Page 38 of Wish Upon a K-Star

I hurry to it and one of the mobile cameramen follows me. The doors are unlocked for us, and I push inside. I press the call button for the elevator, and it opens immediately, like it was waiting for us.

Inside is a small bag. I grab it and see two strawberry milk cartons inside.

“Okay. This is good.” I turn to the buttons and realize I have no idea which floor to pick. “Um, do you know which one it is?” I ask the cameraman before I realize I probably shouldn’t be talking to him.

He lifts a brow and looks pointedly at the message still gripped in my hand.

“Oh right, the clues. I told you I wasn’t good at this.” I look at the paper, now completely crinkled in my nervous fists. “I already have the up and down. And I have the strawberry milk. So, it must be ‘adding the numbers of home.’ Numbers of home?”

What’s a home number? A phone number? No, I don’t think I’m meant to expose my phone number on national television.

“Maybe a unit number?” I say aloud, and the cameraman lifts his brows again. A silent prompt. It must be right. Or maybe he’s just reacting to my total stupidity. Well, I have nothing else to try, so I add the numbers of my apartment in my head. It gives me ten. I start to press that number when I hesitate. Wait, this doesn’t feel right. Something is off here. I almost pull out my phone and just call Hongjoo to ask for her help. But I know I shouldn’t give up so easily. I just have to be logical.

“This is about when we first met, right?” I ask the cameraman. And he doesn’t say anything, but he does move his eyes up and down. Like miming a nod.

“So, when we first met, the apartment I lived in…” It was unit 1829. And those numbers all added up come to twenty. The roof.

I press the button for the top floor. It feels right. Either way, I can’t just keep running around alone. I need Minseok. And I hate to admit that, but right now, I am desperate.

The doors open and I race through them, the bag of strawberry milk banging against my stomach as I practically sprint for the staircase leading to the roof. I hurry up the stairs, taking them two at a time, not caring about being ladylike or demure.

I burst out to a scene of flowers gathered in a veritable garden. Minseok stands in the middle of the roof with a bouquet in his arms.

I hurry to him, barely registering the setup of cameras around him or the secondary crew. I’m just glad I’m no longer alone. I fling my arms around him. “I did it! I found you.”

He laughs and gives me a one-armed squeeze. “I’ve been waiting forever, Shin Hyeri. What have you been doing all alone? You trying to keep the camera time all for yourself?”

That gets a surprised laugh out of me as I say bluntly, “Don’t worry, most of the footage is me failing miserably. I hate riddles.”

“Well, the reward is worth it, right?”

He’s giving me one of his cocky grins and I have to use all of my willpower not to roll my eyes. “Depends on what my reward is.”

“Am I not reward enough?” I know he’s play-acting, but my heart does jump a bit at the words. So arrogant but still designed to make me blush.

“I thought this was my reward.” I hold up the bag of strawberry milk.

He laughs and says, “It’s my apology.”

Now I frown, too confused to hide my reaction. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t remember? The first time we met I spilled your strawberry milk on the playground. You cried.”

“I did not!” I protest even as the memory returns. He’s right. He did spill my strawberry milk.

I’d just had a horrible review where I was told I needed to start counting calories more. I was only thirteen and bitter about it. So, I’d purposefully taken the last strawberry milk in the trainee fridge even though it was all sugar. My private act of defiance. I’d set it on the ground next to the swings while I moped and Minseok was playing basketball with his friends. And when he missed a throw the ball slammed into my milk, spilling it everywhere. Pissed, I’d flown off those swings, yelling at him until angry tears fell down my cheeks.

“You did. I remember it and I always felt sorry for making you cry.” He lifts his hand, runs a thumb down my dry cheek like he wants to wipe up the memory of those angry tears. “Sorry my apology is so late.”

I can’t speak. My skin is still tingling from where his thumb touched, a trail of sparks that spin wildly like starbursts in my brain.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” I whisper, unsure what’s expected of me in this moment.

“How about officially forgiving me?”

I nod because it feels like the only thing to do now. And he grins, pulling me into his arms. “Great. Slate clean, right?”

I pull away from him. “You did way more to me than spill my strawberry milk. Are you going to make up for every little thing?”

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