Flower Boy Tour Guide: My Korean Crush, #1

Flower Boy Tour Guide

A My Korean Crush Novel

Flower Boy Tour Guide

Shannon Kent

To Mom and Dad, always

And to Aunt Donna, who started it all

Flower Boy Tour Guide

A My Korean Crush Novel

Text © 2018 Shannon Kent

Cover Design © 2018 Jennie Bennett

Cover Photo © elwynn

Font © Andinistas, Quickstick Productions, and Dario Manuel Muhafara

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author gathered inspiration from her own travels but regrets that she never had a flower boy tour guide of her own. There was, however, a real senior citizen in South Korea who was kind enough to offer her a subway seat, for which she will be forever grateful.

Editing by Erica Laurie

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Not So Cute Meeting

Chapter 2: These Are My People

Chapter 3: Love Locks For Everyone, But Me

Chapter 4: An Unusual Wedding

Chapter 5: What’s So Great About Dramas?

Chapter 6: Field Trip to the Country

Chapter 7: This Tour Includes an Exercise Plan

Chapter 8: Grandpas Over Subways

Chapter 9: I Thought You Didn’t Like Aegyo

Chapter 10: Unexpected Piggyback Ride

Chapter 11: Sageuk Emergency

Chapter 12: Variety Nightmare

Chapter 13: Let’s Call a Truce

Chapter 14: The Meddling Mother Cliché

Chapter 15: Should I be a Noble Idiot?

Chapter 16: Confessions Should Be Mutual

Epilogue: 3 Years Later - Flower Girl Tour Guide

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Chapter 1: Not So Cute Meeting

Flower Boy

noun

1. slang for a really hot guy

All the dramas said it was possible. Someone spots a face in the crowd and falls instantly and irreversibly in love. But was it possible to feel that way about an entire country?

Hannah Reynolds believed it was. She stood frozen at the top of the subway stairs as the people climbed up and down around her. Two words rushed up her throat and tripped over each other to get out. Her lips tried to hold them back, but they demanded release. She finally threw up her hands as far as they could reach and shouted at the towering skyscrapers surrounding her.

Sarangheyo, Korea!

Love confession out of the way, Hannah did a little twirl in the middle of downtown Seoul. Her ash brown ponytail whipped around and smacked her in the face, and she pulled at the dark strands of hair that stuck to her lip gloss.

Okay, that never happens to the drama heroines. Hannah spit the last few hairs out and finally moved away from the stairs.

The hustle of countless people heading to work in the early morning hours created a buzz in the air that was almost tangible. She noticed a few locals eyeing her warily and she smiled and waved.

Don’t mind me. I’m just a crazy tourist.

Hannah swiped her lip glossed fingers against her jeans, grabbed her small, rolling carry-on, and half-walked, half-skipped down the sidewalk. She was actually in the land of oppas and backhugs. Hannah felt like she was living out her own personal Korean drama.

Episode 1, she declared to no one in particular, meet a single, sweet, Korean guy and snatch him up.

She wasn’t picky about the details.

Of course, if he looked like her bias it wouldn’t hurt. Her favorite action star had just entered the army to perform the mandatory military service that South Korea required, and she needed something pretty to look at. Pretty, but perceptive! Hannah shook her head as the memory of her ex-boyfriend's last birthday present floated through her brain.

A toaster.

Hannah knew her bias would never give the woman he loves a toaster. Not unless he was saving her life with it, or something.

She sighed as she beat back the urge to wallow in unhappy memories. Nothing was going to ruin her trip to the promised land. Hannah checked her watch and picked up the pace. On her right, she passed what must have been the tenth beauty product shop that morning. Outside stood a cardboard cutout of one of her favorite K-pop singers peddling their brand. The ever tantalizing Joon Ki of Invincible7 stood there in all of his pink haired glory, kissing the product oh-so-tenderly as he held it in his large, masculine hand.

Was it wrong that she wished she was that bottle of mouthwash?

Hannah resisted the urge to take a picture. She was already late because she missed her subway stop. And now the matrix of city streets jam-packed with tiny storefronts going up five stories high made her head spin.

Excuse me. She tried to stop a young woman walking past. Could you—

The lady mumbled something in Korean and shook her head as she barreled past her.

The tour company Hannah was looking for provided a detailed set of directions for finding them, but they consisted of street names and specifics like, Head west for .5 miles.

What a shame I left my compass in my other bag, Hannah muttered. She was a landmark girl all the way. Why can’t they just say turn left at the bookstore?

Hannah passed a small, orange food cart covered with a plastic tent on three sides. The woman inside filled tiny, fish-shaped trays with batter from a squeeze bottle. Already cooked pastries sat in neat, orderly rows in front of the pans. Hannah’s nose twitched at the sugary smell of bungeoppang and her stomach rumbled. Couldn’t she take just a few minutes to buy one of the tasty pieces of bread with the sweet red bean filling?

No, Hannah!

Had she said that out loud? The ahjumma behind the counter glanced up at her, her eyebrows raised. She forced herself to keep walking past the mouth-watering temptation.

You’re already running late, she told herself. You can buy some later.

Hannah set off in the direction that she hoped was west, thankful that Seoul printed their blue and white street signs in both Korean and English. Her free hand tugged her light jacket closed as a quick gust of early autumn air hit her. She finally found the correct street name, but spent the next ten minutes wandering up one side and down the other as she looked for the right business.

Drama Dream Tours, she called out. Where are you?

Nobody poked their head out the door and welcomed her. Was she really on the right street? Maybe if she hired a taxi and gave them the address, they’d drop her at the elusive tour company. But the driver might get peevish about taking his passenger a tenth of a mile. Besides she was trying to save her pennies for the important stuff. Like K-pop albums.

A man stepped out of the business ahead of her. He was facing the other way, but she worked up the courage to ask again. Maybe she could even try out her Level 1 Korean that she’d learned at the local community center back home.

"Uhh. Chum . . . chumsheemahn . . . yo." She walked up and patted his shoulder.

He turned around, and Hannah blinked twice. He was like a drama character come to life. Several inches over six feet tall. Broad shoulders, covered in a lightweight, grey sweater. A lean face with a square jaw and black, silky hair that spilled a little over his forehead. And eyes so dark, she could hardly tell the difference between the pupil and the iris.

Ne? His rich voice matched his eyes as he answered in Korean.

Forget the cardboard cutout kissing mouthwash, she wanted a picture with this guy.

He waited patiently with a small smile on his face, studying the map she grasped in one hand and the suitcase in her other.

She shook her shoulders to clear the haze in her brain before answering. Where is Drama Dream Tours?

The good-looking guy arched a sleek black eyebrow at her and his smile disappeared. His lips pursed as he gave her the once over. It looked like she’d exhausted his patience. Hannah’s stomach twisted, but she tried again.

You, she pointed at his broad chest, "yong-aw  . . .  speak?"

At least she knew the Korean word for English. She flapped the fingers of her right hand up and down, imitating a mouth opening and closing.

Yes. I. English. Speak. Quite well, in fact. His smooth, American accent shocked her speechless for a second.

"I . . . I . .