Choi Kang-woo increased the speed, pushing himself harder. He tried to purge Han Na-Eun from his mind, but it was a losing battle. He stepped off the treadmill and lunged into a lower-body workout. As he gripped the barbell for squats, sweat began to bead on his forehead. One set, then another. He told himself he was doing this to clear his head, but the effort only seemed to sharpen her image in his thoughts.
“Ha.”
He gritted his teeth, forcing his focus back to the iron. He moved through lunges and leg presses to tighten his thighs and glutes, followed by extensions to fire his quads. His sudden obsession with leg day stemmed from a conversation he’d overheard at the gym the day before. In a corner of the weight room, a group of middle-aged men had been discussing their training regimen.
[“For a man, it’s all about the thighs. When women are young, they fall for broad shoulders, but wait until you get older and live in a marriage. None of that matters. It’s strictly about the thigh and glute muscles. It’s power—pure power.”]
It wasn’t the only reason, of course. But even if it hadn’t been, he felt that punishing his lower body might temper the strange, visceral reactions his body had been having lately. After a grueling session, he wiped his brow and shifted to his upper body and core. Yet, every time he held a static pose, Han Na-Eun would drift into his mind, causing his thigh muscles to clench and his body to go rigid.
Determined to drain the troublesome energy that this seductive woman had ignited, he climbed onto the stationary bike and pedaled until his lungs burned. Afterward, he sighed and stepped onto the scale, only to find the needle had ticked upward. Impossible. He was a man who rarely gained a pound.
Choi Kang-woo was meticulous about his diet, not just his workouts. So why the weight gain? Thinking back, the culprit was undeniably Han Na-Eun. The savory scent of pork cutlets in the evening, the sweet pumpkin bread, the tea-time snacking—that had to be it.
She had permeated his life, rattling his discipline. When she would smile and ask, “Would you like some pumpkin bread?”, he hadn’t been able to refuse.
Choi Kang-woo, sitting with the children and picking at their snacks—he couldn’t have imagined such a scene even in his wildest dreams. He resolved to tighten his diet starting immediately.
From today on, I will not touch the kids’ evening snacks. Absolutely not.
* * *
After a long series of meetings, Choi Kang-woo returned home. As he opened the front door, a sweet, savory aroma wafted out, arresting his senses.
“…….”
It was a seductive scent he couldn’t possibly resist. The smell of freshly baked, crispy cookies and sweet cinnamon, layered with a rich, nutty undertone, made his mouth water. The living room carried notes of warm vanilla and honey. He didn’t know what the last scent was, but it gave him a sense of ease, like resting by a fireplace in the dead of winter. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.
“No. I’m not eating today.”
He couldn’t keep gaining weight. Not at his age; he couldn’t let his physique crumble.
He reaffirmed his resolve and stepped inside. On the table lay piles of golden, appetizing walnut-cinnamon cookies. Beside them sat warm honey pancakes. Then, he heard the children tumbling out of their room.
“Wow! Cookies!”
“Yes, let’s have cookies for your snack. They should be just the right temperature now.”
He heard Han Na-Eun’s voice, too. Soon, the children and Na-Eun appeared, greeting him.
“Director, you’re home? Welcome.”
“Hello.”
“Hello, Uncle.”
Minho had taken to calling him ‘Uncle’—it was surprisingly endearing.
“Have you had dinner? The children ate early, so it’s snack time. Would you like one?”
He wasn’t going to eat. He wouldn’t. He had already choked down chicken breast and salad at the office, promising himself he was done for the day, but his feet refused to carry him past the table.
‘Damn it.’
Choi Kang-woo changed his mind about heading upstairs and looked at Na-Eun.
“Shall I have a taste?”
The cookie in his mouth was crispy, savory, and sweet—indescribably delicious.
“You two, only have two each. You shouldn’t eat too much before bed. Two each, kids.”
However, Choi Kang-woo ended up eating four. He turned his irritation toward Na-Eun, who had allowed him to eat double the children’s portion.
“Why don’t you tell me to stop eating, no matter how much I take?”
At his dissatisfied look, Na-Eun raised an eyebrow.
“Pardon? That’s because I have to guide the children, but you are a grown adult, so you can manage your own body, can’t you? If you want to eat, feel free to finish the rest.”
“No. You just told the kids to stop at two, and I’ve already had four, and you’re saying it doesn’t matter if I eat the rest?”
“Yes. It’s fine. I can just bake more. If you like them, please eat them all.”
“In other words, you’re telling me it doesn’t matter if I eat all these and die of lifestyle diseases?”
“Ex-excuse me?”
Na-Eun, completely lost, blinked at him.
“Do you have a lifestyle disease?”
“No. Do I look like someone who does?”
“Exactly. You seem to manage your health well; I don’t think a few cookies will hurt. If you like them, shall I pack some for you to take to the office?”
He intended to say no, but another answer slipped out instead.
“Suit yourself.”
Frustrated that his words defied his intentions, he headed upstairs. Below, Na-Eun began packing the remaining cookies into a container.
“Were the cookies really that good?”
Up in his room, Choi Kang-woo sighed.
“Choi Kang-woo, since when did you lose all your self-control? To think you’d be this desperate over a child’s snack.”
Who on earth is that woman? She says she’s a kindergarten teacher, yet she makes burdock tea, and her baking is lethal. Does Han Jiho live off these cookies every day?
He thought back to his own childhood. His parents had provided the finest pastries from exclusive bakeries, but they were strictly rationed. He had never felt the urge to gorge himself. He had no memory of ever eating anything that tasted this addictive.
“Why is the food that woman makes so good?”
Considering his sudden, voracious appetite, he wondered if there was something medically wrong with him.
“Maybe I should get a consultation for myself when I take Minho for his next one?”
He muttered the thought and then laughed. In truth, he had known the answer for a long time.
He had fallen for her. She lingered in his mind, and the cookies, the bread—everything she touched seemed to possess a strange, irresistible quality.
At his age, what kind of consultation could he possibly seek? He laughed in self-mockery. More absurdly, just thinking about Han Na-Eun made his body react again.
“Good grief, it’s not like cookies are an aphrodisiac.”
He went into the shower and cranked the water to cold. Only after cooling his head and calming his pulse did he retreat to his study.
The room was organized with military precision: shelves filled with volumes on media and management, and a desk piled with reports. He had planned to spend the night reviewing strategy for the travel cable channel.
He meticulously examined the viewer analysis data, scanning rating graphs by age and region. He took notes, weighing the expansion potential of the channel. Just as he settled into a rhythm, a thumping sound drifted up from downstairs.
“Put your clothes on quickly.”
He heard Na-Eun’s voice.
“I guess they’re running around without clothes again after a bath,” he muttered, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Oh, lovely. How are you being so obedient today?”
“I suppose the kids are getting dressed well.”
Every time he heard her voice, he found himself smiling at the floor. Hearing the muffled sounds of life downstairs, he realized she must be fussing over the children right near the stairs. The noise softened; she must have left the door ajar.
“You always ask me to read the ones about wolves. You know all the stories about wolves already.”
“So they’re picking a book.”
He didn’t know exactly when these bustling, domestic sounds had begun to give him such a profound sense of stability.