An Umbrella-less Day and a Quiet Tasting
The rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Kang Chi-yeol hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“Would you like to step inside for a bit? It’s windier out here, so you’ll only get wetter.”
It was a purely innocent remark. Probably.
Lee Do-hee glanced between the threshold and the outside, then gave a small nod.
“Then just for a moment.”
She stepped inside Chiyeolhan Chicken, clutching the file folder she’d been holding. The sight felt strangely unfamiliar. Lee Do-hee standing inside his shop. It was nothing more than taking shelter from the rain, yet Kang Chi-yeol couldn’t help noticing how the air in the store seemed to shift.
She stopped just inside the entrance and brushed at her damp sleeve. Feeling like he ought to do something, Kang Chi-yeol spoke quickly.
“Shall I get you a towel?”
“It’s fine. It’ll dry soon enough.”
“Ah, right.”
“Thank you. For earlier, too.”
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the menu mock-up before returning to him.
“If you hadn’t helped, I would’ve gotten soaked.”
Kang Chi-yeol waved his hand, trying a little too hard to act casual.
“Not at all. I just happened to see it while moving boxes in front of the shop.”
Do-hee looked at him for a moment.
“You always phrase things like you’re making excuses, Boss.”
“Pardon?”
“You could just say you helped. That’s all.”
It was an unexpected observation. For a second, Kang Chi-yeol was at a loss for words. When he thought about it, she was right. He always did that. Even after doing something for someone, he would downplay it with phrases like “Oh, I was just passing by…” or “I was doing it anyway…” or “It was nothing.”
In case it looked like I was showing off. In case it made them uncomfortable. Or in case my goodwill came across as too much.
“I’ve always been like that,” he said quietly.
Do-hee gave a very brief nod.
“I figured as much.”
That simple reply lingered in his mind far longer than it should have. I figured as much. She had a way of reading people in these fleeting moments and then moving on. And every time it happened, Kang Chi-yeol felt a complicated mix of embarrassment, pleasure, and unease at how exposed he suddenly seemed.
A brief silence fell between the sound of rain tapping on the eaves. Kang Chi-yeol glanced over the workstation for no particular reason. Chicken he’d prepared for frying sat on one side, the lids on the seasoning containers were closed, and a few neatly arranged packaging stickers rested on the counter. He could feel Do-hee’s eyes moving across each of those details. Not so much inspecting as reading the space itself.
She asked softly, “Did you run another test today?”
Chi-yeol realized her gaze had settled on the chicken.
“Ah, yes. I was tweaking the salt level a bit more.”
“And the sweetness?”
“I brought it down.”
“That explains why the aroma seemed different.”
The moment she said it, Kang Chi-yeol felt that strange little flutter in his chest again. It was such a small comment, yet this woman kept noticing his work through scent and taste. And oddly enough, it felt better than any verbal praise. More like genuine recognition.
“It’s not completely finalized yet,” he said.
Do-hee nodded.
“That’s when you’re the most sensitive to it.”
There was a subtle note of empathy in her words. Kang Chi-yeol looked at her.
“Are you the same way, Boss?”
“Yes. I get most sensitive when adjusting broth ratios.”
A tiny laugh slipped into the sentence.
“The designer told me yesterday to stop stirring and take a break already.”
Kang Chi-yeol laughed before he could stop himself. The image of Lee Do-hee standing in front of a pot, endlessly stirring with a ladle, was far too vivid.
“I doubt you listened to him.”
“I didn’t.”
Do-hee laughed too. This time it was clearer than before. That brief sound somehow softened the entire space. Even though the rain continued to pour outside, the air inside the shop felt quiet and warm.
Then, without thinking, Kang Chi-yeol said, “In that case… would you like to try some?”
Only after the words left his mouth did he realize what he’d said. The way her eyes had lingered on the chicken, the fact that they were sharing the same space because of the rain, and the earlier moment of mutual understanding had somehow converged into that single sentence.
Do-hee blinked.
“Right now?”
“Ah, no. You really don’t have to…”
Kang Chi-yeol tried to backpedal, but Do-hee was already turning her gaze toward the workstation.
“No, it’s fine.”
She took a step closer and looked at the plate. Kang Chi-yeol quickly used tongs to transfer the most presentable piece onto it. His hands felt unusually clumsy and he nearly dropped it, but thankfully it wasn’t too obvious.
