Getting a second chance at life isn't exactly as enchanting as it seems.
Sohee Young, who lived life like the callous person she was, dies. She gets another chance to live life correctly though, and that is by swapping lives with Lina Park, who die...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
RATHER THAN THE speed limits facing my wrath, the shaky, wooden table clattered from my aggressive strokes. The audience I gathered, the table next to me, peeked from their menus, and their gaze fleeted to Emma as she leaned in.
"You can't not talk to me," she whispered. "I drove you here out of the goodness of my heart."
"Shut. Up," I gritted out, my hand circling the washcloth under me faster.
"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you that Andrew was here." I figured, with how she kept fidgeting in her seat, and the odd sharing she'd done. But well aware of Andrew's eyes a few feet away, I gave her a blank stare.
"Okay, okay. I get it," she huffed. "But lower the negative energy, please? Between you and Andrew, especially. God, even the customers can feel the tension."
I rolled my eyes at her ridiculous statement. Please. Me ignoring Andrew so that I wouldn't explode, and him sending me puppy dog eyes did not equate to tension. Even if he couldn't keep himself composed, in turn creating a disruption, I'd worked with people I despised before, and had the ability to maintain a superficial front.
Work manners, as one would call it.
"Lina," Andrew murmured, fingertips grazing my back. My shoulders stiffened, and I heard him take a deep breath, but kept my eyes trained on the circles. On the little drops of water the washcloth left behind on its path.
"Can you take this to Imo?" He finally asked, hovering the order below my chin. The corner of the paper turned translucent as I grabbed it. Before I retracted my body though, his hand caught mine, and he pulled me closer.
"What—"
"We're sharing later," he muttered. It sounded like a statement, but when I looked in his eyes, I saw a flicker of hesitance.
"Table 7 needs you," I responded. The man shouted for Andrew from across the room, raising his hands in the air like someone tied it to the ceiling.
"Later," he emphasized, persistent on catching me. I sighed, making my way back to the kitchen, infused by the bubbling smoke coming from the black pots. The broth's aroma filled the area, and I could smell the clean and sharp tang of the Korean radish and the ribs. Lina's mother yanked on her mittens and set one of the pots off to the side, placing a spoon inside the almost toppling galbitang.
"Andrew told me to give this to you," I told her, leaning in to inspect the ribs piled up in the soup, and the green onions sprinkled on top. Already, I could taste the slight, sweet aftertaste of the broth, and it had my mouth watering. If I worked this hard, shouldn't I at least get fed?
"No touching," the mother warned, while thanking me. The moment she placed the metal utensil in, the soup calmed, as if a barrier had formed to prevent it from overflowing. Though true that I haven't seen Lina's parents around, they never forgot to feed me. With good Korean food, reminding me of my grandmother. For the last two weeks, my appetite increased, and I came to appreciate the food her mother made rather than being indifferent about it.
