Hae-som, whose attention had wandered to the crops, was now playing with Jong-woo’s seven-year-old son.
The little boy had a developmental disability. His speech was slow and slightly slurred, and he always seemed a beat behind everyone else. But when Hae-som tickled the tip of his nose with a foxtail grass stem, he burst into bright, carefree laughter and took off in a game of tag like any other child his age.
They darted back and forth across the ridges and furrows between the fields. The boy laughed so hard he could barely catch his breath, and the sound carried across the farm.
And then there was Seong Hae-som, a master at give-and-take. She scampered away as nimbly as a squirrel, but the moment she noticed the boy beginning to tire, she let herself be caught without protest.
“I knew the moment I saw her. That child’s been raised with so much love. You can tell she’s been cherished her whole life. I always hoped Woo-seong would grow up the same way.”
Jong-woo looked on with a peaceful smile.
It was nothing like the man he’d been when he’d abandoned his career in botany and moved to the countryside after Woo-seong’s autism diagnosis.
The first time Jae-geon had seen him was while reviewing candidates for Not‘s partner farms.
There had been sprawling commercial farms equipped with cutting-edge facilities, others staffed by renowned agricultural researchers.
Ignoring Jun-won’s objections, Jae-geon had chosen Jong-woo’s modest, welcoming farm instead.
It wasn’t out of compassion.
He simply believed the sincerity of a man who loved his son.
If Jong-woo cared for his child that deeply, surely he’d care for the ingredients he supplied to Not with the same devotion.
Judging by the complete lack of problems since the restaurant opened, it had been the right decision.
Both Jong-woo and Woo-seong finally looked at peace.
Apparently Woo-seong had taken quite a liking to the pretty older sister. He clung to Hae-som’s back like glue, insisting they go play somewhere else. When her small frame staggered beneath his weight, Jong-woo sprang into action.
“Woo-seong, let’s play with Daddy. Noona has to go play with that uncle over there.”
Being lumped into the “uncle” category because of his age rubbed Jae-geon the wrong way.
He scratched lightly at his furrowed brow before taking a sip of lemon balm tea, his gaze never leaving Hae-som.
Completely oblivious to the “uncle” sitting nearby, Hae-som set off on a tour of the farm with Jong-woo. Perched on his father’s back, Woo-seong kicked his feet, begging to be put down.
Jae-geon kept watching the pretty figure growing farther away, hoping she’d look back just once.
She never did.
Bang!
The greenhouse door shut with a bang, leaving him staring at nothing.
For quite some time afterward, there wasn’t a trace of her.
“Well…”
She’s adorable.
The fact that he found both Hae-som—and himself for finding her so endearing—completely ridiculous left Jae-geon at a loss.
As the tour stretched on longer than expected, Jae-geon found himself recalling something he’d put out of his mind.
“Geoni.”
That was what his mentor, Jean Jacques, called him.
When Jae-geon joined Lefebvre as a Commis Chef after graduating from Le Cordon Bleu, there had already been another Korean chef with the surname Jung. Since “Jae-geon” was apparently too difficult to pronounce, the nickname had stuck.
That was Jean Jacques’s problem, not his.
To Jae-geon, it remained a nickname that made his skin crawl.
“Yes, Chef.”
“Don’t you miss me?”
“I’m afraid you’ll start showing up in my nightmares.”
Becoming the first Korean Head Chef at Argent had been an honor beyond his wildest dreams.
But Chef Jean had been far worse than Jae-geon ever was.
Any plate that earned a customer complaint went straight into the trash without mercy.
The chef responsible then had to dig it back out, identify exactly what had gone wrong with the dish, and write up both the flaws and the solutions in the form of French copywork (Lignes à copier).
If the ink smeared, they rewrote it.
If the handwriting slipped, they rewrote it.
If they failed to identify the real problem…
They rewrote it again.
He was controlling to the extreme, obsessive, and a perfectionist. As a mentor, he was the worst kind of person imaginable.
Ironically, during his years at Lefebvre and Argent, Jae-geon had absorbed every one of his mentor’s worst habits.
If someone fell short of his standards, he’d tear into them.
He kept pushing until they rose to his standards.
And if he saw no potential…
He cut them loose without hesitation.
Still… I’m a little better than he is, aren’t I?
“Whether you want to see me or not, you’ll have to. I’ve been invited to Korea.”
The man who was normally cold as ice let out an almost wheezy laugh.
“Hah, hah.”
Given his legendary reputation in the culinary world, it was no surprise the government had invited him as an honored guest.
“When?”
“I arrive on the fourteenth next month and leave on the twenty-second.”
The day he arrived and the day he left.
Out of courtesy, Jae-geon would have to spend at least two days with him, which meant clearing his schedule.
As soon as he checked the calendar, he frowned.
