“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Pete pointed his chin at the stack of documents on Frederick’s desk. “Are there any incident reports you want to give me a heads-up on?”
“C Shift switched out our sugar with salt earlier this week.” Frederick coughed into his fist, holding back a laugh. “But I can’t blame them since my crew added a bottle of apple cider vinegar into their iced tea pitcher last week.”
Pete chuckled. “Just make sure to keep things friendly, Captain.”
“Always, Chief.” Frederick nodded. “They’re all good people. No hard feelings on either side.”
And he had no hard feelings toward Anne. None whatsoever. In fact, he wished herallthe best… as long as she stayed the fuck out of his life.
THEN…
Dear Anne,
You were right. I was hurt, not angry, that you couldn’t come to my game. I was sad that you decided to visit your family instead of spending the weekend with me. I was jealous that you picked your family over me. But it isn’t a competition, is it?
Being with you is new and exciting and, frankly, a little addicting, but I understand that we both have a life away from each other as well. We have responsibilities as students (I think I threw up a little), and we can’t abandon our friends and family. That isnotcool. I definitely don’t want to bethatguy, and it was wrong of me to expect you to bethatgirl.
Your family is important to you, and you should be able to spend time with them without worrying about hurting your boyfriend’s feelings. I get that now. I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to choose.
And you were right again. (Does that kind of get old? Being right all the time?) It’s easier admitting this to you in writing, rather than trying to articulate it to you in person. At first, it was weird writing a whole letter, but it feels good to tell you all this stuff and make sense doing so. I’m making sense, right?
I’m sorry I tried to pick a fight with you when you came back. I spent the entire weekend feeling sorry for myself, missing you like crazy. I should’ve just kissed you like I wanted to, instead of throwing a temper tantrum. I’m more than a little embarrassed by that as I write this to you. But I’ll make it up to you.
Will you let me?
Forever yours,
Frederick
CHAPTER THREE
Sandwiched between her father’s manspreading and Juliette’s Louboutin stilettos—which she refused to take off even though they were in their aunt’s home—Anne sat on the sofa with her hands folded on her lap and her legs pressed tightly together.
Auntie Sharon and Tessa comfortably shared the love seat across from them. Sitting together like that, they looked like mother and daughter. Her younger sister looked remarkably like their aunt with her full, round face, naturally wavy hair, and big Bambi eyes. Tessa might be the picture of sweet innocence, but she also shared Auntie Sharon’s laser-sharp intelligence and equally sharp tongue.
Anne smiled affectionately at two of her favorite people. They were a force to be reckoned with. Her aunt raised her eyebrows in question but readily returned her smile. Auntie Sharon and her family lived in Rancho Palos Verdes, a city twenty miles south of Los Angeles, nestled among beautiful green hills overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Anne had always loved Auntie Sharon’s house, especially how sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room, which faced a serene backyard. It made the house feel warm and welcoming, like it had thrown its arms wide, inviting you in for a hug. But even the cheeriestdécor couldn’t brighten up a room in the presence of her father’s marked disapproval.
According to Anne’s father, Rancho Palos Verdes was “poor adjacent” because of the smaller square footage of the houses and the dual-income status of the “working families” who lived there. Of course,helived in a multimillion-dollar home in the exclusive Lunada Bay neighborhood of Palos Verdes Estates, the sister city of Rancho Palos Verdes, with its sprawling mansions and stunning ocean views.
If he had his way, her father would never associate himself with his neighbors from the “Cinco,” the nickname for Rancho Palos Verdes given for their zip code, nine zero two sevenfive. He didn’t consider them his equals even thoughhehad almost lost their family home ten years ago. If that impending bankruptcy had come to pass, it would have put him far below his neighbors’ socioeconomic status.
Even then, he would never have called himself a workingman. He took great pride in never having worked a day in his life, living off the trust fund his parents had set up for him—money Anne’s immigrant grandparents had toiled day and night to earn by building a successful Korean restaurant group from the ground up. Theone timeher father took an interest in the family business, he’d almost bankrupted it by overinvesting in some outrageous venture.
Anne was grateful her father had resumed idling his days away. It was best for everyone that professional executives ran the business now. Her grandparents were long gone, but their legacy would live on a while longer.Thank God for that.She couldn’t imagine having to upend her life a second time to rescue her father from financial ruin.
She raised a startled hand to her throat as long-forgotten resentment and bitterness seared her insides like acid. She hadn’t gotten angry over her past in a long time, but seeing Frederick must have brought her old wounds closer to the surface.
Resenting her father wouldn’t do her any good. He wouldn’t even notice that she was upset, much less feel remorse for what he’d done… for what she’d had to sacrifice. She did what needed to be done. There was no use moping over it.
Anne took a calming breath, then glanced around the cozy living room. Auntie Sharon’s lovely home inthe Cincodidn’t have an ocean view, but it was much preferable to the cold luxury of her father’s house—a house that had been full of warmth and laughter when her mother was alive. Anne sighed softly. Her father had only deigned to set foot in her aunt’s house because his curiosity about Coraline’s fiancé trumped his prejudices for this one evening.
“Please have some tea, Hyeongbu,” her aunt said, addressing Anne’s father asolder brother-in-law.
“Jonathan.” Her father crinkled his nose. “You know I don’t like to stand on ceremony, Sharon.”
It had more to do with his dislike of being called anolderanything. Her father, who insisted on being calledJonathandespite his legal name being Jongsoo, was a remarkably well-groomed and handsome man of sixty-five with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair even George Clooney would covet. He knew that better than anyone else and kept an extraordinary number of mirrors in the house in case he forgot for even a second.
Auntie Sharon glanced out the window, pressing her lips together to hold back a grin. She had a long-running game to see how many times she could call Anne’s fatherhyeongbubefore he left the room in a huff.
