After changing into the spare chef whites she kept in her locker, Hae-som checked the time on the corner of her phone.
There was still a long while before the ingredients would be delivered, so she had time to kill. She thought about curling up in the changing room for a short nap, but the cool air there only drove sleep away.
Maybe she just wasn’t meant to get proper rest. She decided to study cooking instead. As luck would have it, she had brought along one of Jean Jacques’s cookbooks—the chef Jae-geon had trained under.
She headed for Table 3, the same table Jae-geon had once invited her to. It had especially good light, the kind of place that seemed like it could lift a bad mood.
Hae-som opened to the Tarte Tatin page, guessing that was the one Jae-geon had used as reference.
Even in her dazed state, she had roughly copied the recipe for the green apple filling. But she had no way to know the recipe for the dough he had made ahead and left to rest. He must have changed it, but if it came from the same root recipe, the base would probably be similar.
Following the path laid out by the sunlight, Hae-som’s eyes moved quietly over the curling French letters. The sweet smell of apples and the crisp texture of the pastry came back to her and gently stirred her tired mind.
“Three Granny Smiths, one unsalted butter, Calvados.”
Jae-geon’s voice droned in her ears like white noise.
The afternoon sun pressing over her swollen eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Even the small sounds she would normally catch felt far away, like waves from a distant sea.
Her gaze drifted loose across the page. Then her head tipped forward as if a branch had snapped, and dropped onto Jean Jacques’s cookbook.
Pine needles taste different depending on where they grow.
The sea pines near the coast carried a strong salty taste, while the pine needles from clean mountain forests were sweet through and through. The pines in the middle of Seoul tasted dull and empty.
That plain pine scent that burst out as the long needles snapped made Jae-geon turn away without regret.
“Jung Jae-geon.”
The view from Inwangsan was still good. His eyes lingered for a moment on the tall buildings dotted through the green landscape below, then he turned his attention to the phone that kept demanding an answer.
The caller saved as [Monk] was growing impatient on the other end.
“Do this uncle a favor, will you? Hm?”
“Instead of forcing fake charm, you should be chanting, Monk. No wonder you’re called that—training always comes second with you.”
“I’m not asking for drinking money, and I’m not telling you to make some huge offering. I’m just asking you to show your face for a bit on your mother’s birthday. Is that really such a big thing?”
“What are you, a party planner? Why do you make such a big deal out of a dead person’s birthday every year?”
At Jae-geon’s cold reply, he heard an awkward cough through the phone. The thought of him scratching the side of his graying head for no reason only soured his mood more, so he added,
“I’m busy.”
It wasn’t just an excuse. For the next few days, he really would be buried in tasting prep.
“No matter how busy—”
“I’ll see.”
“And when you come, bring a cake your mother can eat too. What kind of head chef shows up empty-handed every time?”
Without giving a clear answer, Jae-geon hung up. His face stayed heavy as he walked down the trail.
By the time the takeout coffee he had gotten from the Inwangsan guard post bookstore was almost gone, his phone rang again.
Had everyone decided today was the day to annoy him? Frowning, he raised the phone to his ear.
“This is Park Jong-woo from Farm to Table.”
Had something gone wrong with the crops? The man sounded hurried. Jae-geon tossed back the rest of his coffee in one gulp and crushed the empty cup in his hand.
“What happened?”
“I’m here to deliver, but there’s no one around. If you’re nearby, I was hoping you could receive it.”
They had been doing business for over four years, and he still didn’t know the opening time? The needless fuss made Jae-geon’s irritation rise.
“Just leave it in front. Vegetables don’t spoil like seafood. It’s never been a problem before.”
“What do you mean? I did that once last time, and your little one at Not gave me hell for it.”
“…Who?”
“Ah, Hae-som. The new youngest one you hired not long ago. She usually waits for me like a meerkat, so I was wondering why she was late today.”
The corner of Jae-geon’s mouth, which had tilted a little, curved into a smooth line. His eyes dropped to the hour hand on his watch. It was four hours earlier than normal work time. Just how hard had she been pushing herself all this time?
“Anyway, if you’re nearby, come get it. I’m afraid she’ll scold me again if the vegetables go bad.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
The crushed cup flew in a clean arc and dropped into the trash can. His steps toward Not felt lighter than usual.
Park Jong-woo, leaning by the stacked boxes in front of the lobby, narrowed his eyes.
“Well now, so hiking’s the secret behind that model-level body of yours, Chef.”
It wasn’t ideal to greet a supplier dressed in hiking clothes, but he had no other choice. If anything, it suited carrying boxes.
Jae-geon flattened the praise with a bland smile and unlocked the main building door. With a grunt, Jong-woo carried in another box and said, while looking off to one side,
“You hired a good newbie.”
Jae-geon, who had been thinking about helping him carry the load, turned at the odd comment. Jong-woo set the box on the floor and pointed toward the window.
“Kids these days are quick to slack off and blame work-life balance. It’s rare to see one work with that much drive.”
By the window, in the soft sunlight, a white lump was napping with a thick cookbook for a pillow. Each time she breathed in and out, her curled-up back rose and fell.
So she wasn’t late—she had come absurdly early and settled in. The fact that she had tried to squeeze in some studying while waiting for the delivery was almost admirable.
