Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Silently wondering how Mrs. Cho would react if a team of roofers showed up to replace her old roof with a new one—courtesy of a mysterious benefactor—I thank the driver and emerge with my bags and still chilled cheese plate. I’m halfway to the door, feeling fairly optimistic about my odds of winning the Chos over with my wardrobe change and peace offering, when I see Vicky and a nervous-looking Korean man in a pink polo and jeans, who I’m guessing is her husband, Steve, sitting on the shadowed front porch.
They’re perched on the edge of the porch swing, clinging to each other’s hands. As I approach, they shake their heads in unison, and Vicky whispers, “I’d give them a minute, if I were you. They’re…talking.”
“Or murdering each other,” Steve adds in an equally hushed voice. “Hi, I’m Steve. You must be Samuel.”
“Sam is fine,” I say, lifting the cheese plate and clothing bags into the air with a tight smile. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m pretty loaded up. I thought cheese might help make up for being the unexpected guest, but…maybe not?” I frown at the curtain-shrouded window beside the swing, able to make out the drone of raised voices on the other side of the brick wall.
Vicky shakes her head. “Oh, don’t worry about that. They’ve moved on to bigger things.” She drops her voice to an even softer whisper. “Apparently, Jess quit her job.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But she has an interview lined up with a great company in just a couple days. She’ll probably be gainfully employed again by the end of the week.” I nod toward the house. “I’m assuming Jess is explaining that to her mom now? And pretty soon we’ll all be welcome indoors again?”
Vicky bares her teeth. “Oh, wow.”
My brows pinch closer together. “Wow, what? Am I missing something?”
“You’re just so…innocent,” she says, patting her husband’s thigh. “Steve was the same way before he married into the family. He had no idea women could be so fierce. My mother almost ate him alive the first time he came over to the house for dinner.”
“She wanted Vicky to marry a surgeon, not a lowly anesthesiologist,” Steve says with a shudder. “If I hadn’t already been crazy about this woman, it might have been a dealbreaker. I’ve never felt shittier about my life choices than I did at that dinner, trying to explain why I only had a three point seven grade point average compared to Victoria’s four point three.”
“I did a lot of extra credit,” Vicky explains. “It was compulsive. I’m better now.”
“You’re the best,” Steve says, taking her hand. “I can’t wait to whisk you away to our hotel after dinner and rub your feet in the peace and quiet of a room with no rampaging Chos or killer ferrets in it. I’m so glad they put Isabelle in her kennel. I’m positive she wanted to chomp my nose right off my face.”
“I don’t know,” Vicky says, with a playful grin. “I might decide to chomp your nose off later, if your giant baby keeps kicking the crap out of my spleen.”
“My giant baby?” Steve snorts. “Your dad is the one who’s nearly six feet tall, woman. We keep it dainty on my side of the family.”
“Dainty?” she echoes, with a laugh. “Yes, that’s the perfect word for you, babe. My dainty little hubs with his magic, swollen-ankle-soothing hands.”
Steve kisses her forehead before glancing my way once more. “I would offer to let you and Jess come with us, but I’m pretty sure Auntie Lisa would disown me, and I can’t live without her bulgogi and mandu dumplings.”
Vicky’s eyes go wide. “Dude, no. She’s such a good cook. If I knew I’d never get to raid her stash of homemade pickles again, I would cry for a very, very long time. I mean, before I—”
She breaks off with a wince, her shoulders shooting up to her ears as a voice that sounds like Jess’s shouts from inside, “Give me a fucking break!”
“I’m going in,” I say. “I can’t leave her in there without backup.”
Vicky’s on her feet a beat later. “I’ll come with you. I’ll pretend I have to pee.”
“You just peed before we came out,” Steve says, still not looking on board with returning to the lion’s den.
“Yes, but pregnant ladies have to pee all the time,” she says, taking a peek at my tray as she passes by. “Oh, that looks lovely, but Auntie is lactose intolerant.”
“And she has a thing against bread,” Steve adds, nodding toward the baguette.
“Great,” I mutter through gritted teeth, but I don’t hesitate to follow the couple in through the front door. I’m so close on their heels that I nearly run over them, in fact, when they grind to a halt in the foyer, taking in the scene in the living room with twin gasps.