Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 141: Han River Chaos Boat Date

Chapter 141: Han River Chaos Boat Date

"The waves weren’t the only thing crashing tonight."

On paper, the concept had sounded divine:

Romantic dinner cruises along the Han River, pairing select summit clients in elegant candlelit cabins with gourmet courses and violin accompaniment.

In practice?

It was a recipe for chaotic matchmaking hell.

Ava stood on the dock in four-inch heels and a silk jumpsuit, watching a nervous intern load four different buckets of seasickness kits onto the boats.

"Remind me," she said, turning to Ryan, "which one of us signed off on ’love on a boat’ during monsoon season?"

Ryan adjusted his blazer, annoyingly calm. "You did. Mei said the moon calendar favored water dates this week."

Ava stared at him.

Ryan grinned. "And you were too distracted by that banana pudding to read the fine print."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, turning to face the line of clients boarding the boats.

Each dinner boat was beautifully themed — ivory lanterns, low tables with floral runners, and gold calligraphy place cards. It looked like a dream. It smelled like rain.

---

Ava was halfway through explaining the dessert pairings when chaos broke loose at Table Three.

"Excuse me," said a tall man in an aggressively floral blazer. "I’ve just realized I’m allergic to shellfish and to people who use phrases like ’work hard, play hard.’ Can I switch matches?"

Ava blinked. "That’s... oddly specific."

Across from him, his assigned partner — a luxury perfume buyer — was already waving down the violinist and loudly requesting "Despacito."

Ryan appeared behind Ava like summoned sarcasm. "Should we let them sink on their own or throw them life jackets?"

Ava didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to stop the guests at Table Five from starting a live podcast called Love on the Waves using their phones and the boat’s salt shaker as a mic.

"I’m telling you," said one of the guys confidently, "people want to hear organic, sea-powered dating. We’re innovating."

"No," Ava said. "You’re causing a maritime disturbance."

Nearby, one extremely earnest woman stood and clinked her glass dramatically.

"I would like to recite a haiku for my match," she declared. "To honor our compatibility."

Ava tried to stop her. She failed.

The woman cleared her throat and began:

"You like iced coffee.

I like cats with tiny hats.

Love is floating here."

There was stunned silence.

Then someone clapped. Too hard.

"I’m going overboard," Ava muttered, rubbing her temples.

Ryan leaned in, whispering behind her ear. "You wrote that haiku, didn’t you?"

She smacked his chest. "I’m gonna push you into the Han."

"I’m waterproof," he grinned.

Ava turned back to the room just in time to see a different client attempt to propose after only forty minutes of conversation.

To the wrong person.

Ava lunged between them. "Sir, I think your table number is on the other side of the boat."

"I go where destiny takes me," he announced, clutching a ring pop.

Ryan clapped once. "And destiny wants a snack."

---

By the time the second course was being served, the boats had pulled into the center of the Han — and the wind had pulled a full personality shift.

Ava clutched the railing as the boat swayed under her heels. Clients squealed and clung to napkins. One poor woman from Vancouver clutched a life vest like it was her soulmate.

Ryan appeared beside her with two flutes of champagne and a raised brow.

"Still romantic?"

"I swear to god, if you say ’unsinkable,’ I’m shoving you off this deck."

Ryan chuckled. "Just thinking... if love can survive motion sickness, it’s real."

At that exact moment, one of the clients puked into a champagne bucket.

Ryan winced. "Okay. Mostly real."

Just then, lightning cracked outside the portholes, and the boat gave a warning lurch. Clients screamed. Several glasses hit the floor.

Ava turned to Ryan.

"This is why I don’t do boats."

Ryan caught a falling dessert plate and grinned. "You do chaos. This is just wet chaos."

She pointed a finger at him. "You’re enjoying this."

He pulled her toward the cabin stairwell as the wind howled louder. "Not as much as I’ll enjoy being trapped in a room with you in three... two..."

The captain’s voice rang out, calmly urging guests to remain inside until conditions were safe.

And with that, Ava and Ryan were officially trapped below deck — and hilarity made room for heat.

---

It only got worse when lightning forked over the skyline and the captain announced, in calm Korean, that all guests should stay inside until docking was safe.

So Ava and Ryan, soaked and slightly wine-drenched, were led below deck to the crew cabin while the summit clients were herded into private rooms above.

The door slammed behind them.

Ava blinked in the dim light.

The cabin was... cozy.

Too cozy.

Worn wooden paneling.

A narrow bed.

A bench seat.

A porthole showing nothing but rain-slicked blackness.

"We’re trapped," she announced.

Ryan pulled off his jacket, wringing water from the cuff. "You say that like it’s bad."

Ava raised a brow. "I look like drowned satin and my heels smell like seaweed."

He leaned against the wall, watching her.

A beat passed.

Then: "We could pass the time."

"With what? Improvised karaoke?"

Ryan stepped closer. "Field research."

Ava blinked. "For what?"

He leaned down, nose brushing hers.

