Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 143: Hotpot, Secrets, and Footsie

Chapter 143: Hotpot, Secrets, and Footsie

The private room at Ssam & Simmer was warm, cozy, and packed.

The round table was centered around a bubbling dual-section hotpot—one side rich and fiery red, the other mild and herbal. Plates of sliced meats, veggies, dumplings, and noodles surrounded it like offerings to the matchmaking gods.

Ava sipped her chilled plum tea, watching the steam curl upward like it was trying to soften the chaos that surrounded them.

Mei sat at the head of the table, chatting animatedly with Madam Choi in rapid Korean, both occasionally gesturing with their chopsticks like generals drawing battle plans in broth.

Ryan leaned toward Ava and whispered, "Is it bad I think your grandmother could start a culinary coup with just a chili pepper?"

"She already did," Ava muttered. "That’s why the mild side of the pot is sacred. Last time she tried to ’activate my chi,’ I nearly combusted."

Ava dipped a piece of beef into the red broth.

Under the table, a foot brushed hers.

She blinked.

Then it brushed again.

She glanced sideways.

Ryan was sipping his soju like an innocent man.

Ava narrowed her eyes. "Are you playing footsie?"

He didn’t look at her. "I’m engaging in cultural diplomacy."

"Your toe just proposed to my ankle."

"I’m deeply committed."

She kicked him lightly.

He smirked. Then slid his foot higher.

Ava’s breath caught as his socked toe brushed the edge of her calf under the silk hem of her dress.

From across the table, a client asked, "Ava, are you okay?"

"She’s just... emotionally responding to the lotus root," Ryan said smoothly.

Laughter buzzed as the table passed around dipping sauces, dumplings, and gossip.

"I heard someone got offered a K-drama cameo," said Hana, Ava’s success-story client, now glowing beside her new match.

Ava shrugged. "They wanted me to play the icy heiress who can’t fall in love."

Ryan leaned in. "Typecast."

She stabbed a fishball and stared him down. "Careful, or I’ll turn this into a shabu-shabu showdown."

Madam Choi raised a brow. "You’d win."

Mei clinked her chopsticks against her glass. "To love, spice, and strategic matchmaking!"

They all toasted—some with tea, some with soju.

Under the table, Ryan’s foot was now definitely in uncharted thigh territory.

Ava shifted in her seat, trying to stay composed as a client asked her opinion on first-date texting etiquette.

"I think," Ava said, voice a little too breathy, "that... waiting to text can be strategic, but honest follow-up matters more than—"

Ryan’s toe made contact with the inside of her knee.

She squeaked.

"—than, um... ghosting. Ghosting is bad. Don’t do that."

The whole table nodded solemnly.

Ava leaned toward Ryan, whispering, "You’re evil."

"You love it."

"I’m going to dunk your sock in the spicy broth."

"I’d suffer for you."

Just as Ava picked up a scallop and was about to deliver a devastatingly good pun about "sea-ductions," the door slid open.

And in stepped Julian Ashcroft.

White suit. Perfect smirk. And a very unfortunate floral corsage in his lapel.

The table fell silent like someone had spilled vinegar into the broth.

Ava didn’t blink.

"Oh look," she said cheerfully, "it’s the human equivalent of cilantro. Unwanted, overconfident, and always ruining the dish."

Julian gave a tight smile. "You’re as sharp-tongued as ever, Ava."

Ryan set down his chopsticks. "And she has better taste than to invite you."

Julian’s eyes flicked to Ryan. "Still playing assistant?"

Ryan stood.

Ava’s hand touched his arm—calm, grounding.

She smiled, sweet and deadly.

"Julian, this is a private event. You’re not on the guest list."

"I came for Madam Choi," he said smoothly, bowing slightly to her.

Madam Choi raised a brow. "I didn’t invite you."

Julian faltered. "Well. I was nearby."

"So is the trash can," Ava offered. "Should we introduce you?"

Mei sipped her tea with great enjoyment.

Julian chuckled. "You haven’t changed, Ava."

Ava leaned back in her chair, one leg crossing elegantly over the other—and very intentionally resting her foot against Ryan’s thigh under the table.

She smiled. "No, Julian. I’ve evolved."

Julian left five minutes later, deflected by Madam Choi and frozen out by the table’s collective disinterest.

Mei leaned toward Madam Choi, whispering in Korean, "He tried to flirt with Seo-jun earlier."

Madam Choi arched an eyebrow. "He told her she had ’great data symmetry.’"

Mei wheezed. "Did she respond?"

"She pivoted thirty degrees away and resumed eating."

They both nearly choked on plum tea.

Meanwhile, Ava finally relaxed, leaning into Ryan’s shoulder.

"I didn’t kill him."

"That was your growth arc."

"Do I get a reward?"

He glanced under the table. "You already started claiming it."

She bumped his shoulder. "Later. I’m still chewing."

He whispered, "So am I."

Then, just for a second, her gaze shifted.

