The First Bite
Kang Chi-yeol fried chicken three times that morning.
Even on a normal day, he always double-checked the taste before opening. The condition of the birds varied slightly each morning, the oil temperature fluctuated in tiny increments, and the brining time changed both the initial saltiness and the lingering savoriness of the finish. That much was true. But today there was one additional reason beyond the usual.
Ever since Lee Do-hee had tossed out that casual remark the day before, his heart had been floating in an oddly ambiguous direction.
“It looked like you were deliberately avoiding eye contact with me.”
And right after that, “Just kidding.”
Those two short sentences had lingered strangely in his ears all night. He had thought of her as someone who drew clear boundaries, yet the way she could slip in such a thin, almost inaudible joke before turning away unsettled him in a subtle way. What he had assumed was a solid wall now felt like a person who might actually have one very small window.
Kang Chi-yeol had always been weak to that kind of gap. People who were openly affectionate never stayed in his mind as long as those who kept a blank face and smiled only once in a great while. For some reason, those people lingered longer, and even trivial moments refused to leave his thoughts.
That was why, even while frying chicken since dawn, he kept having to rein himself in.
“Focus on the chicken. Get a grip.”
Muttering to himself did little good. Even amid the bubbling oil, his mind wandered off in strange directions. What time would Lee Do-hee arrive today? Would she look a little less tired than yesterday? Would she wear that coat again instead of the jumper?
He paused for a second with the tongs still in his hand, then let out a hollow laugh at how pathetic he was. A forty-one-year-old man worrying about such things first thing in the morning. If he had any actual dating experience, he might at least have a sense of how to handle these feelings. But Kang Chi-yeol’s record in that department was spotlessly clean. At this point, “clean” no longer sounded like a virtue; it felt more like a flaw.
Whenever he became conscious of someone, his emotions showed too honestly on his face. The harder he tried to hide them, the more obvious they became. He was starting to understand why Jo A-ra teased him so relentlessly.
He tore off a piece from the first batch and frowned. It was crispy, but the seasoning inside was a touch too strong. The second batch had perfect seasoning, yet the batter felt slightly thick. Only on the third attempt did he reach the “Ah, this is it” moment. A savory aroma rose gently above the oil scent, the skin shattered thinly, and the meat inside stayed plump without being dry. The instant he bit down, Chi-yeol caught himself giving a small nod.
“This should be…”
He never finished the sentence. Because right then, a familiar silhouette brushed past the glass door outside.
It was Lee Do-hee. Today she had left her hair down, only half-pinned up. It was hardly a dramatic change, yet Kang Chi-yeol’s fingertips suddenly moved a beat too late. She wore a thin deep-brown knit and black slacks, a folder and keys in her hand. The outfit prioritized work over decoration, but for some reason she looked softer than yesterday. Probably because of her hair. A person’s impression could shift from the smallest details.
Chi-yeol reflexively ducked. Even though he was inside his own shop, he acted like someone caught doing something wrong. The very next second he lifted his head again, laughing at himself.
“Why am I hiding? This is my store.”
He pretended nothing was amiss and began tidying the worktable. But before raising her own shutter, Lee Do-hee glanced in his direction. Their eyes met through the glass, and Kang Chi-yeol gave an awkward little bow. Do-hee returned a brief nod. That was all, yet the morning air somehow felt different.
“Have I lost my mind…”
He muttered under his breath and turned back to the chicken. If a single greeting could make the atmosphere feel changed, he was already too far gone. Kang Chi-yeol knew that perfectly well, yet he was drifting deeper into it, slower and slower.
All morning he worked through his opening checklist. He rewrote the menu descriptions for the delivery apps, rearranged the packaging vinyl, and stacked the tasting paper cups neatly on one side of the table. When Jo A-ra arrived and saw it, she clicked her tongue and said, “Boss, even the paper cups are lined up perfectly,” but Chi-yeol no longer reacted much to such comments. Or rather, he didn’t have the mental bandwidth.
