“Saranghaeyo,” I whisper against his silky hair. “Saranghaeyo.” I say it again and again and he says it back, quietly, and then louder. We stay in this moment, breathing the same air, repeating our love in English and in Korean as many times as we can until it takes shape between us. It is too big to become undone. I am a part of this place, this man, this clan. I love you. Saranghaeyo. I love you. Saranghaeyo. Saranghaeyo.
EPILOGUE
“Who are you staring at?” I wave my hand in front of Yujun’s nose. His hands are suspended in midair, one with a ball of hotteok dough and the other holding a spoon full of brown sugar, cinnamon, and roasted nuts.
He squints. “I think that’s Kim Seonpyung over there.”
“Who is that?”
“Your blind date,” Bomi supplies.
This clarifies nothing. “I’ve never gone on a blind date.”
“The animal hater.” Yujun straightens and dumps the filling inside the dough.
“Ah.” The light bulb turns on. He was the guy that Eomeo-nim thought would distract me from Yujun.
“Animal hater?” Bomi echoes.
Yujun pinches the dough shut and drops it onto the griddle. “I heard he was studying at Oxford.”
“Nursing a broken heart from being rejected by Hara.” Sangki clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He tamps down one side of the dough fritter with a flat metal disc and then flips the dessert over.
“We never dated,” I remind them as I slide two pork sandwich boats down to Jules, who serves them to the couple in front of her.
“Which is why he’s heartbroken. Makes perfect sense.” Yujun nods.
“I didn’t know he hated animals. I wouldn’t have put him on the list if I’d known that.” Bomi sounds distressed.
“He’s lying. Hi, can I help you?” I ask Kim Seonpyung as he steps forward.
His mouth opens but no words come out. His jaw is slightly unhinged as he stares at Yujun. “Choi Yujun-nim? Is that you?”
Yujun adjusts his face shield and smiles brightly. “Yes. Can I take your order?”
“Is the IF Group testing out a food-truck franchise?” Kim Seonpyung leans back to read my food-truck sign. “Taste of Ee-hwa?”
“Iowa,” Yujun corrects. “And, no, it is my girlfriend’s food truck.” He pats his wrist against my back so he doesn’t contaminate his gloved hands. “I’m helping out because”—he gestures toward the crowd—“it’s a busy night.”
“We’re doing a/b testing. Order two hotteoks and then vote with the jelly bean for which one you like better. The traditional brown sugar one or the raspberry jam one,” Sangki chirps.
Kim Seonpyung’s jaw drops even lower. “DJ Song? You’re . . . inside the truck?”
The sight of the heir to a half-billion-dollar international logistics company and one of the most famous singers in the country frying french fries and filling hotteok dough is taking Kim Seonpyung out. He can’t seem to process what he’s seeing. Behind him the line of people is starting to get restless. A few are craning their heads to see what is holding up service.
“Two pulled pork with kimchi slaw and fries coming right up.” I decide for him.
“Two?” Yujun asks.
“It’s time for you to take a break.” I bump my hip against his.
Jules pulls on his apron ties while Bomi knocks his face shield off. I throw two buns onto the griddle and toast them while Sangki works the fryer. He’s surprisingly good at it. We work like a well-oiled machine, and soon Yujun is pushed out the back door. It’s crowded when all five of us are in here anyway, but I need the extra hands tonight. The end-of-the-summer river festival is huge, which would be reason enough for the lines, but word got out that Ahn Sangki would be here helping, and that always draws a number of people wanting to see him wield a spatula.
He looks cute, though, so I don’t blame them.
“Oppa, you sounded awesome tonight,” cheers a young woman who ordered three of everything. We pile up several paper trays and she passes them out to her two starstruck friends.
“Thank you. Are you a Songbird?” Songbirds is the name of his fandom.
She nods eagerly and lifts up her hand to display his light stick dangling from her arm. The acrylic globe on the end of the plastic handle is still lit.
He grins. “Extra fries for you.”
One of her friends lifts up her camera phone to take a photo, but the girl buying the food pushes the device to the side. “You know the rules. No photos of oppa outside of official schedules.”
The friend grimaces.
“Extra hotteok, too.” I place another raspberry jam hotteok on the paper tray. Good behavior should be rewarded.
The trio waves to us as they carry their food away. “Your fan situation seems to be improving.”
“Yeah. I mean, certain parts are never going away”—he nods toward the group of five that seem to follow him everywhere—“but I get Squirtle out of it.” He taps the charm dangling from the window that one of his fans sent to the food truck when it opened.
“And you helped launch this place. I’m going to tell you a secret. I think you have so many fans because you’re a decent person and people like to be proud of the people they stan.”
His ears pinken. “Isn’t it my awesome voice?”
“Yes, but David Kim has an awesome voice and his last two singles were flops. Didn’t even chart for a day.”
Sangki’s grin widens. “I know. Isn’t it great?”
“Stop yapping and start cooking,” Jules interrupts. “Two porks, two fries, and two corns.”
I get to work and so does Sangki. When Jules and I first opened, Sangki sent a wreath, which is a Korean tradition. You send wreaths to weddings and funerals and school graduations and new business ventures and maybe even failed ones. Some are basic ones you’d find on a door at Christmas in Iowa, but many are three tiers with large satin banners hanging on either side. Sangki, of course, gave an extravagant one with four tiers instead of three. The banner said he hoped Taste of Iowa became his favorite place and, even if it didn’t, at least my blue truck was pretty.
Eomeo-nim and Yujun were slightly put out that their congratulatory wreath was outclassed, but I wrapped myself in Yujun’s banner that night and made it up to him.
The soft opening in Yongsan-gu right before Seollal, the New Year celebration, went well. Yujun brought his staff over and Bomi came as well. People who were used to getting food from Yang Ilwha were apprehensive at first, particularly because I wasn’t serving the same kind of food, but the good eats won them over. After Seollal, Sangki showed up with a camera crew. He videotaped himself in the tiny kitchen running potatoes through the mandoline, toasting buns for the sandwiches, and serving customers. He said he needed the fan content. I protested that it wasn’t fair, but after seeing how much he enjoyed working with us a couple of times a month, I didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He said that manning the deep fryer and hanging out after the truck closes down is the most normal thing in his life and he needs that. It is also the only time that all of us see one another because we are all so busy these days. Bomi and Yujun are neck-deep in work for the LA expansion. Sangki put a new album out and has a couple of television variety shows. I’m not sure if he sleeps even two hours a night some weeks.