“Sure.” She thought of the Spanish textbook she had bought a couple weeks ago.

“It’s Bibles and English and Spanish books. And maybe some other stuff, but no one has time to read anymore. All we do is work . . . But everyone has to eat.”

“I hope so,” she joked.

“The grocery store is the future.”

“The grocery store is now.” She cracked up, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I’ve been saving, but probably in a few years I’ll start a store somewhere else, maybe in the Valley, so I’m not . . .”

“Directly competing with the boss,” Mina finished.

He grinned. “Exactly.”

Driving down Olympic Boulevard toward a wide sky of hot bright streaks of citrus pink, he turned down a residential street with small but well-maintained homes and green lawns with rose bushes still in bloom, shapely ornamental shrubs, trees pruned into pleasing forms, arms stretched open. He appeared to be taking in the surroundings and admiring the houses until they hit Pico Boulevard, where they turned right to continue west, the farthest she had been from Koreatown since that day in July when she had landed at LAX.

“So where are we going?” she asked. “The beach.”

“The beach?

What is there to do at night?”

“Oh, restaurants, games, rides, all kinds of things. You haven’t been yet?”

“Nope.”

“How long have you been here again?” he asked.

“Few months.”

“Well, you don’t have a car. I’m only surprised you haven’t been with one of your friends.”

She thought of Mrs. Shin, her kids, her business. “Everyone’s too busy.”

“Do you like the beach?”

“Yes.” She remembered sitting with her husband on the smooth hot sand at Naksan Beach, watching their daughter play in the waves, who seemed so tiny then in her shell pink swimsuit and floppy white hat. A much-needed weekend trip, a relief from the oppressive heat of the city. Mina loved the smell of the ocean. But she remembered also feeling guilty for wanting, for whatever reason, despite how much she loved them, to be alone. “I love the beach,” she said. “You?”

“One of my favorite places.” He smiled. “Reminds me of my childhood.”

After parking on the side of a palm tree–lined road, already lit by the hollow glow of streetlamps, she opened the heavy car door to the surprise of a teeth-chattering wind that whipped her hair everywhere. She wrapped her sweater around her body. Despite the cold, the sharp salt and seaweed in the air cleared her heart and her head. Here she could forget LA’s soot-colored sky like the aftermath of a constant fire, a perpetual burning. Here she might breathe again.

“Do you want my jacket?” he asked, walking by her side.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. Approaching the water, she read a high arch over a wide driveway lit up with words she didn’t quite understand—Santa Monica, Yacht Harbor, Sport Fishing Boating, Cafés—a beacon in a darkening sky. She recognized fishing and boating and cafés, but what was yacht? Was it a name?

“I thought we could just grab something on the pier,” he said. “Something easy. Hot dog? Hamburger?”

“Sure.” Seagulls chirped overhead.

“And then we could walk around, check out the Ferris wheel?”

“Um, I’m scared of heights.” She smiled, embarrassed.

“You are?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to fall.”

“You should try this, though. It’s going to be beautiful.”

Down the walkway to the pier in a bustle of all ages and races, she thought about the first and last time she had been on a Ferris wheel when her daughter was four or five years old. Mina had closed her eyes the entire time. All she could imagine was them plummeting down from that wheel into the crowd below. The screams and the crash. She hated the creaking sounds that the seats made lurching in the wind. She swore to herself that she would never go up there again. She would stand back and watch on the ground where she belonged.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asked.

“Oh, anything.”

“There’s a pretty good place right here, off to the side. It’s not fancy or anything, but they’ve got hamburgers and hot dogs.”

She had tried American food a handful of times in Korea but never enjoyed the flavors—the taste of dry beef, bread, and cheese, the odd mealy tomato, the flappy lettuce. But tonight, she felt a little adventurous, ready to plunge into something different—American food in where else? America. She had already enjoyed Mexican food from a taco truck parked a few blocks away from the market; she craved the bright salsas, the lime squeezed on meat, the soft, moist tortillas.

“What do you think you’d like?” he asked as they stood before the menu board of a simple and low rectangular building, weather-beaten on the pier.

“What do you recommend?”

“Really anything. I think I’ll get a cheeseburger.”

“I’ll have the same.”

He stepped toward the counter while she stood there watching him—the flex of his arms as he reached to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, the way his thick black hair faded into his neck. The smooth lines of his back, his waist. When he turned around, she couldn’t help but smile, still looking at him.

“Busy night,” she said. “So many people out.”

“Yeah, people love this place.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

“I used to come here all the time, but now I come every now and then. Sometimes I just walk on the pier. I like to see the ocean. It always clears my head. We’ll have to come when it’s light out sometime—that’s nice, too, but different.”

Behind the counter, a woman called their number. After thanking her, he picked up the tray with two cheeseburgers, a pile of fries, and two cans of Coke. From an empty table by the window, they could watch the water as the sun slipped below the horizon.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask what you wanted to drink. I got you a Coke, but I could get you something else.”

She popped the can open and sipped. “It’s good.”

She wasn’t sure how to eat her cheeseburger, so she picked at it with her fingers, tearing off pieces to put in her mouth and enjoying the taste of the lettuce and tomato, the greasy meat and cheese between the bread. She watched him dip his head to the burger, ripping with his teeth and chewing. American food seemed so barbaric. Where were the chopsticks?

She took a bite, mimicking Mr. Kim, and covered her mouth with her hand as she chewed the massive amount of food. She tried hard not to laugh at herself.

“Are you okay?”

She motioned with her finger that she needed a minute. After she had swallowed the food, she asked, “How do Americans eat like this?”

“Is it good? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s all delicious, but . . . messy.” She grinned.

“You’ll get used to it. I try not to eat it too much. Not the healthiest, but I do love french fries.” He grabbed a couple, gesturing for her to try.

She dipped one in the tiny cup of ketchup and popped it in her mouth.

“I can get used to this,” she said.

“Ha, I know. I gotta be careful.” He patted his stomach.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re so thin.”

He laughed. “You think so?”

“Yes.”

“Skinny?”

“No, not skinny. Just right.” She blushed, looking down at her cheeseburger and taking another bite. Eager to change the subject, she asked, “So you went to the beach a lot growing up?”

“Yes, I did. I grew up in the south, Busan.”

“Oh, that’s supposed to be nice. Never been.”

“It is. I think about it a lot.” His eyes locked into hers. She looked away, pretending not to notice. “I guess this isn’t a bad place to be, though.” He stared out the window, admiring the carnival lights.

“No, it’s not.” She wanted to reassure him, to reassure them both.

“Lots of work,” he said.

“Yeah.” Her gaze rested on the salt and pepper shakers, the fries.

“Are you not sure about being here, in America?” he asked.

“I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Well, something I learned is you don’t have to know where you are going to, you know, enjoy yourself a little, have a good time.”

Tears filled her eyes. She picked up one of the last fries and placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

After finishing the food, Mr. Kim threw away their trash. A blast of mist and wind struck them as they ducked out of the café onto the worn boards of the pier. The rough surface pressed through the soles of her shoes to her feet, still throbbing after the day at work.

“Here, take my jacket.” He took off his windbreaker.

“No, that’s okay. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Please take it.” He held it out to her, insisting. She reached for it, but instead he helped her put it on from behind. She slid her arms through the large jacket and zipped it around her body. The warmth engulfed her.

He suppressed a smile. “You look funny in that,” he said.

“Thanks.”