Page 65 of For You, Sir

At one time in my life, it had been, I supposed. But I’d already taught myself how to cook well beyond the skill level a butler needed, and hadn’t thought about culinary school in ages.

Ho-Sung rubbed his chin, squinting in memory. “Remember when we were kids, and you made those… whatchacallems? The little square cakes.”

“Petit fours?”I guessed.

“Yeah! Those things were great.”

“What? Tell me.” Einar leaned forward.

I winced with embarrassment. “They really weren’t,” I told him. “It was just boxed cake mix and melting chocolate.” I’d cut a sheet cake into little cubes, but crumbs got stuck in the chocolate coating. They looked a mess, so I’d rolled them in chopped almonds just to hide their flaws.

“Those things were fancy as fuck!” Ho-Sung insisted. “Ever since then, I always thought I’d see you behind the counter of one of them ritzy French bakeries one day.”

How absurd. I shook my head. “They were cheap and probably sugary as hell,” I told Einar. “Kids have no taste.” I hoped he would rescue me from the topic, but his eyes were glowing with amusement.

Ah, hell. He’s going to bug me about this later, isn’t he?

“I’m a fan of his cooking, too,” Einar told Ho-Sung.

“Right?”my brother agreed. “Even when we were little, Hyun-Jun was always making something good.”

“Hyun-Jun?” Einar repeated stiffly. His accent was truly terrible.

“Yeah. This guy.” Ho-Sung jerked a thumb at me.

“I thought your full name was Jun!” Einar said, eyes widening.

“I mean, it’s like,halfhis name,” Ho-Sung said helpfully.

Einar’s brows drew together, and he looked hurt, like I’d been lying to him about something important.

“Nobody uses my full name,” I assured him quickly. “Jun’s just easier.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ho-Sung backed me up. “He’sJunto everyone but me and Mom.”

Einar’s face softened, but concern lingered in his eyes. I was too afraid to take his hand, so I brushed my leg against Einar’s under the table instead, a silent reassurance of our bond.

We chatted about music, my brother’s changing circle of friends, and what it was like growing up in Norway. To my relief, Ho-Sung never mentioned Einar’s movies or the leaked script, but his eyes glowed with enthusiasm, and I was glad I’d brought Sir along. By the time things wound down, I felt closer to my brother than I had in a long time. It was bittersweet as we said our goodbyes at the door.

“Thanks for coming, man,” Ho-Sung said to Einar. “Good to meet you.”

He held out a hand, but Einar embraced him instead, giving my brother a manly double clap on the back. “Likewise,” he said.

My brother flashed him a star-struck half-smile, and there was an uneasy flutter in my stomach I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Ho-Sung headed off on foot, and Einar and I walked back to the car. “Your brother is sweet,” he said.

“You clearly never knew him as an angsty teenager,” I said. “But, uhm, thanks for coming.”

As soon as the car doors were closed, Einar gave a long exhale of relief and slumped down in his seat. He had been playing it so cool at the coffee shop, I didn’t realize how stressed he was.

“Doing okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he reassured me, rubbing his face with his palm. “Just drained. Your brother’s great. I just need to get out more.”

While I drove back to Einar’s place, I tried to identify the complicated feeling tumbling around in my stomach. I was relieved that everything went well, that they liked each other, so why did I still feel nervous? Excitement and worry about Ho-Sung’s sobriety was tangled in there, but it wasn’t just that.

The image of Einar clasping Ho-Sung in a hug kept returning to my mind, too. That moment was like a glimpse into another world, of how it might look if we were all family, if everything turned out okay. Good things I wanted, but was too afraid to lose.

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