Only Jeong Yeon-jae Could

A brief knock broke the stillness of the office.

Je-heon's hand stilled over the sheaf of documents he had been turning.

"Come in."

At his word, the door opened.

The click of approaching heels reached him together with a deep, rich aroma of roasted beans, and Je-heon lifted his head. The secretary set a cup down in front of him, steam curling from its surface.

"This is it?"

"Yes. I had them roast it as close a match as possible."

At Je-heon's question, Seong-jae, who had been standing beside the secretary, stepped forward.

Je-heon looked at him, then picked up the cup. He held it at his nose as if to catch the aroma, then lowered it to his lips. The two secretaries swallowed hard as they watched the coffee slip past, sip by sip.

They had gone to some of the most renowned roasting cafés in Seoul, and already they had been turned down five times. Today's beans were the second roast of the day—they had sworn they would settle this once and for all. He had always been particular about coffee, but after tasting the beans Yeon-jae had sent, it had gotten far worse. Even the coffee he used to drink had been displaced, and the executive office's secretarial team was in a state of emergency.

"How is it?"

Hope flickered in Seong-jae's eyes as he asked.

"You said the last beans left a sour note at the finish, so we had them go heavier this time."

No one spoke.

"Since it's a pour-over, they said it varies with technique, so we brought in an expert to brew it himself."

Je-heon swallowed a sip, then set the cup down. He looked at the two people waiting for his verdict, then pushed the cup away. Another rejection.

"Too bitter."

Je-heon picked up a glass of water and rinsed his mouth. Even after washing it down, a dry, acrid bitterness lingered, circling his tongue. This was why he didn't drink just anything. Displeasure found him almost at once.

"It should go down smoothly at first, then leave a nutty, toasted bitterness at the finish."

Silence again.

"This just tastes burnt. It won't do."

At Je-heon's scathing review, dismay crossed the face of the secretary who retrieved the cup. The secretary shot Seong-jae a look of desperate appeal. The message was clear: they could not do any better. Seong-jae thought the same. The café staff waiting outside—even the café owner—had already said further adjustments would be difficult. Even with generous compensation on offer, who would take on a job with no end in sight?

Je-heon rose from his seat and walked to the table by the window. A pour-over set was arranged there. He fitted a paper filter into the dripper nested in a large glass carafe, then tilted the kettle of boiling water. A thin stream flowed down, and the grounds bloomed and swelled.

Watching this, Seong-jae quietly dismissed the secretary standing beside him, then approached Je-heon.

"To be honest, sir—recreating those beans exactly is going to be difficult."

Je-heon swallowed a dry laugh at Seong-jae's unusually blunt words. He swirled the glass, and the coffee inside lapped against the sides. His nose twitched, instinctively chasing the aroma. These were beans he had never encountered before, and yet the scent was familiar—as if he had tasted it somewhere already.

"Is that so?"

Je-heon answered as if it were nothing, then took a sip of the coffee he had poured into a mug. A mellow richness bloomed across his tongue.

Ever since he had woken three months after the car accident, he had always been short on caffeine. Before, he had at least been able to drink something. Now the aversion ran far deeper. It had been a persistent problem for the secretaries who had attended him for years. And Jeong Yeon-jae had solved it in a single stroke.

She knew his coffee preferences—preferences even Myeong-hee and Director Ju Min-yeong did not know—and had gone so far as to make the beans herself.

"No wonder I'm confused."

The way she acted, it was as if she still liked him. No—if she didn't, her behavior would be genuinely hard to explain. The image of Yeon-jae rose before his eyes, and the corner of Je-heon's mouth twitched.

"Sir?"

Thinking the words had been directed at him, Seong-jae asked. Je-heon shook his head.

"It's nothing. Just talking to myself."

"Ah."

Seong-jae nodded, then carefully ventured,

"I believe Ms. Jeong Yeon-jae may be the only one who can make it."

