Chapter 41: Morning Heat

The early sunlight slanted across the garden, dappling the stone path in gold as Ji-hye stepped barefoot onto the dew-kissed grass. Her breath steamed slightly in the crisp air, but the flush of her morning jog still clung to her skin. Sweat clung to the edge of her sports bra, and her black activewear leggings hugged her toned thighs as she rolled her shoulders, arching back into a deep stretch. The tightness she’d battled for weeks was gone—no pinching pain, no stabbing fire in her hip. Just smooth motion and sweet release. It felt like a miracle. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, basking in the freedom of a body no longer betraying her. Joon-ho’s hands had done that. That touch. That patience. That maddening tenderness. Her lips curved. She hated how often she thought about those hands now. The faint scent of grilled meat and toasted rice drifted through the garden door, tugging her inside. She padded into the kitchen, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear—and paused. Joon-ho stood by the stove, shirtless, his hair still damp from a shower. Steam rose from a frying pan in front of him. He was plating grilled mackerel with practiced ease, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he flipped a slice of radish into a bowl of stew. The domesticity of it—broad shoulders, calloused fingers cradling a wooden spoon—sent a weird flutter through her chest. Harin sat perched on the kitchen counter like a cat in heat, wearing nothing but Joon-ho’s oversized black T-shirt and a pair of white panties barely peeking beneath the hem. Her long legs dangled playfully, toes curling against the wooden cabinet. She waved. "Morning, sunshine," Harin said, grinning. "Your legs look tight. Joon-ho really fixed you up, huh?" Ji-hye rolled her eyes and stepped in, her face flushed. "Don’t start." "Come sit." Harin patted the counter beside her. "You’re practically drooling." "I am not." "Over the food?" Harin teased, arching a brow. "Or over Joon-ho’s arms?" Ji-hye slid onto the counter, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. But her eyes strayed—traitorously—to Joon-ho’s hands again. The way his fingers moved, precise, strong... the memory of them sliding along her thigh was still burned into her nerves. Harin smirked. "Told you." Ji-hye shot her a look. "Is he always like this? Cooking, taking care of everything?" Harin shrugged, reaching for a slice of fruit. "He can’t help it. It’s in his nature. He’s like a golden retriever. Loyal, warm, smells amazing when he sweats." "Harin!" Ji-hye choked. "What?" Harin giggled. "Am I wrong?" Ji-hye looked at Joon-ho again. There was something steady about him. Something grounding. She wasn’t used to it. Men like that didn’t show up in her world—not without wanting something, not without strings. "I don’t get it," Ji-hye murmured. "You’re okay with him getting this close to... other women?" Harin didn’t look offended. If anything, her smile deepened with a quiet, knowing heat. "He’s not just any guy," she said softly. "He’s rare. He listens. He pays attention. He heals. Of course women are drawn to him—it’s not just his hands. It’s his heart." Ji-hye frowned. "Still, doesn’t it bother you? Sharing him?" "Maybe once. But I stopped trying to fit love into a cage." Harin leaned in. "And honestly? Watching a woman fall for him... watching her break open from his touch, the way he does it with reverence... it’s beautiful. Sometimes I get off just watching." Ji-hye’s throat went dry. "You’re serious." "I’m obsessed with him," Harin said without shame. "But I’m not selfish with it. You’ll understand. Eventually." Before Ji-hye could respond, Joon-ho turned around and placed two plates in front of them with a quiet smile. Grilled fish, soft rice, kimchi, sautéed greens. Perfectly portioned. Beautifully arranged. He caught the tail end of their conversation and raised a brow. "I can hear everything, you know." Harin just shrugged and dug in. "Eat. You’ll need your strength later." Ji-hye blinked. "Later?" "You’ll see." Ji-hye picked up her chopsticks, still flustered. The first bite melted on her tongue—perfect seasoning, delicate texture. She looked at Joon-ho with surprise. "This is amazing." He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s just breakfast." "No," she said. "It’s care. You put care into everything you do." Joon-ho met her eyes across the counter. For a moment, the air thickened. "Always," he said. Ji-hye didn’t know if he was talking about the meal... or the way he touched her body that day in the clinic. The way she moaned under his fingers, how her pain dissolved into pleasure, how her muscles remembered him now more than they remembered the injury. She looked down quickly, eating in silence, but her skin buzzed. Something was shifting. And she wasn’t ready for it. But her body was.