Outside, Jason instantly slaps a pair of sunglasses over his eyes—like that’s going to hide his identity—but I don’t argue.
Sophie grabs Tae Hwa’s arm. “Hey, we’re going to run a few errands before we go back, and we’ll take the motorbike. Jason, do you mind taking Grace back?” She glances at me. “Unless you want to come with us. I don’t know how we’d all fit on my bike, though.”
“No, it’s okay! I need to get back and do some homework anyway,” I say.
Really, I just don’t want to cut into Sophie’s alone time with Tae Hwa. Although she insists that they’re not dating and that she only likes him as a family friend, I have my doubts. For one, she touches him whenever possible … like now.
I wrap my arms around her in a swift hug. “Thanks again for the surprise Thanksgiving.”
“No problem,” she says. “It was fun!”
She and Tae Hwa turn and head down the street, disappearing into the crowd of other pedestrians and leaving me and Jason standing outside the restaurant. We make our way in the opposite direction from Sophie, his head down the entire way—whether because he doesn’t want to be recognized or he’s disappointed to be spending the rest of the evening with me, I don’t know.
“Do you want to head back now or walk around a bit first?” he asks. “I need to let the driver know.”
“Why does it not surprise me that you had someone drive you down here instead of taking the bus?”
He shrugs.
I peer up at the clear sky, where I know millions of tiny stars gleam down on us, even though I can’t see them through the smog and city lights. “I’ve got a lot of homework waiting for me,” I say.
His thumb hovers over the phone screen.
“That meant I don’t especially want to go back,” I add with a laugh.
“Oh.” He flashes me a rare smile as he shoots off the text.
We wander down the street, just two people lost in the crowds we never see on Ganghwa Island. Traffic creeps down the clogged streets, even though it’s already past seven o’clock and most work commuters have headed home.
A pair of girls brushes past us, then pauses, staring at me. One of them steps up to Jason, and I expect her to ask for an autograph. Or start screaming at the top of her lungs. Because that seems like a popular thing for Korean fangirls to do.
Though I really can’t judge. I went through my own boy band phase in middle school.
But instead of throwing herself at Jason, the girl pulls out a phone and points it at me. She looks at Jason and says something in Korean, and he responds with a nod.
“She wants a picture with you,” he says.
“What? Does she not know who you are?”
He chuckles. “I don’t know, but she didn’t ask for me to be in the picture.”
The girl flashes me a smile. “Picture please.”
“Umm … okay.”
She and her friend giggle as they flank me. They throw up peace signs, so I jump in on that action. After Jason flashes the picture, the girls give me low bows.
“Thank you,” they say, then scurry away, chattering to each other.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Jason laughs under his breath. “They recognized you from American tabloids. They said they like you because of your hair.”
“Oh. Well, that’s a new one.”
The only people I’m used to being recognized by are aspiring musicians hoping to use me to get to Dad. Or, more recently, reporters looking for a new scoop on my family drama.
He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “It’s kind of nice. You being the one they recognize instead of me. Maybe I should hang out with you more often.”
My stomach flips at the suggestion.
But then he says, “Not that I understand why they like you because of your hair.”
I bristle, all fuzzy feelings now dead. “Well, maybe some people appreciate blond hair.”
“I guess.” He shrugs. “But it just looks fake to me. Almost everyone who’s blond isn’t naturally blond.”
My temper flares, and I’m ready to inform him that I am, in fact, a natural blonde—until I see the wry smile on his lips. I roll my eyes. I almost liked him better before he discovered a sense of humor.
“Yeah, well, I can’t really see why people like Korean boy bands, either,” I say.
He chuckles. “So, did you like your Thanksgiving dinner?” he asks as we pass a giant bank building with windows illuminated and people still sitting at desks.
“I did. I’m assuming it was Sophie’s idea.”
A smile plays at his lips. “Mine, actually.”
I scoff, though I can’t deny the spark of appreciation that ignites in my chest.
“I’m sure you miss being with your family,” he says.
The warmth coursing through me at his thoughtfulness instantly freezes. “My family. Right. Well, actually, I’m sort of glad to not be there. It sounds terrible, but it’s true.”
He glances sideways at me. “Why don’t you want to be with them?”
I blow out a long breath, scuffing my shoes against the sidewalk. “There’s just a lot of tension at home these days. And I don’t get along with my mother very well.”
Saying it out loud, I feel a rush of relief. The anxiety piling up inside me since I received her email seeps out with each word.
My voice drops to a murmur. “She sort of hates me, honestly.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. She’s your mom.”
I bark a laugh, but it’s filled more with pain than amusement. “You don’t know my mother.”
We’re silent so long, I fear I’ve made him uncomfortable. I open my mouth to break the awkwardness, but he beats me to it. “My father and I haven’t spoken in three years. Your relationship with your mother can’t be as bad as that.”
I deny the urge to gape at him, not because of his confession but because he said it at all. He’s not exactly one to provide details about himself.
“What happened between you two?” I add quickly, “If you don’t mind my asking.”