He had tried every avenue he could think of, and failed every time. Bracing himself for the fallout, Seong-jae bowed his head—and that was when he heard it. A low laugh. He looked up.

The Je-heon who met his eyes was smiling.

"Can't be helped, then."

Seong-jae could only tilt his head, none the wiser.

Yeon-jae studied her reflection in the mirror. Each time she turned from side to side, the chiffon fabric of the dress rippled softly along the curves of her body. It was a dress she had worn before giving birth to Ji-woo.

"It still fits."

Today was the day of Ji-woo's concert. It wasn't just a performance—the kindergarten teachers and the other children would be there, so she needed something appropriate. She had opened her closet wondering what to wear, and immediately regretted it. She didn't have a single presentable outfit for a recital.

The only places Yeon-jae ever went were the kindergarten, the café where she worked part-time, and the academy. Occasionally Professor Lee's house, and that was it—so she had never needed pretty clothes. Still less any reason to look good for anyone.

After rummaging through the closet for some time, the dress she was wearing now was what she had found. When she had packed up the studio apartment and left, she had abandoned most of her clothes. This dress was the one thing she had taken with her.

She had left behind everything that carried the Gu-il family's touch—but she had not been able to let this dress go. Taking this much as a keepsake is fine, she had told herself. She had never imagined a day would come when she would actually wear it.

Yeon-jae stared at her reflection. On days with a special occasion, she had worn this dress. She never said anything, but Je-heon always seemed to recognize it, and that had made her happy.

"He wouldn't know now."

He had no memories. Of course he would have forgotten this dress, too. He wouldn't recognize it—and yet she couldn't help the way her heart stirred.

When Yeon-jae came out of the room, Ji-woo, sitting in a chair at the table, lifted his head.

"Mom!"

The child scrambled down and ran over, wrapping his arms around her waist. Hanging onto her, Ji-woo peered up at her face, then burst out in wonder.

"Whoa, a dress! You look so pretty today!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Mom, you should wear a dress every day. You're pretty. You look like a celebrity!"

"That's the highest compliment. See, Mom doesn't need anyone but our Ji-woo."

Yeon-jae gently stroked the cheek of her brightly smiling son. Je-heon was no longer there to tell her it looked good on her—but she still had this beautiful little angel. That fact was a comfort beyond measure.

Yeon-jae glanced at her wristwatch, then gathered her handbag and Ji-woo's things. Counting the rehearsal, it was time to leave.

"Shall we go?"

"Yes!!"

The parking lot was packed—perhaps because it was a city-sponsored concert. For a city with a reputation as a cultural wasteland, the crowds were impressive. Ji-woo's eyes went round; he had never seen so many people.

"Mom, there are this many people?"

"I know. Maybe it's because there are so many students performing, like you."

It was a joint performance spanning not just the kindergarten division but elementary, middle, and high school as well. Holding Ji-woo's hand tightly, Yeon-jae walked into the Arts Center where the hall was located. They had barely made it through the crowded lobby when they ran into Hye-gyeong, who greeted them warmly.

"Ji-woo's mom! Ji-woo!"

"Hello, Auntie."

"Hi, Ji-woo. Teacher Tami said they'll start rehearsal as soon as you get here."

"Really?"

"That's right. Go change, and then let's get you straight to the waiting room. Seo-ha's already there."

Without a moment to spare, Yeon-jae changed Ji-woo into his performance clothes. In a black suit and bow tie, he looked so different it caught her off guard. He had grown so much, so quickly—enough to perform on the piano.

"Mom! You have to watch Ji-woo perform."

"Of course. You'll do well, right?"

Ji-woo nodded vigorously. Then he took the hand of the teacher who had come to the waiting room and disappeared into the hall where rehearsal would be held. Hye-gyeong followed after, saying she had something to give Seo-ha.

The waiting room, bustling only moments ago, fell silent. Yeon-jae was tidying Ji-woo's bag, which had been left in disarray from the frantic costume change.

"Jeong Yeon-jae?"

At the sound of her name, Yeon-jae turned around.