Today, before opening, he planned to hand out tasting samples to a few places around the neighborhood. The snack shop, the laundry, the beauty salon, the stationery store. He believed it was right to let the alley’s residents get to know his face first. It wasn’t grand advertising, but at the very least they needed to register him as “the guy opening the new chicken place.”
The problem was that carrying around that single tasting plate turned his day far more complicated than expected.
Around lunchtime, Kang Chi-yeol took the first plate to the snack shop.
“Please try it before we open,” he said with an awkward smile as he held it out. The Bunshikshop Ajumma replied, “Aigoo, you didn’t have to,” even as she quickly picked up a piece. The laundry owner reacted similarly. The beauty salon manager smiled at the smell of fried chicken before she even tasted it. After visiting several places, he felt a little more confident. People weren’t completely indifferent. At least they were curious.
Neighborhood businesses always began this way: letting them learn your face, your voice, your scent.
And now Kang Chi-yeol stood in front of his own shop holding the last small plate. Next door. The very next door.
He had placed four freshly fried pieces on the plate and stood there for a long time.
“Is it weird if I give it to her? Or weirder if I don’t?”
“We’re in the same alley, and I gave some to everyone else. If I skip the shop right next door, it’ll stand out.”
“But deliberately going over to hand it to her feels too intentional.”
Jo A-ra took one look at him and clicked her tongue.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Just give it to her.”
“Who said I wasn’t going to?”
“You’ve been standing there for thirty minutes with that exact expression on your face.”
Chi-yeol looked down at the plate.
“I’m worried it might feel like pressure.”
“What pressure is there in a tasting sample? It’s just a neighborly greeting.”
“Just a neighborly greeting…”
Chi-yeol rolled the words around in his mouth.
“That’s right. It’s just a neighborly greeting.”
“This is business. It’s not about showing my feelings to anyone. It’s a perfectly ordinary pre-opening tasting.”
Only after convincing himself three times did he pick up the plate and walk toward the neighboring storefront.
Lee Do-hee was inside organizing boxes. When Chi-yeol knocked on the glass door, she looked up. The face that appeared after she opened the door held a mix of curiosity and wariness.
“What brings you here?”
The question was short and clean. Kang Chi-yeol lifted the plate slightly.
“Ah, I’m handing out some samples before opening.”
Do-hee’s gaze dropped briefly to the chicken on the plate, then rose again. Her expression remained neutral.
“I see.”
“If it’s not too much trouble… would you mind trying a piece?”
Once the words were out, they sounded far too formal. Chi-yeol wanted to smack himself. Would you mind trying a piece? What was that, some corporate sample-delivery line? Yet Do-hee accepted the awkward politeness as if it were nothing.
“Right now?”
“Ah, if you’re busy, later—”
“No, it’s fine.”
She took the plate and inhaled the aroma for a moment. Kang Chi-yeol found himself holding his breath at even that small gesture. Do-hee picked up the smallest piece with her fingers. At that instant, Chi-yeol literally felt his heart drop with a heavy thud.
Lee Do-hee is eating my chicken.
It was such a ridiculous sentence, yet he had no idea why it made him so nervous. It felt like being evaluated, and at the same time strangely personal. The Bunshikshop Ajumma had eaten it, the laundry owner had eaten it, so why was he only this tense now? The answer was so obvious it embarrassed him even more.
Do-hee took a bite. She said nothing while chewing. To Kang Chi-yeol the silence felt unbearably long. Then, after a few seconds, she spoke.
“You manage your oil well.”
Kang Chi-yeol blinked once. It was an unexpected evaluation.
“Pardon?”
“The frying oil doesn’t leave a heavy aftertaste. When oil is old, you can tell immediately in your mouth. There’s none of that here.”
It was praise, but very much in Lee Do-hee’s style. Instead of easy compliments like “It’s delicious” or “It’s crispy,” her first observation was about the oil quality. For some reason, the center of Kang Chi-yeol’s chest grew faintly warm.