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(2 years later)

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"Aigoo!" shouted Jan-di in frustration as she felt the heel of her shoe catch in a crack in the sidewalk and snap off. She stumbled against the brick building beside her, snagging the weave of her sweater on the rough surface, making a jagged hole in the sleeve. Today of all days, she could not spare a moment for the small catastrophes that seemed to follow her around.

I should have known not to wear heels, she chided herself. No matter how much practice I get, I've never really learned to walk in them. Making a decision, she pulled the strappy shoes off and ran barefoot down the street to a small clothing shop at the corner that she remembered from when she and her family used to live in this district. Murmuring a prayer of thanks that it was still there, she ducked inside and bought an inexpensive pair of soft canvas trainers. Catching sight of herself in the mirror next to the door, she stifled a laugh. She was pretty sure lime green sneakers were not the accessory Jun-hee unni had had in mind when she'd bought Jan-di the elegant rose-colored dress as this year's birthday gift.

Birthday! she remembered, and bowed a hasty goodbye to the ajhumma before running out of the store. Hee-jin's 5th birthday party would start in an hour, and Jan-di still needed to run by the bakery for the birthday cake, make the seaweed soup, and pick up Hee-jin from kindergarten. How was she going to get it all done? She steeled herself and picked up the pace. By the time she got to the bakery, she was out of breath. Worse, the decorator was still putting the finishing touches on the cake, so Jan-di had to wait. Hee-jin had wanted a mermaid themed party, so the baker had designed a beautiful two-tiered Italian cream cake covered with overlapping "scales" made of carefully cut fondant brushed with blue-green pearlescent powder so that it shimmered and sparkled liked a true undersea creature. Gossamer ribbons of spun sugar swirled around the base of the cake, and a perfectly sculpted mermaid princess perched on the top layer, her crown emblazoned with tiny candy jewels.

Jan-di watched as the last of the glossy piping was applied, marveling at the extravagant confection, its appearance so unlike the homely and modest birthday cakes of her youth. And yet, her mother had baked her love into every one of them, and Jan-di doubted that even this beautiful monstrosity would taste as good as the homemade raisin nut cake Jan-di had received on her 5th birthday. She smiled at the memory. Her father had carried her around the room on his shoulders, shouting huzzahs and happy birthdays to her until the neighbor had pounded on the wall to complain about the noise. They had laughed together, and then he had resumed his marching, his chanting turned down to a comical whisper. She had felt so loved. She hoped that Hee-jin would feel the same. If only Jun-pyo could be here… Jan-di swiped away a traitorous tear—they still surprised her at odd moments—and forced herself to focus on the time. Only forty minutes left!

The sound of violin music interrupted her panic. Her phone. She fished it out from the recesses of her purse and answered it, "Hello?"

"I'm leaving the clinic and thought you might need an extra hand," came a welcome voice. "Would you like me to stop by Hee-jin's school and pick her up?"

"Sunbae!" Relief flooded through her. "Yes, please. That would help so much. I'm stuck at the bakery, and I'm running out of time!"

Ji-hoo chuckled softly at the frustration in her voice. Jan-di had meant to leave work earlier in the day, he knew, but a last-minute patient had come in with worry etched on her face, asking to see "the lady doctor". Soft-hearted Jan-di couldn't turn her away. Despite her tight schedule, she had given the woman all her attention, taking care to make sure she didn't feel rushed as she spilled her concerns. The compassion that flowed naturally through Jan-di always touched Ji-hoo. She was like a tiny sun that warmed everyone around her, including him. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

"Don't worry," he said. "Do what you need to do. The two of us will meet you at your place."

Jan-di felt her stress drain away as she hung up. Now that Ji-hoo sunbae was involved, she knew everything would fall into place. He had a way of making things work out. She wasn't even surprised that he had called; he always seemed to know when she needed him most. My firefighter, she thought fondly. How would Hee-jin and I have survived this long without him?

