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09:59 on 3 Feb M
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As soon as I walked into the house, the smell of delicious food wafted out from the
kitchen.
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The living room was packed with all kinds of gifts.
“Liam! Why did you make so many dishes? There’s no way we can finish all this!”
Mom let go of my hand and hurried toward the kitchen.
My brother leaned in close and whispered, “Your fiancé insisted on cooking everything himself when he heard you were coming back.”
I instinctively glanced at the dining table–it was covered with all of my favorite dishes.
Then Liam White walked out of the kitchen, dragged out by my mom.
He was tall–easily 6’3“-with broad shoulders, a slim waist, and a pink apron tied snugly around him. The contrast was striking, to say the least.
“It’s no problem, Mrs. Bennett. I’m just finishing up the last dish.”
I set my bag down and rolled up my sleeves.
“Let me help. I’ll show you what I can do.”
My family stared at me like I’d just announced I was moving to Mars.
“Annie knows how to cook?” Mom muttered in disbelief.
“Doesn’t matter how it tastes,” my brother whispered back, “we’ll just say it’s good.”
“Right, right…”
I couldn’t blame them for doubting me.
Growing up, I never so much as touched a pot or pan, so the idea of me cooking was nothing short of miraculous.
To be honest, I never planned to learn either.
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But Ethan once said he wanted to eat something I made, so I studied cookbook after
cookbook, teaching myself how to cook.
During the months he “lost his memory,” I made soup for him every day. I even went as
far as earning a nutritionist certification.
Now, standing in the kitchen, Liam seemed a little lost, holding a spatula awkwardly in his
hand.
For some reason, even though I’d never met him before, there was something strangely
familiar about him.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
I thought for a moment and replied, “Can you clean the shrimp for me? I’ll make some stir–fried shrimp.”
“That’s pretty mild. Don’t you like spicy food?”
I froze for a second.
It was true–I did like spicy food. But Ethan preferred mild dishes, so I’d gotten into the habit of cooking less spicy meals over the years.
Then I remembered the food on the dining table–every dish was spicy.
Surprised, I asked quietly, “Do you cook here often?”
Liam nodded. “I live next door. It’s just me at home… Your parents are kind enough to
invite me over for meals all the time.”
Just him? That explained why he was willing to marry into our family.
His eyes, soft and bright like a puppy’s, were fixed on me, full of warmth.
I sighed, meaning every word as I said, “If you’re only thinking about marriage because
you’re missing family, there’s no need. We don’t have feelings for each other. I’m sure my
parents would be happy to treat you like their own son-
”
09:59 on 3 Feb M.
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Pས་ཅ་་་བ་དཔས་ས P༦ ་་སPP་ པ ་ཅས་ དཔས ་In༦ ་་ཅ་་
VIII SUIT
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“Are these enough shrimp?”
Liam’s low voice cut me off as he held up a plate of peeled shrimp, his tone quiet and
subdued.
I swallowed my words, ready to continue, but the faint redness at the corners of his eyes, the way they shimmered, stopped me.
I sighed again, my heart softening. I decided to let it go.
He stayed by my side, silently watching me as I stirred the shrimp in the pan.
Then, out of nowhere, he spoke softly, “Feelings can grow.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent a tingly warmth straight to my ears.
