May You Come Back To My Side - Chapter 4

They stood there, frozen on opposite sides of the kitchen, staring at each other, her heart beating like crazy in her chest. How was it possible? How was he here? And why was he just standing there? Why was he just looking at her with that troubled, questioning gaze?

Min-jun slapped him on the back. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

“Huh?” He turned to Min-jun, breaking eye contact, and she could finally breathe a little easier.

“You look a little green around the gills,” Min-jun elaborated. “Did you eat bad kimchi or something?”

“I didn’t eat anything yet. That’s why I’m here.”

“Right.” Min-jun chuckled. “Let me introduce you first. This is our fearless leader, Yeon Ji-young. Chef Yeon. Boss, this is Lee Heon.”

The man extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She stared at his hand, then up at him. He might look like her Heon—albeit a little older, he looked to be in his early thirties—but he wasn’t. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes, just a natural warm curiosity that one’s eyes get when meeting a new person.

She took his hand, squeezed briefly, then promptly let go. “Likewise.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you. For the review.”

He smiled. It looked familiar, yet foreign at the same time. “It was the least I could do after the manna you fed me.”

She felt herself blush. “I wouldn’t go that far, but thanks. So...” she clasped her hands in front of her. “What would you like for dinner?”

His smile grew. “Why don’t you surprise me again?”

She could do that. So, as Min-jun continued his introductory round of the remaining staff, Ji-young quickly threw two fistfuls of handmade buckwheat pappardelle—thicker and wider than tagliatelle, perfect for hearty sauces—into boiling water and stir-fried a year-old doenjang with jaecheop.

As the chit-chat continued in the background, she transferred the cooked pasta into the saucepan, adding a ladleful of its cooking water, letting the starch thicken the doenjang sauce, enveloping the pasta in a glossy, silky, rich embrace.

Expertly twirling the pappardelle with the chopsticks, she placed two pillows of pasta in the middle of a shallow bowl and covered them with sauce, letting it pool at the bottom of the plate. A few more jaecheop and a sprinkling of chopped spinach completed the dish.

She grabbed a clean pair of chopsticks and a spoon and barged straight into a heated argument about who the winner of the next Super Match in the K League 1 would be. It was a pretty evenly distributed fanbase, with even Seo-yeon and the two female servers picking a side.

Since she couldn’t care less about football and wanted to get out of there as soon as possible—it was just a little too hard looking at a stranger with the face of a king—she thrust the bowl and cutlery under his nose.

“Here you go. Bon appétit.”

 

Heon tentatively sniffed and almost moaned aloud when the scent invaded his senses, saliva flooding his mouth. Someone must’ve noticed his legs were barely holding him up, because suddenly there was a chair under his butt as he hungrily tucked into the bowl of pasta.

Not a French dish, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass about fusion at the moment. He was too busy savoring the pungent, earthy flavor of the sauce, which utterly complemented the slightly bitter, nutty flavor of the buckwheat pasta, the clams adding to the richness of the umami while coaxing out the subtle hint of sweetness of the doenjang.

A strange movie of a field of buckwheat and beans on the shore of a wide, calm river played at the back of his closed eyelids, and he once more fought against moaning aloud. It wouldn’t do. Not that he was embarrassed by his enjoyment of everything food-related, but a man had to maintain a dignified image upon finally meeting the literal woman of his dreams.

Ever since he could remember, the woman has been a constant presence in his dreams. Her motherly care and image when he was a child morphed into more and more adult themes as he grew, while lately...

Whoah, boy.

But now, at least, he could put a name to the face. To the body. He swallowed as his mouth started watering for a different reason than food.

Okay, focus. You shouldn’t scare her right off the bat. Let her get to know you better before you tell her you’ve been dreaming of her all your life and you’re more than halfway in love with her already. Take it easy; if you scare her, she’ll call the cops on you. Even worse, she’ll never cook for you again.

Savoring the lingering aftertaste of that last heavenly bite, Heon was confident he’d gotten himself under control enough to attempt some light conversation while pretending not to devour her with his eyes.

“That was—” He opened his eyes to finish the compliment, but she wasn’t there. He turned and looked around. “Where is the chef?”

“She was tired,” the young prep cook replied, though it sounded more like a question.

“She slipped out while you were having your foodgasm,” his best friend chuckled.

The deep sense of disappointment—loss, almost—filled him, making him incapable of forming any sort of smart-ass response to the obvious verbal challenge, making Min-jun frown with an obvious question in his eyes at this utterly out-of-character moment. But Heon didn’t care; he cared even less about staying and ending up fending off Min-jun’s questions and probably more ribbing.

He had a plan to formulate. How to talk to, get to know, and basically woo the chef with a magical cooking touch and a delicious-sounding name, Ji-young.

Why does it feel like I’ve spoken it before, when I only learned it tonight?

Yeah, he needed a plan on how to best approach her. Preferably without many people around to witness his uncharacteristic bumbling. Because he knew, he knew he was bound to make a mess of it all at first.

Focus, idiot! If at first you don’t succeed...

He cleared his throat. At least now he knew where to find her. “When do you start tomorrow?”

“We don’t,” the old sous chef replied, frowning as if he was able to read his mind. “We’re closed tomorrow.”

Heon grinned. One extra day to plan. Perfect. “Okay, how about when you’re open?”

∞

Twenty-three days and nine hours—give or take a couple of minutes—later, Ji-young unlocked the back door to her restaurant, and, furtively looking left and right, quickly dashed in. She had to check, and she had to be quick, because the dastardly man could be lurking everywhere, and she didn’t have the mental fortitude to take it anymore.