The first year after Jun-pyo's death had been the hardest. It seemed that every corner of Seoul, every date on the calendar, was filled with memories of Jun-pyo. They had assailed her at every turn, flooding her with grief, blinding her with tears. There was the playground where he'd kissed her for the first time; there was the bridge where they'd promised one another that nothing could separate them; there was the skating rink where they'd spun together on the ice like planets in orbit around each other. She hadn't been able to step foot on Namsan at all that year. Days kept knocking her down. Their wedding anniversary. Jun-pyo's 100 day memorial. His birthday. Then there was the anniversary of their first date—a day they had celebrated every year by going back to their cable car to see the note Jun-pyo had scribbled on the wall as Jan-di slept that crazy night away: "Gu Jun-pyo & Geum Jan-di – First Night!" Jan-di always faked embarrassment, but she loved to look at those words and think about how Jun-pyo had known from the first that they were meant to be together. When Hee-jin had been born, he had brought them both to the cable car so he could add her birthday to the little inscription: "Gu Hee-jin – our firstborn!" Jan-di had laughed, remarking that some families had a family Bible to record important dates, but only theirs had a cable car. The thought of going there without him was too much. It was their sacred place.

Long after other friends had gone back to their lives, Ji-hoo sunbae had walked with them through the worst of the grief. In his steady way, he had been beside her at every crossroads, waiting to see what she needed from him. Sometimes it was escape, like the day he found her crying over a pair of Jun-pyo's shoes she'd found in the back of the closet and had whisked her away for a distracting movie and a quiet picnic at the park. Sometimes she just needed him to be present, offering his silent strength as she did something difficult, like standing up to her mother-in-law. Madame Kang had reacted to the loss of her son by trying to replace him with her granddaughter. One day, just weeks after the funeral, she had showed up at the clinic and insisted that Jan-di deliver her small daughter to the Gu mansion to be raised "in a manner befitting the future Shinhwa heir". Jan-di showed great restraint at this preposterous suggestion, coolly informing Kang Hee-Soo in no uncertain terms that she would be raising Hee-jin, thank you, and that Kang Hee-Soo would remain welcome to see Hee-jin whenever she wished, as long as she refrained from the kind of ridiculous scheming she had used against her own son and daughter. That the scene had not escalated beyond the one terse exchange was due partly to Jan-di's forced calm and partly to the inhibiting effect of Ji-hoo's silent witness to the scene. Nothing more had been said on the matter.

Yes, Jan-di had come to appreciate the gift of Ji-hoo's presence in her life more than ever, if that was possible.

When the cake was finally finished, she flagged down a cab and headed back to the apartment. Taking the elevator to her floor, she fought to balance the heavy cake box in arms already loaded down with shopping bags. When she stepped out into her hallway, she could hear Hee-jin's laughter spilling out through the closed front door, bringing a grateful smile to her face. It was one of her favorite sounds, her little girl's laughter. Ji-hoo was so good at bringing that out in her.

Unable to reach her keys, Jan-di aimed a couple of low kicks at the door by way of knocking. "Umma!" came the cry from inside. In another moment, the door swung open and Ji-hoo was relieving her of her packages. She followed him into the main room. "Umma!" exclaimed Hee-jin again, running to her mother and throwing her arms around Jan-di's legs.

Affectionately, Jan-di bent to pick up the girl and retired to the plush couch for a good cuddle. Every time she held Hee-jin like this, a rush of mother-love rose up in her, filling her all over again with the wonder she felt the first time her tiny newborn was laid in her arms. And now Hee-jin was five! The time was passing too quickly. Like many mothers before her, Jan-di wished for a way to slow down the precious days so she could soak every ounce of joy from them while they lasted. And like many mothers before her, she bore the bittersweet knowledge that no such miracle existed. She would just have to make the most of the time she had. She nuzzled her face into Hee-jin's soft, sweet-smelling hair and asked her, "And what have you and Ji-hoo sunbae been up to while you waited for me, minimus?"

Hee-jin hopped up, grabbed Jan-di's hand, and pulled her toward the kitchen, where she finally noticed that Ji-hoo was busily engaged in making seaweed soup. The delicious smell filled the air, making Jan-di's mouth water. "Sunbae!" she exclaimed for the second time that day. "You already started the soup?" Once again, a sense of gratitude washed over her. Unthinkingly, she threw her arms around his waist. "Thank you! How do you always know just what to do?"

