Page 79 of Strike It Witch

“Calm down? He looks like Jongho,” she squealed.

Jongho was the lead singer of Ida’s current favorite K-pop band, ATEEZ, she explained—exhaustively.

“His name is Baek Ye-Joon.”

She ignored me. “He’ssohandsome. He doesn’t have Jongho’s height, but he’s a dead ringer for him otherwise.” She pulled her head away from the window and waggled the brows I’d just drawn on her face. “You know, they used to say Iresembled Marilyn Monroe. That was the year I went blond, of course.”

“When was that?”

“In my thirties. I drew a mole on my face to heighten the effect.”

She poked her head back out the window of my trailer and excitedly watched the mage stroll up to my door. I peeked at him over her shoulder.

He had black hair cut stylishly short, looked to be in his mid-twenties, and was dressed as if for a job interview, in slim-fit green trousers, tobacco brown dress shoes, and a button-down shirt beneath a navy-blue sweater.

I’d left the mage a stone inside my mailbox allowing him temporary entrance into the park. He tossed the rock in his hand and caught it, examined it for a moment, and then tucked it into his pocket.

“He’s soyoung,” I said.

“And handsome,” Ida said, as if I hadn’t heard her the first time.

“Why would someone like him want to stay here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s hiding from the government or something.” Her eyes lit up. “You know, I’ve always had a thing for anarchists. Did I ever tell you about the time I met Noam Chomsky? Lovely man.”

Ida and I took the mage on a tour around the park. I gave him all the highlights and expounded on a few of the challenges. He nodded in the appropriate places and did his best to humor Ida, who peppered him with comments and questions.

“Boy, do I love the kingdom version of ‘Wonderland.’ All that swashbuckling. And when Jongho hit that high note, I was cheering at the TV.” She attempted to sing said note with a cat-screech level of musical ability, and I quickly cut her off. “Ida, cut it out. Ye-Joon said he doesn’t listen to K-pop.”

“Sorry. It’s just that you look so much like Jongho. He’s very good looking.”

“Good looking, huh?” Ye-Joon gave Ida a smile that had her visibly swooning. “Tell me more.”

I gave Ida another couple of minutes to gush then sent her home and invited Ye-Joon into the garden room. Fennel sleepily surveyed the mage from his bed. I felt Cecil’s eyes on me like hands—wrapped around my throat. He was picky about who entered the garden room.

“Sorry about my friend,” I said. “She kind of fixates.”

“If the worst thing that happens to me today is that someone thinks I look like their favorite K-pop idol, I’m having a pretty good day.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help grinning with him. Joon, as he’d told me to call him, was immensely charming.

“That’s a generous way to look at it,” I said.

“Besides, my great-grandmother back in Korea was the same way about Garth Brooks. She assumed every white American man who crossed her path was related to him and could get his autograph for her. She could get pretty nasty when they told her they didn’t know him.”

Young, handsome,andcharming.

Damn. No way was he going to want to run this place.

“I get Dita Von Teese. Sometimes Bettie Page.”

“I see the resemblance.” He gestured to the lavender spilling out of the planter. “May I?”

“Sure.”

He gently brought a flower to his nose and drew in the scent. The lavender rustled with delight. That was a good sign. He definitely had an affinity with herbs.

“You said your grandmother was in Korea. Did you live there as a kid?”

“No. The U.S. and Canada, mostly. We traveled a lot. My dad was born in Seoul, but he came to California when he was three.”

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