Chef Jae-geon said, “It’s a movie every chef should watch. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?”

“No, Chef.”

She appreciated that he’d taken time out of his day to watch a movie with her, but she couldn’t figure out what any of this had to do with helping her sleep.

Still wearing a puzzled expression, Hae-som settled onto the sofa. A stream of deep violet wine flowed into the glass before her.

“It’s the perfect kind of movie to watch with wine.”

“…Yes.”

“Ever had proper wine before?”

“I’ve been to a few wine bars with friends.”

Perhaps sensing the edge in her reply, Jae-geon simply rephrased the question.

“I mean, have you ever had good wine?”

By “good,” he obviously wasn’t talking about the cheap bottles sold at convenience stores. He meant the kind that cost hundreds of thousands of won.

The aroma alone was different. Damp earth greeted her first. Then, as the wine met the air, its bouquet opened up—deep, masculine, and somehow reminiscent of Jae-geon himself.

He gently swirled the stem of his glass, savoring the bouquet, then lightly clinked his rim against hers.

The sound rang out.

A low murmur of appreciation escaped him as he tasted the wine. Even his breath carried the refined scent of cedar.

“Hae-som.”

She had only been wetting her dry lips in tiny sips. At the sound of her name, she sucked in a breath as he leaned toward her and reached out.

Wait… is he going to kiss me?

Her tense lips relaxed, and she lowered her eyes halfway in anticipation. Her wine-stained lips trembled ever so slightly.

Instead of his mouth, however, a perfectly shaped cherry slipped between them.

“I told you to eat while you drink.”

“Huh? Ah… yes, Chef.”

Why was he so determined to keep feeding her?

He’d been like this earlier, too. During dinner he’d marched straight over to the main team’s table and started criticizing what everyone was eating, saying chefs should know better than to ignore proper nutrition.

Jae-min had looked completely baffled.

Hwi and Han Seung-jun, on the other hand, exchanged knowing glances.

Maybe he had wanted to say that eating well helped people sleep better.

She wasn’t sure.

All Hae-som knew was that something about him felt… strange.

Jae-geon plucked the cherry stem from between her lips and casually placed it in his own mouth.

Is he eating that too? First pine needles, now cherry stems?

As she stared in disbelief, he rolled the stem around with his tongue before flicking out a neatly tied knot.

Hae-som’s face flushed.

Jae-geon let out a quiet chuckle.

Cherry stems gradually piled onto the empty plate, and before long they had finished their first glasses.

As he refilled hers, he asked,

“Who taught you how to drink?”

Her father had taught her proper drinking etiquette.

But the first alcohol she’d ever tasted had been on January 1st, the day she turned twenty, when Jong-myeong had poured her a cup of Songsunju (pine shoot wine) that he’d brewed himself. It had carried a delicate scent of fresh pine.

Even if they were as close as uncle and niece, he was still a monk.

Could she really admit that?

One look at her awkward silence, and Jae-geon burst into laughter.

“No wonder your drinking habits are such a disaster. You learned from him.”

After the company dinner she’d clung to him, completely drunk, begging him to let her sleep beside him.

Her drinking habits really were terrible.

Although that had more to do with Jae-geon than with her father or the monk.

Her throat suddenly felt dry, and Hae-som drained the rest of her wine without bothering to savor it.

Jae-geon’s gaze lingered on the empty bottom.

“Do you at least know your limit?”

“Half a bottle of soju. One bottle of makgeolli. I can’t drink much beer because it fills me up. Wine… I’ve only ever had a glass or two, so I don’t really know.”

“So you’re all over the place.”

With flawless pouring technique, he filled her empty glass again.

For a fleeting moment Hae-som found herself thinking he’d probably make an excellent dining room manager as well as a chef.

“If you pass out, I’m not going to eat you.”

He smiled.

“So while we’re at it, let’s find out what your limit really is.”

It sounded as though that had been the whole reason he’d invited her.

Not for sex.

Not to sleep together.

Hae-som, who had secretly hoped the evening would turn romantic, hurriedly lifted her glass in obvious embarrassment.

A faint purple ring stained her lips.

She didn’t notice.

Jae-geon noticed—and deliberately left it there.

Perhaps wine suited her better than soju.

She finished an entire bottle without even dropping her fork.

Only her face turned rosy, and each soft breath carried the bittersweet fragrance of wine.

Gentle moonlight seeped through the window.

A French film played without subtitles.

Sweet aromas mingled with the rich bouquet in the air.

It should have been the perfect atmosphere to fall asleep.

Yet sleep refused to come.

Perhaps it was because she couldn’t stop looking at the man whose face reminded her of Yoo Eun-ho—and yet wasn’t him at all.

Giving up on the unsubtitled film she couldn’t understand anyway, Hae-som simply turned to admire Jae-geon instead.

His eyes were long and sharp despite lacking double eyelids, framed by thick lashes that softened his otherwise cool features.

A proud nose.

Flawless skin.

Well-shaped lips.

…Those lips.

While her attention wandered, his tongue slipped out to sweep away the wine lingering on them.

Then he looked at her.

Maybe it was the wine, but his cheeks seemed faintly flushed as well.

Their eyes met.

“The movie doesn’t have subtitles,” she blurted.

“So you watched me instead?”

Without the slightest hint of surprise, Jae-geon spat another neatly tied cherry stem onto the plate.

At that exact moment, the same bottle of wine they were drinking appeared on the television screen.

The coincidence felt almost too perfect.

Surely… he didn’t plan all of this?

Without looking away from the movie, he began translating the dialogue on screen.

A gentle-looking man was teaching the woman beside him—his lover or perhaps his wife—how to taste wine.

“Wine tasting is simple. Just remember the four S’s. See. Swirl. Smell. Sip.”

He looked at Hae-som.

His quiet words unsettled her more than any language she couldn’t understand.

Onscreen, the man buried his nose against the woman’s body and drew in a deep breath.

“The finish—the lingering aftertaste—is the truest measure of a wine’s quality. Part your lips slightly… then exhale slowly through your nose.”