Ji-hoo froze, surprised. He had been so careful over the past two years not to push Jan-di's boundaries, not to intrude on her grief with his own feelings. Despite his ever-increasing attachment to her, he strove to keep their interactions comfortable and non-threatening. She had needed a friend, and he had volunteered to be one. And yet, there were so many times when he had longed for more, had ached to reach out and touch her. As his appreciation for her sweet spirit and courageous character continued to grow, so too did his craving for her, his desire to at last be something to her besides the faithful friend.

As she pressed against him now, he obeyed the compulsion to reach up and put his arms around her. It was heaven. Warmth seeped into him everywhere their bodies touched. He found himself noticing the smell of her shampoo, the fabric of her dress, as if his mind was bent on stamping the smallest details of this precious moment on his memory.

Too soon, she pulled away, her mind already engaged in last minute preparations. She began to set the table with bowls and plates for the party.

Shaken, Ji-hoo turned back to the stove and stirred the soup, buying time to compose himself.

Suddenly Jan-di's phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. She walked out of the kitchen to answer it, flopping down on the couch and kicking her stocking feet up to rest on a pillow.

"Hello, Umma," she chirped, "What time are you coming over?... The party is not until six o'clock, but you can come early to play with Hee-jin if you want to. She'd like that." Ji-hoo tried not to listen to Jan-di's side of the conversation, but the open layout of the apartment made it difficult. His eyes kept drifting up from the soup pot to find her sprawled out comfortably on the sofa. She twirled her hair around her finger as she talked, and Ji-hoo was reminded forcibly of the teenage Jan-di who had first come to Shinhwa High School all those years ago. In some ways, she hadn't changed at all. It made him smile. It took a moment for him to realize she was looking at him and smiling back. His breath caught in his chest. That smile. A year ago, he had wondered if he'd ever see it again. Now here it was. Contentment flooded through him. He focused again on the soup, adding some tarragon and salting it lightly.

Jan-di leaned her head back against the arm of the couch. "Aigoo! Stop worrying. I'm not doing everything by myself. In fact, Ji-hoo sunbae is here helping right now. He's been a superhero today. Thanks to him, there will actually be something for everyone to eat when they get here!" She paused, listening to her mother's response. "I know. He's the best." She laughed. "It's like having a second brother!"

Ji-hoo's head jerked up. Brother? Had he heard her right? She thought of him as another brother? His heart thumped painfully. That wouldn't do at all. Oh, he knew she meant it as a compliment, an indication of how much she trusted and relied on him, but he heard in it the slow dying of his hopes. Looking at the beautiful girl in the next room, it suddenly hit him that he was in danger of making all the same mistakes he had made the first time around—hanging back, silencing his feelings, waiting for everything to magically work itself out while life went on around him and a braver, surer man stepped forward to take hold of the future he longed for.

Not this time, he thought to himself. I have plans for you, Geum Jan-di-ssi.

Almost as if she could hear his thoughts, Jan-di looked up and caught his eye. Whatever she saw there caused her to lose her train of thought mid-sentence, a puzzled expression wrinkling her forehead.

It's said that the success of a child's birthday party can be judged by the exhaustion of the guest of honor at the end of the day. If that was true, then Hee-jin's fifth birthday celebration was a runaway triumph. After two slices of cake, an impromptu dance off, a small mountain of presents, a game of follow-the-leader, and a viewing of The Little Mermaid, the birthday girl was discovered fast asleep underneath the dining room table, her new Lalaloopsy mermaid doll, a gift from Ji-hoo's grandfather, clutched tightly in her grip.

With a practiced motion, Jan-di scooped Hee-jin up to carry her up the stairs to her bedroom. The adult guests were enchanted when she woke up just enough to look over her mother's shoulder and give a sleepy wave, accompanied by a sweet "kamsahamnida!" in her childish sing-song voice.

