The Han river walk was quiet at six in the morning. The spacious multipurpose park along the Han River in central Seoul would start filling up soon.
 

Joohyun stood back from her table and took a picture for her Instagram account.

She had seventy-two followers, and she loved every single one of them. And one of the most recent followers was a certain firefighter from Purpletown. 

Her hand-painted bake sale banner made her happy every time she looked at it, and she hoped it sparked in customers the same sweet nostalgia it gave her—of high school fundraising, of picking out treats to take home to family. And maybe one to snack on immediately.

Her offering today was a variation of what she’d tried in the last three pop-up events.

Her best ever chocolate chip cookies were only a 300 hundred won each (0.25 cents USD), which barely broke even. But that was a part of her marketing plan.

Hook them with the three hundred won cookies, then earn her profit off the higher-end offerings.

Today that was a pistachio and raspberry tart, a sinful Black Forest brownie, huge Rice Krispies squares with visible marshmallows, and apple cider muffins.

Technically, Joohyun had graduated from culinary school, but as part of their supported transition to working in the industry, grads interested in running their own businesses had been invited to participate in four pop-up market events over the summer.

This was the final one, and she was excited about it.

She was also nervous, because her business plan was still sketchy at best for how to move forward and make the pop-up bake sale a viable job for herself.

Her phone vibrated, and she glanced at the screen.

One like on her newest photo, a selfie with the bake sale sign behind her. The like was from Seungwan. That made her laugh. 

Joohyun: You’re up early.

Seungwan: At work. One hour left in my shift.  

Joohyun: So I shouldn’t call you when I’m done here and wake you up?

Seungwan: You could.

Joohyun: Or you could call me when you wake up, so I’m not the bad guy.

Seungwan: You wouldn’t be. But okay, I will. Good luck today. It looks amazing.

That vote of confidence lightened her step, and she finished her setup with enough time to sit down and drink some tea from the thermos she’d brought.

Then it was go time.

Sales were slow to start, but built over the morning.

Joohyun sold out of chocolate chip cookies at ten-thirty, which was the earliest yet.

Making a mental note to up that volume by twenty-five percent for the next sale, she grabbed the brightly coloured sold-out sign and set it on the tray.

Rice Krispies squares were next to sell out, with only a few of the muffins and the brownies remaining when the pop-up event ended in the early afternoon.  

But her raspberry tarts...she did some quick visual math.

She’d broken even on them, but her optimism had gotten the better of her. Those ingredients were too expensive to not have a higher sales percentage.

She quickly boxed up the remaining tarts, two to a container, then took them around to the classmates who she might want to partner with in the fall.

“Do you have any leftovers you want to trade for tarts?” Joohyun asked at each table, grateful to those who said yes. “Do I have your card? Here’s mine. Let’s keep in touch.”

By the time she had everything packed back into her car, she had enough food to eat like a queen for a few days.

An excellent save on those expensive ingredients. But her happy mood didn’t last long. When she logged into her computer to do her accounting, she saw an email from the coordinator at the college. 

The rest of the email was filler, so Joohyun scrolled to the attachment and opened it up.

All of her fragile hope deflated when she saw the monthly rental fees charged by the locations they’d used—even with the discount offered for the first year, it was more money than her gross revenue had been on any of the bake sales so far.

In the other room, her phone rang.

Shaking, she left the computer behind and dug through her bag.

By the time she found it, the call had dropped. Seungwan. 

Seungwan, who had just bought a house, who had a career, who was turning his life around.

Joohyun couldn’t talk to him right now. She wasn’t up for cheerleading today.  

Her phone slipped from her hand and bounced on her bed before landing, screen up. She stretched out beside it and closed her eyes.

The worst part was that Seungwan—a random Army acquaintance who she’d had a one-night stand with—was the closest thing she had to a confidant right now.

Joohyun didn’t make friends easily. Not close friends, nobody she could bounce business talk around with.

Her ex-husband had ruined those kinds of conversations for her, but even before her marriage, she’d been tight-lipped.

A career army officer at that point, she’d been a woman in a man’s world, where everyone learned to say what was expected.

Opinions had to be pre-filtered against the possible, the preferred. 

Joohyun was so tired.

Her eyes were hot. Sad.

Something else her marriage had stolen from her—the ability to cry.

Beside her, the phone vibrated again.

Swallowing hard, she forced a smile onto her face, because expression affected tone, and answered it. “Hello.”

“How did it go?”

She squeezed her cheeks wide. “Great. Turns out, pistachio raspberry tarts are a bit of a hard sell, but everything else performed better than expected.”

“Baking math, how exciting.”

That softened her smile into something real. “I like it. It overwhelms me sometimes, but once I figure out the perfect ratio on the other side of the frustration, there’s nothing quite like that sense of accomplishment.”

“Better than planning a successful military mission?” Seungwan dropped his voice and dug into a memory she’d forgotten. 

She closed her eyes and listened to his voice, letting him carry her back to Russia. Just for a second. She didn’t want to dwell in the past. “You’re very good at bolstering morale, aren’t you?”

He narrowed in on the wrong part of the question. “Wait, is your morale low?”

She didn’t answer. 

“What’s wrong?”

She groaned. “Nothing. Seoul's just insanely expensive and I don’t know where I’m going to take my business next. It’s not important.”

“It’s critically important. And I say that as your official morale booster.”

“Are you everyone’s cheerleader, or am I a special sad case?”

“I don’t think you’re a sad case.” 

“Clearly I haven’t told you enough about my ex-husband.”

A choking cough suggested Seungwan hadn’t been expecting her to say that. “Uh, do you want to?”

“I prefer not to think about him.”

“Same.”

That made her laugh. “Glad we’re on the same page. But there’s a limit to how much my morale can be boosted when the real damper on everything is the debt I wound up shouldering in the divorce.” 

“.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask a strange and overly familiar question?”

“Sure.” Joohyun rolled onto her side, then pushed herself up to sit. Whatever Seungwan would ask, she trusted on a bone-deep level it wouldn’t be too invasive.

“Do you see yourself ever getting married again?”

She barked. Out loud. Sharp and caustic. That wasn’t overly familiar, but it was ridiculous. “Never.”

“Never ever?”

“Love made me exceptionally stupid. I won’t ever make that mistake again. I don’t even...our night together? That was the first time I had in two years. Thank you, by the way. It was a lot of fun.” 

“I aim to please.”

“And I just feel like, okay, that was a good dip of the toe. I’m good for a while. I don’t need to do that again for another year.”

“I’ll make a calendar rem