Do-hee took a bite. Amid the sound of rain drumming against the windows, Kang Chi-yeol found himself holding his breath again.
She chewed slowly, then spoke almost immediately.
“This is better.”
Those three words landed squarely in Kang Chi-yeol’s chest.
“Compared to before?”
“Yes. Even lowering the salt just a little makes it something you can eat for much longer.”
She tore off another small piece and ate it.
“But this would be really…”
Her sentence trailed off. Kang Chi-yeol tensed without meaning to.
“What?”
Do-hee said it plainly.
“It would taste good dipped in tteokbokki broth.”
The moment the words left her mouth, both of them let out a short laugh. Kang Chi-yeol had a pretty good idea why. The comment no longer sounded like simple food pairing. It carried the awareness that they were both already thinking about each other’s dishes.
“You keep pairing my chicken with your tteokbokki, Boss,” he said, half teasing.
Do-hee lifted her eyes to meet his.
“Because I think they’d go that well together.”
“Then is it all right if I keep pairing your tteokbokki with my chicken?”
She looked at him for a moment, then gave a faint smile.
“That’s how everyone eats it anyway.”
It was true. So true that there was nowhere left for the conversation to go.
When the rain began to ease a little, Do-hee prepared to return to her own shop. Before stepping out with her file folder, she paused at the door and glanced back.
“I said the towel was fine earlier, but…”
Kang Chi-yeol froze.
“Yes?”
She held up her still-damp sleeve.
“It’s not drying as quickly as I thought.”
He quickly went to the shelf, bypassing the clean dishcloth and pulling out a small towel instead. Do-hee took it and said,
“I’ll borrow it. I’ll wash it and return it later.”
The words sounded like another small seed of goodwill. Kang Chi-yeol smiled despite himself.
“You can just keep it and give me a new one.”
“No. I feel better returning what I borrow.”
So like her. A person who didn’t leave things hanging. Someone who avoided creating debts and preferred to settle them when possible. Yet strangely, the statement didn’t feel like a complete wall. The towel would come back. And that might mean another chance to talk. In that way, a tiny connection had been formed.
The thought made Kang Chi-yeol feel ridiculous. Really, once your heart starts to tilt, you can attach meaning to even a single towel.
As Do-hee stepped outside, she said briefly, “I’ll return it as soon as the rain stops.”
“There’s no rush.”
“There is for me.”
She said it with a clear smile this time. Kang Chi-yeol ended up smiling along with her.
After Do-hee left, Jo A-ra peeked out from the back. He had no idea how long she’d been watching, but her face said she was dying to speak.
“Boss.”
“What.”
“We’ve reached the towel stage now.”
Kang Chi-yeol sighed.
“Where exactly were you hiding?”
“I was pretending to organize flyers in the back.”
“Did you really have to go that far?”
“This is something I have to see. It’s a historic moment.”
“What history?”
A-ra began counting on her fingers with mock seriousness.
“Door stopper. Coffee. Chicken tasting. Tteokbokki tasting. Trip to the print shop together. And today’s towel.”
Kang Chi-yeol was genuinely speechless. Hearing it listed out, each item was so trivial that it became funny, yet the fact that so many small things had already piled up felt strangely real.
“It’s weird, right? They’re all nothing special, but they feel like something,” A-ra asked.
Kang Chi-yeol thought for a moment before answering honestly.
“Yeah.”
“That’s the scariest part.”
“What is?”
“When you look back later, everything important started exactly like this.”
The words sounded like a joke, yet they lingered. Kang Chi-yeol looked toward the door. The rain had almost stopped. Through the window, he could see Lee Do-hee inside her shop, organizing files while tending to her damp sleeve. In her hand was the small towel she had borrowed from him moments ago.
It really was such a small gesture. One towel, one bite of chicken, a few minutes walking together to the print shop, a brief time sharing the same space to avoid raindrops. Yet Kang Chi-yeol already understood. The heart is usually moved by moments like these. Not by grand events, but by the small things that stay with you longer because of their simplicity.
He rested his hand on the workstation and murmured very quietly to himself.
“At this rate, I’m really going to be in trouble…”
Jo A-ra shot back immediately.
“I think you’re already kind of in trouble.”
Kang Chi-yeol glared at her, but in the end he couldn’t argue. Because deep down, he was thinking the exact same thing.