Page 15 of Show Off

He’s speaking my language. FAM—short for familiarization tour—is a tool used by tourism PR folks to acquaint journalists with a destination. Or chefs, if it’s a culinary FAM. “They took you to a dog meat farm?”

“I wasn’t aware it was happening.” The growl in his voice pricks the hairs on my arms. “It was a small farm. Only a couple dozen dogs in cages and—” His voice trails off and I watch his throat move as he swallows.

“What did you do?”

He shrugs and looks away. “I reached out to an animal rescue group in Jersey. A pal of mine runs it. We got all the dogs out of there.”

“And you got Mouse.” I’d like to hear the rest of the story. “How long ago?”

“Six years.” He breaks off a piece of chocolate and slips it into his mouth. He doesn’t chew, so I’m left imagining it melting on his tongue, the heat of his mouth, the pooling of liquid as he?—

“It was our last time visiting Korea.”

“You grew up in Seoul?” I’m not a stalker. I read his application for Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge, same as I did everyone else’s.

“That’s right.” He doesn’t say more, and I’m sure that’s the end of it. “Our mother was born in Boston and Dad was raised in Seoul,” he continues, shocking the hell out of me. “After the accident, after a few years of hospitals and rehab—” He stops there, frowning into his wineglass like he’s not sure why he just shared all that.

After a long silence, I try a gentle nudge. “You and your brother moved to New York.”

“That’s right.” He looks up and nods. “We’ve got dual citizenship, so we both went to college there. We still visit Korea sometimes, but it’s been a while.”

I won’t claim to know all his family details. I’m notthatmuch of a stalker. But I can tell we’re treading close to sore spots. I know he was twelve when both parents died in a car wreck. The same accident that left Ji-Hoon paralyzed from the waist down.

“So, Mouse.” This feels like a safe subject, so I’m glad when Dal’s shoulders relax. “Is she like a therapy dog, or just a pet?”

“Just a pet.” One edge of his mouth quirks. “Don’t tell Ji-Hoon I said that. He bought her a vest that says ‘special assistant.’ I guess he figures he’s not technically lying if he doesn’t claim she’s providing a medical service.”

“My lips are sealed.” Like I’d rat out Dal’s brother. “I guess no one questions the guy in a wheelchair who wants to bring his dog into a movie theater.”

“Yep.” He picks up his wine, dark eyes searching mine over the rim of his glass. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s your sad story?”

“Why do you think I have a sad story?” There’s a sharp sting in my palm and I look down to see my nails digging in. Uncurling my fingers, I force a smile. “I’m living a charmed life.”

Dal snorts and sets down his glass. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

What the hell? “I’m happy, healthy, clothed and well-fed.” I try for a quick bit of levity. “I’ve got plenty of potato snacks in my cupboard.”

“Everyone’s got a sad story.” Dal cocks his head, considering me. “Especially someone who works so hard to be perky.”

“It’s not work.” That’s the God’s honest truth. “Most of the time, anyway.”

There’s that brow lift again. “And the rest of the time?”

I shrug and sip my wine. “We’ve all got our jobs to do.”

He studies me without speaking and I’m suddenly self-conscious. I don’t typically entertain guests while wearing sleep shorts and a tank top covered in tiny lip prints. I spot my favorite hoodie on the arm of the couch and start to pull it on.

“Cold?”

I pause with one arm in a sleeve. “I’m not exactly dressed for company.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

My nipples peak at the rumble of his voice. Dal’s eyes don’t drop. He keeps watching my face, peering deep in my eyes. My body’s given me an easy out. All I have to do is point to my boobs, give a soft little scoff like, “duh.” He’ll be thrown off his game, and I’ll be off the hook.

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