Page 67 of Wish Upon a K-Star

We have a two-hour break, but I can’t let myself rest. It’s a quick shower to get the last of the sand and salt off and then right into hair and makeup. Even though we’re going for a low-key style, it’s kind of laughable how much effort it takes to do a no-effort look.

By the time I’m pulling on my dress, the sun is starting to set. I’m in a V-neck A-line chiffon dress in sky blue. The skirt is pleated, but light enough to flow around me with every step I take. It reminds me of my mother’s skirts I used to try on as a little girl and spin and spin so they flowed around me.

The restaurant sits along the beach with an open deck covered in twinkle lights.

Minseok is already there when I arrive. He’s standing at the railing, watching the water move in and out with the tide.

With the warm glow of the setting sun washing over him it could be a setup for a romantic photoshoot.

His hair looks expertly tousled, pushed back from his brow. I’ve always liked him with his hair styled like this. And those damn goose bumps rise on my bare arms again.

It’s fine, I reassure myself.He’s objectively attractive; you’d have to be completely dense not to see that.

Then he turns, the sun at his back, and a slow smile curves his lips as he takes me in.

My heart does a little somersault in response.

This is not good. It feels too much like how I reacted to him when I was fifteen and harboring a massive crush.

“Jagi-ya, you look amazing.” He takes my hands, and I force a smile onto my face, though it feels like my lips are trembling just a bit.

“Thanks, you look nice too,” I reply.

Please, just calm down, I beg my heart.

“Let’s eat.” He pulls out my chair, and I’m grateful I get to sit for the shoot. It feels like my legs are as steady as boiled spaghetti right now.

Food is immediately brought to us. A preset menu chosen for us. My mouth waters at the sight of the juicy steak. I can already tell it’s cooked to perfection.

Minseok starts cutting his meat into small bites. “Did you rest well?”

“Mm-hmm,” I reply, though I didn’t. I was too caught up in wondering what Minseok meant on the beach.

I reach for my knife when Minseok trades our plates, giving me the steak he just cut. I want to laugh at the clichéd loving-boyfriend move. Wait, no, lovinghusband.

“Did you get all the sand out of your hair?” Minseok asks, grinning devilishly at me as he cuts his own steak and takes a bite.

“Oh, uh, yes, though my stylist is annoyed at you for tangling it,” I try to joke, hoping my smile doesn’t look manic or strained.

“I had to take an hour nap after that battle.”

“Yeah,” I say, rubbing at my sore neck. “I could have used a massage, or at least some aspirin.”

I wait for some witty reply, like a suggestion we get couples massages or something. But instead, Minseok frowns slightly and sets down his fork. Then he reaches forward and takes my hand in his.

“I didn’t push you too far on the beach, did I?” he asks.

“What? Where is this coming from?”

“I just don’t like the idea that I might have messed up”—he frowns, like he’s realizing mid-sentence that he might be making a mistake—“your dress.”

“My dress?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Yeah, it seemed nice. I’d hate to think it’s ruined.” His smile is light, but there’s something in his voice. An undertone that tells me he’s not just talking about my dress.

“It’s all right,” I say slowly, wondering what this conversation is actually about. “I have other dresses.”

Minseok’s smile fades and his hand pulls away, and I think I’ve done something wrong. But he has to know what’s expected of me. That I can’t reveal my anxieties or fears, because they’ll be twisted to be used against me.

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