Why did the man have to arrive on a Saturday and leave on a Sunday?
As if his disciple’s desperately important weekend plans were none of his concern.
The only one disappointed by the disruption to that unspoken routine was Jae-geon.
Hae-som returned carrying a basket overflowing with figs, without the slightest trace of reluctance on her face.
For no particular reason, irritation got the better of him.
“Helping yourself in broad daylight? Those belong to the restaurant.”
“The figs? The owner said I could take some home to study.”
“Exactly. Why’s Park Jong-woo giving the orders? That’s supposed to be my job.”
Hae-som looked at him as though he was finding fault for the sake of it.
“Then… should I go put them back?”
“During your days off, I want one fig dish for each course—appetizer, entrée, main, and dessert.”
He’d meant it as punishment.
Instead, Hae-som’s gloomy face lit up like sunshine.
As if menu development was exactly what she’d been dying to do.
“Huh? Really? Thank you, Chef!”
Nothing ever seemed to go the way he’d intended.
Holding back a smile proved impossible.
It escaped through lips pressed tightly together.
“Put in the address.”
Already lost in thought with a fig in her hand, Hae-som looked up in confusion.
“Hm?”
“Your home address.”
He’d changed cars, so the old navigation history was gone.
All he remembered was that she lived somewhere in Bundang.
Jae-geon eyed the address beginning with “Yongin-si” suspiciously.
Hae-som smiled.
“There’s supposed to be a really famous restaurant around here. You made me breakfast, and you brought me to the farm, so lunch is on me. I’m big on give and take.”
That was refreshing in its own way.
The women around Jae-geon usually smiled sweetly while looking for a chance to seduce him—or schemed to squeeze something out of him.
Maybe it was because she’d spent the morning surrounded by the scent of earth she loved.
Hae-som remained in high spirits the entire drive, chattering away like a cheerful sparrow.
“By the way, Chef… why don’t you let us into the farm? Couldn’t the staff have permission to come too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Those are ingredients reserved for next season’s menu. If something goes wrong, are you going to cover the losses?”
Apparently she hadn’t considered that.
She quickly shut the mouth she’d opened to protest, though she continued to grumble under her breath.
When the restaurant had first opened, Jae-geon had been fairly lenient.
He’d thought perhaps wandering around the fields might spark the occasional idea.
As it turned out, people obsessed with cooking showed very little interest in how ingredients were produced.
In the end, Jae-geon was the only one who ever visited the farm.
That changed after one former employee—dismissed for reasons Jae-geon considered perfectly justified but the employee did not—set fire to one of the greenhouses.
Security had tightened ever since.
Even if he granted permission now, Hae-som would probably be the only person who’d ever come.
But Jae-geon had no intention of letting her visit alone.
Having the farm as an excuse was what allowed him to keep her close…
…and spend the night with her.
He’d stayed awake all night watching Hae-som sleep peacefully.
Yet somehow, the emptiness inside him had been filled.
It was nothing like the hollow comfort he’d found during those brief visits to his maternal relatives.
By then, the car had begun climbing a hill beside a stream swollen with monsoon rain.
Perhaps because the car rode so low, Hae-som’s small body bounced lightly with every rise in the road.
Her voice quivered just as much.
“Is the monk your maternal uncle or your father’s brother?”
So she’s finally curious about me?
“My maternal uncle.”
A trace of amusement crept into Jae-geon’s voice.
Hae-som pondered the answer as though testing whether he was telling the truth.
She spotted the sign for a makguksu restaurant and broke into a bright smile.
Whether because of the lingering monsoon or the awkward hour between lunch and dinner, the restaurant was far less crowded than its reputation suggested.
Hae-som settled into her seat as though she owned the place and, without even asking Jae-geon, ordered two bowls of makguksu and a plate of suyuk.
“You’ve been here before?”
“No.”
“Then how are you ordering with so much confidence?”
A pretty wrinkle formed across the bridge of her nose as she giggled.
“The owner said this is the way you have to order.”
While Hae-som arranged the chopsticks and spoon on her napkin, Jae-geon poured the warm noodle broth into a cup.
It was light, clean, and comforting.
Exactly Hae-som’s kind of flavor.
Sure enough, the cup she’d been sipping with equal parts curiosity and skepticism was empty in no time.
If you fill up on broth, there won’t be room for the actual meal.
He tried to signal for her to pace herself.
She ignored him completely.
Tilting the kettle nearly vertical, Hae-som shook out the very last drop before flashing him an embarrassed smile.
She made an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“What made you decide to become a chef?”
It was an ordinary bit of small talk.
Every career had a beginning.
And for someone who dreamed of becoming a world-class chef herself, Hae-som was naturally curious.
He knew it wasn’t much of a story.
Even so…
Jae-geon’s expression stiffened before he could stop it.