✨MY BILLIONAIRE TWINS ✨|| JIKOOK

40.

JIMIN POV

My jaw drops as I walk
into the kitchen.

What a difference a few
weeks can make.

The contractor looks up from
the last cabinet he's installing.

"We worked through the
night on these. You like?"

"I love." I say, nodding enthusiastically.

"These cabinets are beautiful."

"Better than I had hoped for."

I'd seen them coming off the truck, of course but with everything assembled, in
place and freshly painted,
they look unbelievable.

The whole kitchen is gleaming.

Everywhere I look, from the stainless steel appliances to
the brand-new white painted cabinets with their white
granite countertops it looks exactly like I envisioned it
in my head when I drew up
the plans.

Except better.

Even dreamier than my
best daydream of what a
kitchen could be.

"You've done an amazing
job." I say, still looking
around in awe.

"My clients are going to be thrilled."

"Thank you." he says, smiling
at me for what might be the
first time ever.

"It's been my pleasure."

I know for a fact that's a lie, since we went a solid week communicating strictly through frowns and French curse words
but I appreciate the sentiment.

"You are a master craftsman, monsieur. Truly."

"When you're finished here, please feel free to take the
rest of the afternoon off."

"You've certainly earned it."

He's already putting his tools away as I walk from the room, and I immediately start dialing Jungkook's number to share
the news that the kitchen remodel will finally be
finished by the time he and
Guk get home.

Then I remember they're supposed to be in meetings
all day and I end the call
before he can pick up.

Even though I'm pretty sure either one of them would have no problems pausing a meeting to take my call, I don't want
to interrupt their business.

Besides, maybe it'll be better
to surprise them with the
kitchen once they get here.

They'll get the full effect that way, just like I did.

A knock on the big front door pulls me from my thoughts
as I tuck my phone back into
the pocket of my linen pants.

Probably another delivery
for the kitchen.

I sigh and shake my head.

As much praise as I've heaped onto the contractor today, I
really don't want to have to
tell him again to make sure deliveries come to the back
of the house.

It's no good remodeling the kitchen if it means tearing up three-hundred-year-old floors
in the process by wheeling in appliances and slabs of granite.

I open the door, ready to
point the delivery driver in the right direction but I freeze as soon as I see whoit is.

My stomach clenches and
my whole body feels tense,
like I might throw up.

Or pass out.

Or scream.

"San?" I blink and shake my head, as if I might be
imagining my ex at the door.