Chanyeol seemed to thaw on the journey home. Iseul was relieved. He’d been completely rocked by his father’s intrusion and she’d found it unnerving. She’d had enough family problems in her past without getting involved in someone else’s.

It was quite bizarre the way their roles had reversed. When she’d set out this evening, she’d been the one who was tense—and yet she’d progressed, during the course of one meal, from deep suspicion to complete trust. So many things she’d learned about Chanyeol. So many wrong impressions unlearned. Such a lovely, lovely, sensational kiss.

And then his father had barged in and it was almost as if he’d pulled a switch. The beautiful evening had fallen apart. Chanyeol had fallen apart, his vulnerability exposed. Iseul had recognised his pain, had understood too well. And she was relieved, as they drove through the dark Busan streets, that Chanyeol was slowly coming back to life. He entertained her with easy chatter about a funny movie he’d seen last week and by the time they reached the end of her street they were both laughing.

“That’s my building over there,” she said, pointing to the tall block of modern apartments halfway down the street. “There’s a parking space opposite.”

She wondered if she should invite Chanyeol in for coffee. Would he read too much into that? Their kiss had been off the scale, but it wouldn’t be wise to take things any further. It wouldn’t, would it?

“Thanks very much,” she said. “I’m glad we had the chance to talk everything through. And the meal was wonderful.”

“My pleasure.”

Was this goodbye? She wondered if she would ever see him again and was rather startled by the unhappy pang in her heart at the thought of Park Chanyeol disappearing from her life.

“What about coffee?”

Goodness. The words had spilled out before she had time for second thoughts. “Except I—I usually have hot chocolate at this time of night,” she added awkwardly.

Oh, no. Was that worse? Now she sounded like a nervous schoolgirl.

But Chanyeol didn’t seem to notice. “You’ve tempted me,” he said and there was a definite smile in his voice. “I don’t think I’ve had hot chocolate since I was at boarding school.”

“Right.”

She was super-conscious of his tall, very masculine presence beside her as they crossed the dark road and climbed the dimly lit stairs to her apartment. She tried to think about hot chocolate and conversation, but kept remembering his kiss. Her skin felt warm and tight all over.

It was almost a relief to be inside her apartment. To switch on the lights. Home ground. The layout of her living area and kitchen was open-plan, much like Chanyeol’s flat, but her apartment was much bigger. Very shiny and new, of course, and she’d splashed out on expensive, trendy furnishings. Heading straight for the kitchen, she filled a saucepan with milk and set it on the stove.

“Grab one of those stools while I make this. Or are you sure you wouldn’t prefer coffee?”

“Hot chocolate’s fine.”

Chanyeol looked about the apartment, taking in her purple feature wall and the mezzanine level study, the minimalist storage unit and wide expanse of blonde timber flooring.

“This is very nice.”

“Thanks. I suppose you were expecting something more traditional and suburban.”

“Not especially. Why should I?”

He was looking at her blankly. He hadn’t a clue.

Iseul almost skipped with delight. If she’d wanted final proof that Chanyeol had not read her diary, here it was. She’d written at length about a fantasy from her childhood—her dream of a four-bedroom brick home, surrounded by pergolas and gardens, with a jacaranda tree in the front yard. She’d described every room in detail…the island bench in the kitchen, the sunken lounge…a dining room big enough for Christmas and birthday parties.

Chanyeol was looking puzzled and she turned quickly and buried her face in a cupboard and made a business of selecting mugs. “Part of me has always wanted a very traditional suburban home,” she told him over her shoulder. “A sop to my deepest insecurities, I should think.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It sounds very—”

“Unimaginative?” She spun around, clutching the mugs to her chest, her favourite mugs with blue-green dragonflies painted on them.

His smile was reproachful. “Unimaginative was not the word I had in mind. As a matter of fact, I can understand. I was envious of kids in the suburbs when I was growing up. I lived in a huge mansion, but all I wanted was a butter-box house with a backyard barbecue, a basketball hoop and a clothes-line full of washing.”

“And kids next door to play with,” Iseul said, smiling.

“You’ve got the picture.” Chanyeol’s smile was so warm Iseul had to turn away quickly and concentrate very hard on spooning chocolate into mugs. It was time to remember the lecture she’d given herself at the start of this evening. No melting over Park Chanyeol. Time to remember that nothing had really changed for her.

She was still an emotional mess inside. Still had a trail of broken relationships behind her… Like the house with the jacaranda tree in the suburbs, a lasting love was a fantasy for her, a silly pipedream. Her burdensome secret got in the way of her happiness. Every time. Behind her the saucepan of milk threatened to boil over and she turned to lift it from the heat.

“There’s a light blinking on your phone. Probably a voice message,” Chanyeol said as she poured hot milk into mugs.

The telephone was sitting on the counter and she gave it a cursory glance as she stirred briskly to dissolve recalcitrant blobs of powdered chocolate. Sally or Audrey might have called, anxious to know if she’d struck a deal with Chanyeol. Or perhaps they had news of their own.

“Excuse me,” she said and she quickly dialled her message bank. It wasn’t Sally or Audrey. It was her grandfather’s housekeeper. As soon as Iseul heard her voice, she felt a betraying lump in .

“Iseul, it’s Mrs Kim here. I thought I ought to warn you that I’ve been trying to persuade your grandfather to make contact with you