“I have a hard time not eating too many when they come out of the oven golden-brown,” she continued.
He frowned suddenly. “Why don’t you just make some yourself this year? Won’t she give you the recipe?”
She grimaced. “I have the recipe. But I don’t have a kitchen. I live in a dorm. It’s basically a glorified bedroom. At least, it has its own bathroom,” she tried to find the bright side.
He frowned. “But isn’t the campus closed right now? For the holidays?”
She nodded. “It is.”
“So…where do you eat?”
She shrugged. “Wherever. I did buy a little hot plate, so I can make ramen. Or eggs.” Another careless lift of her shoulders. “I manage.”
A deep ravine was pushing itself up against his eyebrows now. “Didn’t any of the other students – the local ones – invite you home with them over break?”
Her face fell. “Nope. Not a one. Like I said, no one will miss me when I venture home. Let’s just say that Korea hasn’t lived up to my expectations.”
He gazed intently at her, but she wasn’t meeting his eyes now. After a moment, he whispered, “Can I have your butter cookie recipe?”
Startled, she glanced up at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “They sound good. I’ve never had a homemade butter cookie.”
“You haven’t? That is the saddest thing I’ve heard all day.”
He simply stared in astonishment at her. She’d just told him that no one would miss her when she left, but she thought his failure to taste a certain cookie was the most sorrowful aspect of her day today?
“Can I see your phone?” she asked abruptly. “Open it to the notes section.”
He did so and handed it to her. She chewed on her bottom lip as she typed away for a couple of minutes. Then her eyes reviewed her efforts, and she nodded with satisfaction after fixing a typo. Then she held his phone out towards him again.
With a sweet twist of her lips, she murmured, “There you go. I hope you enjoy them.”
He received his phone and glanced down at the recipe.
“What’s c, little t, and capital T?” he asked after a moment of perusing the recipe.
“The c followed by a period means cup and the little t stands for teaspoon. Capital T is tablespoon.”
“Ah. I thought so. Just wanted to make sure.” He glanced back down at his phone. “Thank you for this.”
“Maybe I’ll run into you again here sometime, and you can tell me whether you liked them,” she commented with a wry twist of her lips.
His eyes remained intent on her face. “Perhaps,” he murmured.
Suddenly, his phone rang. He peered down in surprise before answering it. “Hello…okay, I’ll be right there.”
He ended the call and looked at her.
“You need to go. I heard,” she muttered.
He nodded his head crisply. “I…I’ll see you around. Okay?”
She bobbed her head and gave him a pathetic, little smile. He could infer from that sad curve that she didn’t really believe she’d see him again.
“Are you here every morning?” he took the time to ask.
Her eyes collided with his again. In surprise. “Most days.” Those lips quirked upward again. “I find their hot chocolate to be irresistible.”
“Maybe I can buy you some tomorrow morning? Say, eight o’clock?” He held up his cup. “After all, I owe you one.”
She shook her head, and he felt his heart sink inexplicably. “You don’t owe me anything. But…I could meet you here at eight tomorrow…. If you really want to,” she added doubtfully.
“I do!” he was quick to reply.
Her face smoothed out in amazement before a tiny smile lit up one corner of it. “All right. Tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow,” he nodded as he turned to head for the door.
It was only as he strode down the street a moment later that he realized that he had forgotten to ask her for her name.
I am truly sorry for her experience