We talk no more of Jessica Jung that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D'Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Yoona has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I've accomplished so much for a Monday.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother's quilt around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and hazel eyes.

X

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Melatone. Yoona is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her blue-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in LA to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making - my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she's bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It'll be something new next week.

She worries me. I hope she hasn't mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Charles - her relatively new but much older husband - is keeping an eye on her now that I'm no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.

"How are things with you, Fany?"

For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom's full attention.

"I'm fine."

"Fany? Have you met someone?" Wow... how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable.

"No, Mom, it's nothing. You'll be the first to know if I do."

"Fany, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me."

"Mom, I'm fine. How's Charles?" As ever, distraction is the best policy.

Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom's Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. In fact, it's not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he's not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.

X

Friday night, Yoona and I are debating what to do with our evening - we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers - when the doorbell rings.

Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Taeyeon, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"Daedae! Great to see you!" I give her a quick hug. "Come in."

Taeyeon is the first person I met when I arrived at INU, looking as lost and lonely as I did.

We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we've been friends ever since.

Not only do we share a sense of humour, but we discovered that both Ray and Taeyeon's dad were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too.

Taeyeon is studying engineering and is the first in her family to make it to college. She's pretty damn bright, but her real passion is photography. Taeyeon has a great eye for a good picture.

"I have news." She grins, her dark eyes twinkling.

"Don't tell me - you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and she scowls playfully at me.

"The Gallery 4Walls is going to exhibit my photos next month."

"That's amazing - congratulations!" Delighted for her, I hug her again. Yoona beams at her too.

"Way to go Taeyeon unnie! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She grins.

"Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." Taeyeon looks intently at me. I flush.

"Both of you, of course," she adds, glancing nervously at Yoona.

Taeyeon and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, she'd like to be more. She's cute and funny, but she's just not for me. Taeyeon is more like the sister I never had. Yoona often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-lover gene, but the truth is - I just haven't met anyone who... well, whom I'm attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights.

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody's ever made me feel like that.

Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers.

NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Ms. Jung? I wince at the memory. I know I've dreamt about her most nights since then, but that's just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely?

I watch Taeyeon open the bottle of champagne. She's not very tall, and in her jeans and t-shirt she's all too skinny, fair skin, ash-grey coloured hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Taeyeon's pretty hot, but I think she's finally getting the message: we're just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Taeyeon looks up and smiles.

X

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Kwon, Jackson and Dahyun - the two other part-timers - and I are all rushed off our feet. But there's a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Kwon asks me to check on some orders while I'm sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I'm engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we've ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up... and find myself locked in the bold gaze of Jessica Jung who's standing at the counter, staring at me intently.

Heart failure.

"Miss Hwang. What a pleasant surprise." Her gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap. What the hell is she doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in her cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can't locate my brain or my voice.

"Ms. Jung," I whisper, because that's all I can manage. There's a ghost of a smile on her lips and her eyes are alight with humour, as if she's enjoying some private joke.

"I was in the area," she says by way of explanation. "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Hwang." Her voice is warm and sweet like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something.

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I'm blushing furiously under her steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of her standing before me. My memories of her did not do her justice. She's not merely good-looking - she's the epitome of female beauty, breathtaking, and she's here. Here in Melatone Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

"Fany. My name's Fany," I mutter. "What can I help you with, Ms. Jung?"

Jessica smiles, and again it's like she's privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I've-worked-in-this-shop-for-years facade. I can do this.

"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," she murmurs, her hazel eyes cool but amused.

Cable ties?

"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" I mutter, my voice soft and wavery.

Get a grip, Fany. A slight frown mars Jessica's rather lovely brow.

"Please. Lead the way, Miss Hwang," she says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I'm concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet - my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I'm so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

"They're in with the electrical goods, aisle eight." My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at her and regret it almost immediately. Damn, she's gorgeous. I blush.

"After you," she murmurs, gesturing with her long-, beautifully manicured hand. With my heart almost strangling me - because it's in my throat trying to escape from my mouth - I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is she in Incheon?

Why is she here at Melatone? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain - probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells - comes the thought: she's here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane woman want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

"Are you in Incheon on business?" I ask, and my voice is too high, like I've got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Fany!

"I was visiting the INU farming division. It's based at Incheon. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science," she says matter-of-factly. See? Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.

"All part of your feed-the-world plan?" I tease.

"Something like that," she acknowledges, and her lips quirk up in a half smile.

Jessica gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Melatone. What on Earth is she going to do with those? I cannot picture her as a do-it-yourselfer at all. Her fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. Jessica bends and selects a packet.

"These will do," she says with her oh-so-secret smile, and I blush.

"Is there anything else?"

"I'd like some masking tape."

Masking tape?

"Are you redecorating?" The words are out before I can stop them. Surely she hires labourers or has staff to help her decorate?

"No, not redecorating," she says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that she's laughing at me.

Am I that funny? Funny looking?

"This way," I murmur embarrassed. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle."

I glance behind me as she follows.