My Summer in Seoul

“Cream?” she repeated.

Oh shit.

Was there another word for cream?

“Milk?” I asked.

She frowned. “You want just milk?”

Searing heat crept across my face as someone grumbled behind me. Did I just grab all the drinks and deal with it? I tried again, this time pointing at the steam wand. “Cream?”

“Cream in a cup?” she asked in confusion.

“No.”

“No?”

I felt the onslaught of tears and tried to focus. “One of the Americanos needs to have milk in it.”

“Ahhh…” She nodded. “Milk added to the drink.”

I apologized to the person behind me, who looked like he needed coffee more than I did, and I must have done something wrong again because he stepped back like I was crowding his space.

They really shouldn’t let me out of the building by myself yet—where was my friggin’ keeper?

I handed over my credit card and waited while the barista swiped it, then almost forgot to receive the card and my receipt with both hands, meaning I almost impaled her with my fists as I grabbed my things and gave a curt bow.

At least the barista smiled like it was just another day at the coffee shop where a crazy American looked willing to sell her kidney for a cup of coffee!

Five minutes later, and I not only managed to make it back to the studio in record time, but I was feeling marginally better about the exchange. It wasn’t horrible, and if I could just learn a few simple words, things would be so much easier.

Just one more thing to study at night—the language, otherwise I wasn’t going to be helpful at all, and I’d end up returning home with a hunch in my back from all the stress—and even though I was on the fence about kids, I really did want a boyfriend.

The van pulled up to the curb; I hopped out and walked as fast as I could through the revolving door.

I felt triumphant as I walked back into practice, only to notice that every single one of the guys was on a break and drinking coffee.

Not my coffee.

Starbucks.

Tears stung my eyes as I made eye contact or attempted to make eye contact with each of the group members. I thought we were getting along. What happened? And why?

Rae sighed and slowly walked over to me; his red sneakers made a screeching noise against the wood floor. “Lucas had some delivered because you were taking so long.”

Embarrassed, I lowered my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him or anyone else. “I struggled with my order.”

“Looks like you got it right,” he whispered kindly.

“Yeah, well…” I forced a smile and looked up. “I guess I’ll just be drinking coffee for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, no big deal.”

“That”—he shook his head—“seems like a really bad idea for someone who already has enough energy to stay up all night and spy on Lucas.”

I frowned. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Give him his privacy. He’s in a bad place right now. Next time pretend you don’t hear anything, and he might start being nice to you.”

“So basically, be invisible,” I whispered, wondering why the words hurt so much to say out loud. Why did it matter? Was it because I was lonely? In a foreign country all by myself? Embarrassed?

Or just all of the above?

“I’m not sure that’s possible.” He reached for me, then dropped his hand and grabbed one of the Americanos even though he already had one in his other hand.

It was kindness like that which made me like him. One minute he was scolding me in a way that was gentle but firm, the next minute, he was saving me, it seemed, from myself.

I walked off and put the coffees on a nearby table, then sat on the chair next to it.

Every single guy finished his coffee, threw it away in the trash, then walked over and grabbed one that I bought, following suit, each of them repeating, “Gamsahapnida” or thank you. All except one.

Shocker.

Lucas walked over to the trash, dumped his, then grabbed the last remaining macchiato and threw it away, never once breaking eye contact with me like he wanted me to see him do it and wanted me to be hurt by it.

I smiled at him and looked away.

And could have sworn my lack of response made his entire body jerk toward me like he wanted me to be angry at him.

Maybe that was what he wanted.

Something to feed his anger. But all I had in me was a compliment. “I liked your voice.”

Even if he didn’t understand it.

It was all I had.

Chapter Seven

Rejection

Grace

I was in over my head.

And that was probably the millionth time I’d repeated that to myself as we all piled into the van—and then, all hell broke loose as Solia ran out to greet us.

“You have a license?” She was pointing her finger at me.