Jihun Park had officially become a problem.
Not the kind of problem that required police intervention (though I'd considered it), but the kind that showed up at Sulloc Cha every single day after school like a stray cat who'd mistaken my shop for his personal feeding ground.
The first week, he'd lurked near the back alley, leaving cryptic notes under Ssukda's milk saucer:
"Your oolong smells like autumn."
"Halmeoni smiled at me today. Should I be worried?"
"Yuna says you're 'scary-pretty.' I agree."
I burned them all.
(Okay, I kept one. For blackmail purposes.)
By the second week, he'd upgraded to sitting inside the shop, nursing a single cup of jasmine tea for three hours while pretending not to stare at me.
"Just kick him out," my barista, Minji, whispered as she wiped down the counter. "He's like a human version of those sad puppy ads."
"I can't," I hissed back. "He pays. And he tips well."
Jihun, overhearing this, smirked into his tea and left a 50% tip that day.
One rainy afternoon, Jihun slid a jar across the counter with a note:
"For your tea. Not poisoned. (Unless you count sweetness as poison.)"
I unscrewed the lid and sniffed. "Did you steal this from a fairy tale? It smells like a meadow exploded."
He grinned and wrote: "Beekeeper cousin. His bees listen better than I do."
I used it in my next blend.
(It was perfect. I hated him.)
---
A tourist slammed her iced matcha on the counter. "This needs more sugar!"
Before I could eviscerate her, Jihun—bless his traitorous heart—calmly pushed a notepad toward her:
"Sugar disrespects the tea. Like putting ketchup on sushi."
The tourist gasped. "Are you calling me uncultured?"
Jihun blinked innocently and added: "Yes."
I had to duck into the kitchen to hide my laughter.
---
Ssukda now greeted Jihun like a returning war hero, flopping onto his lap the second he sat down. One day, I caught her smuggling him a teabag she'd stolen from the shelf.
"You filthy collaborator," I whispered to her.
Jihun pocketed the teabag and left a note: "We've formed an alliance. You're outnumbered."
---
Halmeoni, the ultimate turncoat, gave Jihun a key to the back door "for when it rains."
"You gave him access?!" I screeched. "He's basically a raccoon with a trust fund!"
Jihun, already using the key to refill Ssukda's milk saucer, wrote: "Raccoons are resourceful. I'm flattered."
By the end of the month, Park Jihun had infiltrated Sulloc Cha like a particularly polite termite. He memorized our regulars' orders, fixed our wobbly stools, and once—once—when I was sick, left a thermos of ginger-honey tea outside my apartment with a note:
"Drink this or I'll tell Ssukda you called her fat."
I drank it.
(I also called Ssukda fat. She didn't care.)
and finally....
"You're here again?" I demanded as Jihun strolled in after school, uniform tie loosened, hair messy from wind.
He nodded, pulling out his notepad.
Yuna burst through the door behind him. "He's studying here now because someone won't admit they like his company!"
"I tolerate it," I corrected. "For revenue."
Jihun slid me a new note:
"Liar. You smiled at me yesterday."
I crumpled it. "It was a twitch."
Halmeoni, from her corner throne, sipped her tea and said, "Just marry him already and put us all out of our misery."
Jihun choked.
Yuna high-fived Halmeoni.
And I—
I poured myself the strongest cup of tea in the shop.
(UGH! Found out it was his favorite.)