“Your family is okay with you staying at a rental?” he asks, gesturing his elegant hand in the direction of my phone.

“I, ah, don’t have family here. At least, not that I know of. I’m adopted,” I blurt out. Then I bite my tongue in regret. Why did I tell him that? What a dumb thing—

“That’s interesting,” he muses. “My mother—”

“Sir. Sir!”

Mr. Dimple stops walking and we both swing around to see a man, also wearing a dark blue suit, running toward us. He says something in Korean and the man beside me replies, sliding me a swift glance. These two know each other.

“Ah, just a minute.” He strides over to meet the new arrival. The second man, shorter and stockier, shoves his sleeve back and taps his watch. Mr. Dimple replies with a shake of his head and turns back toward me. The second man follows, still speaking.

A tickle of apprehension itches at the back of my neck. What car service has two drivers? Is this a scam where they pick up unsuspecting travelers and then steal their luggage? That would explain why he doesn’t know Boyoung and why my destination was a mystery. It also explains why he’s so attractive. He’s a lure. Who wouldn’t choose to ride in a car with him, even knowing you were going to be kidnapped and fleeced of all your belongings? He’s that attractive.

What a disappointment. I guess that’s how it works in life. You don’t get to be super-good-looking and have a decent personality. It’s not fair to the rest of the world. The existence of a dimple that deep, that cute, requires some kind of sacrifice.

“Actually, I’ll get my own ride.” I reach over and tug at my suitcase, but he doesn’t release it.

“Please. A moment.” He holds up a hand as if to stop me from moving and, surprise, it does. I’m curious, against my better judgment.

The other man speaks again and my mother’s admonition repeats itself. Coming to a country where I don’t speak the language is looking dumber by the minute.

“Yes, I know the car is at the entrance,” the would-be body snatcher says, and this time I understand because he is speaking English. “But Hara-nim needs a ride.”

“The meeting for dinner is in an hour and the traffic is not good,” replies the second man, also in English, but with a very heavy accent.

“My new friend needs a ride,” Mr. Dimple repeats, and this time his voice carries with it a certain firmness that signals that’s the end of the discussion.

Maybe for him and the second man it is, but not for me, because while he might play a very large role in my pre-bedtime fantasy, I am not going to be a statistic. “I’m going to catch the train.”

“With that?”

Both of them gaze dubiously at the large piece of luggage and my smaller carry-on. It does seem unwieldy, but I’m sure I can manage. I reach for the case again but Mr. Dimple rolls it out of the way and starts walking.