“Yes? You see it?” He tapped the table for emphasis. “I pay you extra if you find publisher for me. Our secret. Two hundred dollars.”

His offer wasn’t just idiotic, it was incredibly insulting. Kate pushed out a smile and said, neutrally, “I don’t think you should be thinking about ditching your day job yet.”

“No!” Mr. Park guffawed, hearing only what he wanted to hear. “No, I don’t quit until I make bestseller! I have responsibility of my family. I am not old maid like you.”

Confident in his talent, he sat himself erect, pulled his knees apart and cleared his throat noisily. A few people turned to stare, but he remained oblivious. He hacked a lump of phlegm into his napkin and left it crushed up on the table, perilously close to Kate’s coffee. She pursed her lips.

“How should I put this?” she finally said, pulling her cup away. “Your stories aren’t good enough for publication anywhere. I mean, quite honestly, they’re garbage.”

“But you said . . .”

“I know what I said. And I’m sorry for misleading you. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” She looked at him. There was soy foam on the side of his mouth—or what she hoped was soy foam. “Mr. Park, your clever daughters would be horrified. Some of the attitudes expressed in your stories, Americans will find downright . . . disgusting.” She hadn’t meant to use that word, but she was inspired by his loogie.

Mr. Park nodded too quickly. He took in her words as he drank his latte in large gulps. Once he was done, he swept his hand briskly across the tabletop to clear it of crumbs and stood up. He thanked her for her time and, avoiding her eyes, left.

The whole way home, he thought about his next badminton match with his daughters and how he wouldn’t let them win again. He didn’t do them any favors deceiving them into thinking they were better than they actually were. God help him if they ended up man-haters like that Miss Ireland. And to think he once found her dangerously attractive. He knew she’d never warmed to him—Western women seldom did, her mother had been a rare exception—but he thought he would gradually win her over, story by story, draft by draft, check by check.