offer to set her up on a blind date. Maybe the reason she kept getting swept up by Lee Jaeheon was simply because she longed for someone’s warmth.

She hadn’t realized how lonely she was until Jaeheon came into her life—like a shot of dopamine waking her from numbness.

So she decided to meet someone else. If she ended up feeling butterflies from someone else’s kindness or charm, then it would prove it was nothing more than a shallow illusion born from loneliness.

“Ugh…”

Eunkyo stretched, arms wide above her head.

Everything was going surprisingly smoothly, and that made her feel oddly unsettled. Professor Seo had been thrilled when she accepted his lecture offer. Her new synopsis had been accepted by the publisher. And the part-time hire was a total gem.

Now, all she had to do was keep moving forward—no more worries or hang-ups.

Knock knock.

As she tapped away at the keyboard, a soft sound came from the window to her right. She turned her head—and there was Jaeheon, face stiff, pointing to the door with his finger.

Eunkyo crossed her arms into an X.

“We’re closed.”

He understood her perfectly and frowned. Raising a single eyebrow, he tapped the glass again—precisely three times.

Knock, knock, knock.

Something about the clarity of that sound made her sigh and get up. Jaeheon matched her pace as she walked to the door.

She stood on tiptoe to reach the lock and turned it with a quiet click.

“We’re closed, Lee Jaeheon.”

The words came out sharper than she intended. But he just stepped inside casually and locked the door behind him—without standing on tiptoe or even fully extending his arm.

“I’m not here for coffee, don’t worry.”

“Then why are you here? Where are your girlfriends?”

His frown deepened. “Probably somewhere,” he said vaguely, heading straight for the seat she’d been using.

Apparently, Jaeheon no longer had any intention of pretending in front of her. He’d fully taken off that polite mask he wore for others.

He pulled the chair back, crossed his long legs, and sat down. Scowling at him, Eunkyo walked behind the counter and returned with a cold brew diluted with ice water.

“Drink it. I made it for myself earlier. It’s not poisoned.”

“Thanks, sunbae.”

Back at her seat, she ignored his steady gaze and focused on the words on her screen.

After taking a slow sip of coffee, Jaeheon leaned slightly forward and asked,

“How was your day?”

That’s random. How was her day?

The cursor blinked on screen as her fingers—still resting on the K key—accidentally filled the line with dozens of Ks. She backspaced as she answered,

“I worked. Rainy days are good for dessert sales. Mopped the floor a lot. We had a lot of customers.”

In other words: she’d been too busy to think.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. If you felt lonely today.”

There it is. A sharp, well-aimed jab. Like a needle she didn’t see coming, his question hit her squarely in the chest. She bit her inner lip and looked up.

“Your flirting’s clumsy. Guess that’s what younger guys think works these days?”

Jaeheon rubbed his lips and chuckled.

“Wouldn’t know. Never tried before.”

Yeah, right. Liar.

“Anyway, I’m not interested. I’ll admit you’re good-looking and charming… but you’re too young. You’re just a kid to me. So go date someone your own age.”

She dropped her gaze back to her monitor. But she could still feel his stare—like black ink slowly seeping through the page. Sharp. Disruptive.

Is he mad? Because I called him a kid?