"She said maybe—but Korea heard yes."
Ava
She hadn't even cleared customs before she saw it:
A fan sign. With her face.
A very high-resolution photo from their "not-a-wedding" in Tokyo—Ava in hanbok, laughing mid-kiss, Ryan looking like he'd been plucked from a K-drama—held aloft by a very enthusiastic twenty-something woman in a pink sweatshirt that read "MATCHMAKER QUEEN" in sparkly rhinestones.
Ava blinked.
"Ryan?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Are we… famous?"
He glanced up from pushing the luggage cart and immediately froze. "Oh god."
More signs. More sparkles. One even had a hand-drawn fox next to "Oppa Ryan."
Ryan leaned closer. "Please tell me you didn't start calling me that online."
Ava smirked. "No, but I am tempted now."
They barely made it through the sliding doors of Arrivals before a polite yet aggressively cheerful woman from the Seoul Matchmaking Summit staff stepped forward and bowed.
"Miss Ava Lee? Mister Ryan Kim?"
"That's us," Ava said warily.
