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“It’s Korean,” Brick replied automatically, used to people questioning his name, his ethnicity, and everything in between. “You can just call me Brick if you want.”

“You’re Korean?” Jules’s face lit up.

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me there’s a fuckin’ decent ass Korean spot around here. That Coco Korea place? Their yukgaejang was fuckin’ horseshit.”

“Oh no! Don’t tell me you went there!” Brick laughed in surprise, horrified by Jules’s dining choice but impressed by his pretty flawless pronunciation. “They’re disgusting.”

“New in town.” Jules grunted. “Ain’t exactly familiar with the area yet.”

“If you want some good Korean food, there’s a little place on Hillsborough called Madame Kimchi’s Kitchen. They’re only open on weekends, but they’re awesome. If you like spice, their sundubu jjigae is incredible.”

“Wait, say it slower?” Jules’s brow furrowed.

“Sundubu jjigae,” Brick repeated carefully.

“That’s tofu, yeah?”

“Yeah! It’s another spicy soup, but you can get it with seafood too.” Brick smiled brightly. “You really like Korean food, huh?”

“I do.” Jules smiled back.

Damn, he had a nice smile.

“So, you bought that place on the corner?” Brick asked.

“Yeah, but I’ll probably be selling soon,” Jules replied. “Just here on some business. Not sure how long it’s gonna take.”

“Oh. Well.” Brick wanted to comment about the obvious state of Jules’s finances if he could buy and sell a million dollar townhouse at leisure, but Brick got caught up staring in Jules’s dark eyes and forgot what he was going to say.

Jules’s eyes were brown. Or maybe hazel. There was some silver in Jules’s scruff, a few hard lines etched across his forehead and under his eyes, but fuck if he wasn’t gorgeous. His shirt was definitely expensive, and Brick noticed his nails were very clean and trimmed nicely. He didn’t see a wedding band either, so he decided to take a chance.

“You know, I could actually make you some yukgaejang if you’d like,” Brick offered. “I’m a pretty good cook, and I was planning to have some for dinner tonight anyway.” That was a lie. He was going to have to go to the store if Jules accepted his invitation. “Think of it as a, you know, welcome to the neighborhood kinda thing. No hard feelings about your moving truck wrecking my yard.”

Jules chuckled. “Yeah? I’d like that.” He glanced over Brick’s shoulder, surveying the mess. “I’ll come by early and help you clean some of that shit up.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I can do that.”

“Nah. I’m helpin’.” Jules smirked. “And you ain’t gonna tell me no again.”

Brick licked his lips, and he couldn’t decide if Jules was flirting or threatening him. It wasn’t often that anyone told him what to do so directly, and it was kind of turning him on. “Oh, I’m not, huh?”

“Nope.”

“All right, fine.” Brick hugged the flamingo against his chest. “I get off work at five. You can come over, and I’ll give you a hand cleaning up.”

“Or I can just do it while you’re workin’,” Jules countered.

“Or you can wait until I’m off work,” Brick argued firmly. “It’ll go faster with two of us. We should really be getting those doofuses to do it.” He nodded toward the moving truck.

After a three-point turn that was actually about a twenty-point turn, the truck had finally backed up to the townhouse.

“I wouldn’t trust them to pour water out of a fuckin’ bucket,” Jules grumbled.

“I hope you don’t have a lot of nice stuff to move.”

“It’s rented. I ain’t worried about it.” Jules shrugged. “So, five o’clock?”

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