Even if what Jae-geon saw was just a rookie passed out with her face buried in his teacher’s book.
Jong-woo spotted the slight shift at the edge of Jae-geon’s usually firm mouth and added with a grin,
“She seemed dead serious about wanting to visit the farm too. You should give her a big reward for being that earnest.”
“…”
“I’ll get going now. Take care.”
Jae-geon steadied his uneven breathing until Jong-woo’s truck disappeared completely, then walked over to Hae-som.
She must have been deeply asleep, because she didn’t notice him even when he came right up beside her. Maybe the long, cool shade had eased her eyes—her breathing only grew deeper.
Maybe it was because he had only ever seen her hopping around like a rabbit, busy all day, but seeing Hae-som this defenseless felt strangely unfamiliar. From the front she looked nothing but cute, just like Bambi, but from the side her face looked slim and pretty. At least she looked a little less childlike that way.
How much time passed like that? Her arm, hanging off the table as if the sunlight had melted it loose, slowly slipped downward through the air.
He caught it at once and moved it back into place, and then a scent that felt oddly out of place brushed past him.
“…….”
Startled by the unfamiliar scent of shampoo, Jae-geon froze and focused all his attention on his sense of smell.
It was a woody scent—the kind a girl her age would never use.
……Does she have a boyfriend? She seemed so innocent, like she had no interest in romance at all.
Phew, phew.
Hot breath seeped unfiltered into him from below the waist where her round head rested.
Heat he couldn’t hide swelled hard beneath the faint rustle of the Gore-Tex fabric. Looking down at the clearly defined bulge, Jae-geon nervously bit his lip.
He wasn’t some animal, and what was this, with a guy ten years his junior?
“……Damn.”
His mind grew as cold as ice, but his instincts below the waist, as if oblivious to him, continued their damp, throbbing rhythm in time with Hae-som’s steady breathing.
It was driving him mad.
The mountain village looked like a small copy of Inwangsan set down in the countryside. A sleek Cadillac climbed the steep hill without trouble.
The moment he rolled down the window, the smell of grass, pine, and soil rushed in. Those raw, natural scents hit him all at once. For the first time, the drive back home—from Seoul to Seoan—didn’t feel that unwelcome.
Jae-geon parked by the sign reading “Hunam-sa 0.5 km” and walked the rest of the way. Partly to finally get some time in the woods, partly to settle his messy thoughts.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
There was something oddly satisfying about the steady sound of metal being struck. If only he could throw all the things filling his head into that noise.
“Huh? The ingredients didn’t come today? No, that’s not right… then why is this here…?”
“Why do you think?”
Hae-som had been flustered by the ingredients that had already been brought in, then looked up at him all clumsy and confused. The round look in her eyes, asking what was going on, had almost made him laugh.
He barely held it in and pinched a frown into his brow, only to get an awkward thank-you in return.
“Thank you.”
Maybe it was because her hands were small, but the way she sorted ingredients looked like she was playing house. As if she noticed Jae-geon’s long gaze on her, Hae-som’s small face colored like an unripe plum.
It wasn’t even that strange a thought, yet the front of his pants had already made its presence known before long. Like it had become a habit.
If he had seen Seong Hae-som as a woman from the start, maybe he wouldn’t have felt this unfairly cornered. He had only thought her actions were admirable. Never once had he thought of her in that way.
And that was exactly why he had come here—to crush one kind of stress with an even worse one.
“Bangjja Yugi Artisan Seo Seok-su.” Under the plaque bearing his maternal grandfather’s name, Jae-geon let out a dull sigh as he watched a woman in her mid-forties cross the yard toward him.
“Welcome home!”
His grandfather was too busy hammering away to notice him, and his grandmother, who had been crouched in one corner of the yard washing ssam vegetables, came waddling over.
“What brings you here.”
She didn’t look especially happy to see him. Since he felt much the same, it didn’t hurt much. That was just how the Seo family was. He had learned that long ago.
As Yoon-hee took the cake from Jae-geon, she shot his grandmother a look.
“What do you mean, what brings him here? It’s his mother’s birthday, so he came to pay his respects and show Grandma and Grandpa his handsome face. Really, Mother, the more I watch, the colder you seem.”
“And you’re a fool too if you only notice that by watching. Coming here every year on your husband’s ex-wife’s birthday like this—don’t you have any pride?”
“I may have no pride and no sense, but I do have money.”
“Must make life easy.”
A stepmother who carefully looked after the dead ex-wife’s parents in her place, and maternal relatives who treated that stepmother warmly in return.
How much longer would he have to watch before it started to feel normal?
His memories of his birth mother had faded long ago, but that didn’t mean he wanted to fill the empty space with someone else. That was why their closeness still rubbed him the wrong way now and then.
Jae-geon smiled thinly and looked around. The shaven-headed man who would usually be sitting among them and chatting away was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Uncle?”
“He went to meet a guest coming from Seoul.”
Who else but Jung Jae-geon would come all the way from Seoul to this remote place to deserve being met halfway like that?
Without thinking, Jae-geon’s gaze drifted to the sign in the distance.
Hunam-sa 0.5 km.