"For matchmaking. Of course."

She narrowed her eyes. "Ryan."

"Strictly scientific."

She shoved him, laughing.

He caught her wrist.

And pulled her in.

---

It started with humor.

Teeth bumping.

Laughter stuttering between breaths.

Her fingers tangled in his damp shirt.

His hands on her waist, grounding her even as the boat rocked under them.

But then—

Stillness.

A shift.

His mouth slowed. Deepened.

Her heart stopped being ironic and just beat.

Rain hammered the porthole.

Wind sang across the hull.

And Ava let herself fall forward, right into the kind of kiss that didn’t ask questions anymore.

She gasped when they finally broke apart.

"Okay," she whispered, "maybe this date idea wasn’t entirely terrible."

Ryan smiled, breathless. "Want to submit a five-star client review?"

"Only if I get extra dessert."

He pulled her close again. "Sweetheart... I am dessert."

She burst out laughing.

And somewhere above them, another client threw up.

Romance.

It was all about balance.

---

His mouth found hers again, this time slower. Less joking, more real.

Ava’s back pressed against the cabin wall, cool wood meeting overheated skin. Her hands curled in the damp fabric of Ryan’s shirt, pulling him closer — closer than the narrow space even allowed.

The boat rocked gently, water lapping at the hull like background music.

His lips brushed along her jaw. "Still a bad idea?"

"Terrible," she whispered, tilting her head to give him more access.

His breath hitched — that sound she knew now, the one he only made when he was trying very hard to stay respectful in small spaces.

She slid a hand down the front of his chest, tugging his soaked shirt free from where it clung to his skin. "You know," she murmured, "if this is how you handle crisis... I should panic more often."

He laughed against her neck, teeth grazing skin. "Don’t tempt me."

"You’re already tempted."

His mouth met hers again — deeper this time, tongues brushing, their bodies locking into that familiar rhythm they’d fallen into a dozen times before but never quite like this. Wet. Breathless. Dripping with rain and tension and need.

Ava pushed him back slightly, just enough to strip off her own jacket and drop it unceremoniously onto the cabin bench. Her hair clung to her cheek, damp and wild.

"You’re staring," she said.

"You’re art," he replied.

She smirked. "You’re ridiculous."

He lifted her then — a practiced motion by now — and set her on the edge of the bench, stepping between her legs with hands braced on her thighs.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. "Tell me to stop."

"Why would I do that?" she whispered.

His lips returned to hers with a groan.

They moved slowly at first — teasing, testing — then with growing urgency, the storm outside pounding against the river while another one built between them. Fingers tangled. Hips shifted. Whispers turned into gasps muffled against shoulders.

It wasn’t about sex. Not fully.

It was about claiming space — even here, in a cabin below chaos, they found a world that belonged only to them.

Ava clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her upright.

He kissed her like he was drowning in her and wanted to go deeper.

Minutes passed.

Maybe hours.

Time stopped keeping score.

Eventually, they stilled — lips brushing, hearts racing, his forehead pressed against hers.

Breathless.

Boneless.

Completely them.

"You okay?" he asked softly, thumb brushing her cheek.

She nodded, pulling him closer again. "You’re my calm in the storm."

He kissed her temple. "You’re my storm."

And this time, neither of them apologized for how true that was.

---

Their suite at the hotel was warm when they returned — lights low, the city humming quietly beyond the glass.

Ava stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in one of those unnecessarily fluffy white towels, hair damp, eyes soft. She padded barefoot across the floor, drawn to the sight of Ryan sitting on the couch, shirtless, hair still damp from the rain, eating grapes like he was a Roman emperor.

He looked up and smirked.

"You survived the sea."

She dropped onto the couch beside him, half on his lap. "Barely."

"I feel like I should be awarded a medal."

"You’re getting a towel kiss and half a grape. Don’t push it."

She fed him one anyway, then leaned against his chest, letting the silence stretch.

Outside, Seoul glittered. Inside, it was just soft towel friction, the faint scent of shampoo, and the quiet thump of his heart beneath her ear.

"Tonight was... something," she murmured.

"Yeah," Ryan said, voice quieter than usual. "That kind of kiss doesn’t happen on land."

Ava smiled into his skin. "We always get intense after a disaster."

"It’s our thing."

She looked up at him. "Do you think it’s weird? How close we’ve gotten... so fast?"

Ryan tilted his head. "Ava. We’ve kissed in five cities. Fought in three. Lived together in two. Slept together in every timezone. What’s weird about that?"

She laughed, eyes warm.

"I meant... it still surprises me. How much I like you."

His voice dropped. "I know exactly what you mean."

They kissed again — not with heat, but with home.

The kind of kiss you give someone when the chaos has passed, and you’re just grateful they’re still beside you.

Ava sighed into it. "This feels... real."

Ryan kissed her again, slower.

"It is."

They curled into each other on the couch, towels forgotten, rain forgotten, the summit forgotten.

Just them.

Breathing.

Settling.

Loving, even in the quiet.