Stay Another Day

Chapter One: Dreams

She sighed and closed her eyes.

Her brain saw this as an opportunity to replay highlights from her dream in high definition. Scenes and sensations flooded back with startling, toe-curling clarity.

Jeong-hyeok's fingers entangled in her hair, his soft lips kissing her neck, teeth gently nipping at the soft skin. Her moaning against him as her hands explored his chest. His large hand gripping her thigh under her skirt to pull her closer to his-

Ohmygod. Her eyes flew open. Stoppppstopitstopit, she thought, swatting away the pornographic images with her hand. She stared at her horrified reflection.

Se-ri hurriedly splashed water on her hot face as if putting out a fire. Get a grip, she told herself as she dabbed her face dry with a towel.

She was hardly a prude – the detritus of her dating life was proof of that. But this was wildly inappropriate.

Sure, she delighted in teasing Jeong-Hyeok about being her type. Any female with eyes would consider him her type. Had he strolled past her in Gangnam, she would have peered over her Tom Ford sunglasses to appreciate that side profile, the broad back, that dignified posture and those long legs. With a face like that and cheekbones that could cut glass, she would have assumed he was a model. Or an actor.

Delicious, masculine and lofty, Jeong-hyeok was definitely her type.

But this was neither the time nor the place. He was her guardian of sorts, simply trying to find a way to send her safely back home.

Which was why Se-ri limited herself to teasing him. He scoffed and feigned indifference. But when he thought she wasn't looking, she caught a hint of dimples from the corner of her eye.

She paused to look at the contents of the wooden shelves. When she arrived, the shelves had been as minimalist as the man who lived here.

Has it really been two weeks since she fell into North Korea? It was starting to look like she lived here.

On the top shelf was Jeong-hyeok's toothbrush, a tube of moisturizer, a wooden comb, a nail cutter, a jar of cream and a bottle of aftershave. On the middle shelf was a tube of pink lip gloss, her hairbrush, toothbrush and a scrunchie.

The bottom shelf was crowded with an assortment of ma:nyo skincare products that would've made its spokesperson proud.

Jeong-hyeok might have gone a little overboard.

She quickly redid her braid and brushed her teeth before patting on some moisturizer.

Se-ri might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but she certainly wasn't going to let her skincare slide.

She checked her reflection once again.

Back in Seoul, she would have died rather than wear the yellow polo sweater and ankle-length skirt look she was sporting right now. On her feet were Jeong-hyeok's too-large wool socks.

She looked so provincial - less French country chic, more country bumpkin.

Still, the sweater had been one of the first pieces of clothing that Ri Jeong-Hyeok had procured from the market along with the oversized bras, underwear (thankfully, the right size), clogs and quilted slippers. Even if it wasn't her style, knowing that he'd chosen them made her feel grateful and other warm emotions she had yet to identify.

Under that façade of indifference and propriety, she could tell he was generous and kind. He could have decided that she wasn't his problem. Instead, he chose to keep her safe and made her feel at home.