Hee-jin's best friend, So Ma-ru, was made of a little tougher stuff, but even so, he had climbed up into his father's lap during the movie and showed no signs of moving now that it was over. He would have preferred to be held by his mother, but Ga-eul's lap had all but disappeared under the swell of her pregnant belly. Baby number two was only weeks away from making his appearance, and Ma-ru was none too sure about the prospect of sharing his appa and umma—not to mention his toys—with the new arrival. Ga-eul had been alarmed when Ma-ru had greeted the news of his baby brother's impending appearance with a barrage of tears and an angry insistence that it sure couldn't sleep in his room.

It was his adored noona Hee-jin who had finally softened Ma-ru on the subject. On their first playdate together after Jan-di had told her the news about Ga-eul's pregnancy, Hee-jin had insisted on bringing her stuffed pig Jojo to the So house as a gift for the baby. She had been so excited and so rapturous on the subject of babies in general that Ma-ru had ended the day feeling that perhaps a tiny little brother of his own to play with and teach things to would not be so bad after all. Hee-jin thought so, and to Ma-ru, Hee-jin's opinions were indisputable.

Jun-pyo's mother and father had also been able to come to the party. Despite the slightly chilly nature of their interactions at present, Jan-di was grateful to see them. Their genuine love for their sweet-spirited granddaughter was clear, and it was nice to see the uncharacteristic softness on Madame Kang's face when Hee-jin had run joyfully into her arms as they arrived. In many ways, her mother-in-law was still largely a mystery to Jan-di, but now that she was a mother herself, she understood the fierce protectiveness that filled a mother's heart, no matter how misguided its application might be at times. Now, as Jan-di returned from tucking Hee-jin into bed, they rose to leave, thanking her smoothly for including them in the celebration.

Jan-di bowed deeply to them both, and then walked them to the door. "Thank you for coming. Having you here made Hee-jin's day so special."

She saw Madame Kang's lips twitch in an almost-smile as she and her husband turned and left.

Jan-di's parents left shortly after that; they had preparation to do for tomorrow's meeting with a potential business partner. They were ready to expand their dry-cleaning business to a second location, and had been looking for a dependable junior to run it. Na Gong-joo had been taking night classes to learn more about the process of incorporation, and the fatigue of working and going to school at the same time was starting to show. Even so, it was all Jan-di could do to convince her mom that she didn't need to stay and help clean up the party. Finally, Ji-hoo stepped in and asked if they would mind taking Grandfather home on their way, since he was ready to go and Ji-hoo planned to stay a little longer. Jan-di's mother capitulated, and they all departed tired and happy.

With the older generation gone, the mood in the room grew more relaxed and informal. Laying the now sleeping Ma-ru against the sofa pillows, Yi-jung helped Ga-eul to her feet. Everyone stretched and moved over to stand around the high counter separating the living room from the kitchen.

Ji-hoo went to the refrigerator for bottles of soju and then opened the cupboard and handed around glasses. His casual familiarity with the contents of Jan-di's kitchen did not go unnoticed by Woo-bin, who raised his eyebrows and shared a significant look with Yi-jung.

"Oops! Sorry, Ga-eul-ssi! I guess you're not drinking." Ji-hoo took back the shot glass and pulled a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator, setting it before Ga-eul with a flourish.

He's in a good mood, Ga-eul thought. Did something happen? She sneaked a surreptitious look at Jan-di, but her friend was occupied gathering up dirty cake plates.

Ji-hoo poured shots all around, and the conversation started to flow more freely as they all caught up with each other's busy lives. Woo-bin entertained them with hair-raising stories of the blind dates his father had been setting up for him lately. "Do you know what the daughters of mafia dons usually look like?" he asked with a shudder, causing a ripple of laughter.

Ga-eul happily bragged about one of Yi-jung's sculptures being accepted for installation at the National Gallery in London. This required another toast, and before they knew it, everyone except Ga-eul was comfortably tipsy.

Surprisingly, it was the usually reserved Ji-hoo who suggested dancing. He shuffled through Jan-di's CD collection and selected one, an album of American jazz. Jan-di and Ga-eul took turns partnering with Woo-bin and Ji-hoo, but Yi-jung sweetly insisted on dancing only with his own wife, keeping a close eye on her for signs that she was overdoing it.

