The Promise of a Week
“Sign it with my name. I’ll settle up tomorrow.”
“Then send it over Venmo! How am I supposed to trust some random customer with a tab when it’s the first one today?”
Tristan had wanted to call in the favor from one of the other students, but every hockey guy on the team had already vanished from the bar. No one at Chatsworth didn’t know him, so the odds of getting stiffed seemed low, but people were people.
“I’ll call campus security if you don’t pay up!”
“Cute idea. Then I’ll get written up and miss the next game. I’m not complaining—finally get to rest—but you’re about to blow the whistle on an overworked student who’s only costing you a few bucks.”
“……”
“Want to make your college life harder? Go ahead and try.”
Annoying as the remark was, it carried weight. Cora sighed, staring at the pile of unwashed dishes. Health-code violations weren’t something she could fix here, and the kitchen help was already stretched thin.
“Hah… I could get reported for sanitary violations, but maybe I can still make you wash these.”
He chuckled softly, loosening the heavy watch on his wrist and sliding it across the bar. The metallic band caught the low light, a rich silver piece with a glowing blue edge.
“Put this up as collateral. Sell it if you have to. It’ll cover several times what you’re owed tonight.”
Cora’s hand shot out before her brain caught up, fingers closing around the cool weight of the watch. “What? Stop, Tristan! Just—wait!”
He paused, that lazy, dangerous smile curving his lips. “You never told me your name.”
“Who in Chatsworth doesn’t know you?”
“Guess you haven’t been paying that much attention.”
“Don’t waste my time. I have no idea if this is a fake Hong Kong knockoff or the real deal. Patek Philippe? I don’t even know the brand.”
Tristan let out a low, amused laugh at her guess. “Then go find me when you’re sure. I’ll be where you left me.”
“What?”
“You know exactly where that is.”
He flashed a filthy grin and sauntered out of the pub, leaving the bell above the door jingling like a warning.
Cora sank against the bar, the ghost of his voice still echoing in her head. I know where you are.
It sounded like a threat wrapped in silk.
***
A full week had passed.
Despite the temptation, Tristan Lockwood had not shown his face once. Cora sat at the counter, staring at the watch like an unwanted guest. It looked expensive enough to buy a month’s groceries, yet here it sat on the bottom shelf like a problem she didn’t want to solve.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
She snapped the counter shut and glanced toward the door, half-expecting him to stroll in with that arrogant smirk. Nothing. Just the usual after-dinner crowd and the low hum of the jukebox.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Mom.
“Hey, Carlson,” she called, keeping her voice light. “Can I take a quick call? Just—five minutes?”
“Take all the time you need, kiddo.”
She slipped into the storage room, yanked the oversized hoodie over her head, and zipped it to her chin before answering. Better to hide the uniform under layers than risk the overworked-teen rumor mill.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
The line crackled with the familiar sound of a crowded Korean market in the background. “Su-hyun-ah, what are you doing?”
“Studying. Dorm’s quiet tonight.”
“It’s late. Why does it sound so dark in there?”
“Roommate’s asleep. Curtain’s drawn.”
“Curtain, huh? So that’s why the light’s off. Anyway, I just wanted to hear my pretty daughter’s voice.”
Cora’s chest tightened at the warmth in her mother’s tone. Park Haeseon had been born and raised in Korea, but life had a funny way of rewriting paths. She’d met her husband during a short Navy posting, married, moved to a sleepy Chicago suburb, then—after Cora’s birth—followed her now-unemployed ex-husband to the barren iron mines of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. English was still patchy, skills even patchier. The only job she could get was kitchen assistant at the neighborhood Korean place. Years of it.
“How’s the place treating you? Still getting that Kwon auntie to push you around?”
“She’s better lately. She even promised a gift card before Chuseok. Can you believe that?”
“Sure she can. Probably wants you to buy something overpriced and then complain about the price.” Cora forced a laugh. “Wait until I graduate and land a good job. I’ll earn enough to open my own place—full Korean barbecue with those cruise-ship tables. I’ll crush her under my boot, Mom. She’ll be eating her words.”
“Don’t talk like that. She’s been good to you. I’ve been able to work more hours because of it.”
Cora’s eyes narrowed. Good? She’s been sucking the marrow out of you for years. The kitchen held twenty tables and one single assistant—her mother. When Haeseon couldn’t keep up, Mrs. Kwon would drop off second-hand clothes or old lipstick as “gifts,” the implication clear: At least my life isn’t as pathetic as yours.
“Just wait a little longer,” Cora said, voice steady. “When I’m settled, I’ll take care of everything. You’ll see.”
Her mother’s eyebrows pinched. “That’s your dream, not mine.”
“Mom…”
“If I’d had even half the talent you did, I’d have made you a figure-skating champion. The thought alone makes me sick. Other parents would sell their house to support a daughter with talent. But no—mine had to get stuck with you.”
Cora’s heart cracked. She swallowed hard. “Mom, no one’s fault is worse than mine. I quit skating the second I could. I couldn’t stand the stress, the judging, the way the costumes always made me feel like a walking birthday cake. I’m done with it. I’m finally happy.”
The line went quiet for a beat. Then her mother’s voice came back, softer. “I just… I wanted better for you.”
Cora stared at the phone screen, the weight of every missed medal, every canceled lesson, every time she’d begged to quit pressing down on her ribs. “I know, Mom. But I’m okay now. Really.”
“…Then that’s enough.”
She hung up before the tears could spill, zipped the hoodie higher, and stepped back into the warmth of the bar. The watch still sat on the counter like an accusation. Somewhere out there, Tristan Lockwood was waiting, and for the first time in years, Cora didn’t know whether to run toward him or away.