To the far side of the room. Toward the window.

She didn’t turn her head. Didn’t break conversation. But something prickled at the back of her neck—the unmistakable sense of being watched.

Not aggressively. Not maliciously.

Just... noticed.

She took another sip of tea and leaned in to murmur something teasing to Ryan, letting her laugh rise a little louder.

Let them watch.

She wasn’t going to flinch first.

Across the room, Madam Choi narrowed her eyes. Watched Min Seo-jun. Watched Ava. Watched the way Ryan leaned just a little closer.

And quietly, Min Seo-jun—seated by the window—watched Ava laugh again. It wasn’t the performance kind. It was the one where her whole body moved.

Seo-jun stirred her soup slowly. Didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.

But she saw everything.

---

Later that evening, after Ava and Ryan slipped away into the night, hands linked and laughter trailing behind them, Mei lingered at the table with Madam Choi.

Most of the clients had left. The staff was clearing bowls and wiping down the lacquered surfaces. Only one guest remained, still finishing a quiet cup of roasted corn tea by the window.

"Seo-jun," Madam Choi called gently.

Min Seo-jun looked up. Calm, composed, unreadable.

"Walk with us a moment?"

Mei didn’t wait for agreement. She stood, gathered her shawl, and led the way to the quiet balcony behind the restaurant, where the hum of Seoul was soft enough to hear the wind brushing the awning.

Seo-jun followed.

The three women stood in a loose triangle, framed by warm lantern light.

"You’re observant," Mei said lightly, folding her arms. "You’ve been in this long enough to know when someone’s not just watching for fun."

"I watch everyone," Seo-jun replied evenly.

"But not everyone makes you lean forward." Madam Choi’s smile was knowing, not unkind.

A beat passed.

Seo-jun didn’t deny it.

"Ava is... magnetic," she said finally. "Unfiltered. Brilliant. A little too much—and exactly enough."

Mei raised an eyebrow. "And you usually prefer order."

"She’s the kind of chaos that doesn’t break things. It rebuilds them."

Choi exchanged a glance with Mei. That was... telling.

"Careful," Mei said, her voice laced with something gentle but firm. "That kind of gravity pulls both ways."

Seo-jun said nothing. But her eyes lingered on the spot Ava had occupied earlier.

Mei exhaled softly. "Watch all you want, dear. Just don’t pretend you’re not playing."

---

Meanwhile, Ava and Ryan..

The air outside was crisp with the scent of grilled chestnuts and distant perfume. Myeongdong pulsed with night market energy—vendors calling out, neon lights flickering above crowds, and the occasional K-pop chorus blaring from a nearby speaker.

But Ava and Ryan slipped away from it all.

Their fingers found each other’s naturally as they walked side by side, leaving Ssam & Simmer behind.

"Your foot," Ava muttered, eyes forward.

"My foot deserves an award," Ryan replied.

She gave his hand a squeeze. "You nearly derailed my entire speech on texting etiquette."

"I added suspense."

They walked past a cosmetics shop where an ad featuring Ava’s mock wedding photo was still stuck in the display window. Ryan pointed at it. "That’s you, Miss ’Icy Heiress Who Can’t Fall in Love.’"

Ava snorted. "It’s haunting me."

"You love it."

"I love fried dumplings and validation. You’re just the lucky bonus round."

He grinned and kissed the back of her hand.

They passed a street musician playing a soft ballad on guitar, his voice tender in the cool night air.

Ava slowed, letting the music brush over her like silk.

Ryan glanced at her.

"What?" she said, catching him looking.

He shrugged. "Sometimes I forget you’re a tornado in heels. Then you do something soft and I remember—tornadoes have an eye."

Ava rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. "You’re so weird."

"I’m yours."

She leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Even when I’m spicy broth-level dangerous?"

He kissed her temple. "Especially then."

They kept walking—hand in hand, full bellies and full hearts—through the Seoul night.

---

And somewhere, a clip from the night—Ava yelling "Respect the broth!" at a client trying to put rice cake into Chaos broth—went viral by morning, shared by influencers, foodies, and matchmaking meme accounts alike.

The caption? "Matchmaker meltdown: When your soulmate disrespects the stew."

But Ava didn’t know that yet.

She was still curled up in bed, legs tangled with Ryan’s beneath the soft sheets of their suite. A sliver of morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a golden line across the edge of the blanket.

Ryan stirred, brushing his nose against her temple.

"You’re warm," he murmured.

Ava made a sleepy noise, nuzzling closer. "You’re clingy."

"You’re mine."

She didn’t argue.

Outside their room, the world was already spinning—hashtags, screen grabs, GIFs of her dramatic fishball toss. But in that moment, in their private cocoon of quiet breath and sleepy limbs, Ava was just Ava.

Still blissfully unaware that by today’s photoshoot, chaos would strike again—this time involving an ill-timed gust of wind, an umbrella, and a photo that would fuel online speculation for weeks.