She was exhausted, physically, but mostly mentally. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in more than a week, her dreams plagued by memories and images from the past three weeks spent in the company of the doppelganger.

The man seemed to be everywhere, barging in before or after lunch or dinner...or both. Watching her prep, cook, devise menu changes, asking questions, tasting everything she made, offering tips on flavors and ingredients...She wasn’t safe even on her days off. He somehow appeared out of nowhere as she was sitting in the park, grabbing a quick bite to eat, grocery shopping...

Didn’t he have a job? Something better to do than hang around, making her...

The problem was, she wasn’t really angry at him. He was always friendly and amiable, so incredibly nice and sweet and helpful...

No, she wasn’t angry with him; she...liked...him. She was angry with her. Because the boundary between dream, memory, and reality has started to blur; his face, his eyes, his grin, his voice, and his presence superimposing on the images from the past, replacing them.

It was as if Yi Heon was gone, fully replaced in her mind, in her heart, by Lee Heon.

She felt like she was cheating, as if she was diminishing what had happened in Joseon by...liking...the modern version of the king.

Yet, thinking of him as the modern version of anybody was also doing a disservice to Lee Heon. He wasn’t a modern version of the man she used to love; he was his own person with his own personality—not as abrasive and volatile, but more friendly and mischievous, warm, and funny...Utterly lovable.

She huffed, closed her eyes, and shook her head. Hasn’t she decided this would be the day she wouldn’t think of him? She’d spent too much time thinking—and dreaming—of him already. She had work to do.

Determined, she opened her eyes and gasped. Because on the island counter in the center of her restaurant’s kitchen, lay Mangunrok.

How did the book get in the restaurant? Her father mailed it back to his Sorbonne professor friend. So how?

Ji-young gingerly approached the book on the kitchen island, as if it was about to bite. As far as she was concerned, it just might. If it could induce time travel, God only knew what else it could do.

How did it end up there in the first place? Why was it there?

She leaned forward slightly, examining the book without touching it. It looked the same. Faded color on the cover, dulled binding bolts, the cursive on the cover, and the butterfly pendant.

Throwing her bag in her cubicle, she donned a rubber kitchen glove for precaution, grabbed a chopstick, and slowly inserted it under the cover, lifting with caution.

My dearly beloved...

She pulled the chopstick out and jumped away from the counter. It was the same book.

“Now what?” she muttered. She needed to get it out of there, pronto. What if it suddenly started working again and someone from her staff went ‘poof’?

“Not on my watch.” She rushed to the storage room for a garbage bag.

She returned, armed with a garbage bag, long barbecue tongs, and a pair of extra-thick rubber gloves, only to find Lee Heon leaning his tight butt against the island counter, arms crossed over his chest.

His face lit up with a smile, gaze clearing. “Hey.”

Didn’t she lock the door?

“Hey.” She cleared her throat, trying to come up with something that would make him leave. The sooner the better. She didn’t like his proximity to the infernal book. What if he touched it? She shuddered. She couldn’t lose him like that. “What are you doing here?”

He straightened, smile gone, eyes guarded. “We need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep quiet; I need to tell you—”

Not really listening, eyes on the still-too-close-to-him book, she made a placating gesture with her hands. “Why don’t you tell me later, huh?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“That’s nice, why—” Her eyes snapped to him as his words registered. “Huh?”

“I love you. Don’t ask me how or why. Just know that I do. From the moment I saw you. Hell, from the moment I tasted your food.” He offered a self-deprecating grin. “Figures, the day I finally get the balls to declare myself, your mind is elsewhere.” He looked down to his side. “What’s with this notebook that’s so fascinating?”

“No!” Ji-young shrieked and extended her hand to stop him just as he reached for the Mangunrok. Their fingers brushed as they touched the book at the same time.

A blinding flash of golden light filled the kitchen, an invisible force throwing them apart.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Ji-young slowly opened her eyes, and a sigh of relief escaped at not having ended up in a remote forest, staring at her kitchen’s ceiling instead. She looked around and grinned. Everything was where it was supposed to be. She was where she was supposed to be. In her restaurant. In the year 2025. Everything was—

She sat upright. “Heon?”

“Now you start using my given name?” he asked from the other side of the kitchen island.

She scrambled around the island on her knees and sighed. He lay on his back, eyes closed, but otherwise appeared unharmed. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, eyes still closed. “Never better.”

She moved closer. “Are you sure?” She tentatively placed her hand on his chest.

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside and slightly on top of him. “Positive.”

She struggled half-heartedly. “What are you doing?”

“Reminiscing,” he muttered. “Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“They weren’t dreams. They were memories.” He finally opened his eyes, and the look in them made breath lodge in her throat. “Hello, gwinyeo.”

She pulled her wrist out of his grip and shot to her feet. He followed her much more slowly, his eyes intent yet guarded. “I’ve been dreaming about you since I can remember. But I just realized, they weren’t dreams; they were memories. I remember what happened. It’s like a movie in my head, how you two, we, met, antagonists at first, strange friends later...How he, I, fell in love with your cooking. With you. How it hurt when you were gone.” His voice trembled. “It’s still me, but with the addition of his memories. One soul and one destiny.” He smiled. “To love you.”

“How?” she whispered.

He nodded toward the book; she followed his gaze and gasped. The Mangunrok was open on the counter, but its pages were blank.

“Since it couldn’t bring you back to me, it brought me to you.” He extended his hand, palm up in offer. “I missed you, gwinyeo.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. He was her Heon. Yi or Lee. Past or present. As he said. One soul.

She didn’t take his offered hand; she just jumped and felt his arms lock around her waist as their lips, their mouths, their souls met.

At last.

The End