Dancing with Woo-bin had Jan-di almost doubled with laughter as he imitated the moves of various entertainers, including Elvis' famous pelvic s and Michael Jackson's moonwalk. He clearly enjoyed having an appreciative audience. As the song's last verse started, though, he looked down at Jan-di with a strangely tender expression. "So, how are you really doing, kid?"

She smiled up at him, touched by the sincerity of his question. "I'm okay," she said. "Some days are hard, but I have a beautiful daughter... and the sworn friendship of some of Korea's most handsome and powerful men." She winked at him, and he grinned, smoothing a hand over his hair in mock vanity.

The next song was a slow one. Before Jan-di had time to catch her breath, Ji-hoo had captured her hand and spun her effortlessly into his arms. Her residual laughter dried up as his right arm s around her waist and pulled her closer. She could feel his breath on her neck, and gave an involuntary shiver. What was this? Her confusion didn't abate as they rocked slowly back and forth through the chorus of the song. Ji-hoo ended by dipping Jan-di almost to the floor, a move that was met by applause from everyone else. Fortunately, as Ji-hoo returned her to a standing position, Jan-di's back was turned to Yi-jung, so she didn't see the amused smirk he wore.

They kept going, dancing through almost the entire album before Ga-eul collapsed happily into an overstuffed chair, rubbing her aching feet.

"I think that's my cue, guys," joked Yi-jung. He gently helped Ga-eul into her coat before turning to gather up the miraculously still sleeping five year old boy from the sofa.

"Yo, I think I had better head out, too," said Woo-bin. "But let's make sure to do this again soon. Nobody gets my jokes like you guys." He punched Ji-hoo on the arm and followed Yi-jung and Ga-eul to the door.

Ga-eul hugged Jan-di. "Call me tomorrow, okay? I need to get out of the house before I drive Yi-jung crazy with all my nesting!"

Behind her back, Yi-jung nodded agreement, his eyes wide.

Jan-di giggled.

Ji-hoo closed the door behind them as they left. "I'll stay to help with clean up." It wasn't a question, and Jan-di was too tired and too thankful to object.

Together, they washed the dishes, bumping into each other amiably as they stood side by side at the wide sink. After that, they undecorated the apartment, Ji-hoo pulling down the streamers while Jan-di collected and deflated the balloons. She gathered up Hee-jin's gifts and quietly carried them up the stairs into the little girl's room.

When she returned, Ji-hoo was standing in the entryway and pulling on his coat, preparing to head home.

His scarf had fallen to the floor. Jan-di bent to scoop it up and handed it to him with a smile. "How can I thank you for all your help today, sunbae? I never could have gotten it all done without you. Thanks for rescuing me… again." She chuckled ruefully.

"It's not a problem. A good firefighter is always ready to respond." He sketched a mock salute and took a step toward the door. Pausing midway through reaching for the doorknob, Ji-hoo seemed to consider something for a moment before turning back to face Jan-di again.

"Just one more thing," he added, and before she could ask what it was, he closed the distance between them in two long strides, grasped her by the arms, and lowered his head to press his warm lips hungrily against hers.

For a moment she couldn't react. Was this really happening? Ji-hoo's lips parted slightly, inviting hers to do the same. Almost involuntarily, her eyes closed, and before she realized it, was moving in sync with his, yielding and eager.

When he felt her respond to him, Ji-hoo's heart leaped with elation. He deepened the kiss, pinning her to the wall with his body, his arm sliding around her waist for the second time that night. With his other hand, he reached up to bury his fingers in her hair, his hand behind her head drawing her closer, closer.

Jan-di's mind was whirling. Her world had become blurry, nothing in focus except the warm softness of Ji-hoo's lips moving insistently over hers, his tongue gently exploring . A hunger she hadn't felt in a long time roared to life deep within her. Her hands were pressed against his chest, and without realizing it, she was clutching handfuls of his shirt.

It took all of Ji-hoo's willpower to end the kiss. Grasping her shoulders firmly, he took a step back, maintaining eye contact as they both fought to catch their breath. Finally, he reached a tender hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb drawing a tantalizing line along her jaw. Bending down, he brought his face close to hers to make sure he had her full attention.

"I am not your brother," he said firmly.

And then he was gone.

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