Chapter 112 I Like Sons Too

"The doctor says I should cut down on junk food. So how about some pasta? I really want some," Anne said.

"Alright, I get it. James makes killer tomato pasta. Let's go check out his cooking," Dorian replied with a grin.

"James? He can cook tomato pasta?" Anne was taken aback. She knew James as a rich kid living off his trust fund, who had opened a low-key bar in a busy area just to kill time.

"Yep, it's his hidden talent. Not many get to taste it, but if I ask, he'll whip up as many bowls as you want."

Hand in hand, they walked off, their laughter trailing behind them.

Anne loved this moment. She and Dorian felt like any regular couple, chatting about food and dreaming about their future babies. It was like all the walls and misunderstandings between them had vanished.

She thought Dorian was joking, but he actually drove her to James's bar.

James was behind the counter, polishing glasses. When he saw them walk in, hand in hand and all smiles, he put down the glass and looked at them curiously.

"Mr. Windsor and Ms. Percy, what brings you here? Have you two patched things up?"

James had been Dorian's drinking buddy lately, though Dorian never really opened up about his issues with Anne.

But as Dorian's childhood friend, James knew that only Anne could make Dorian so down.

Seeing them together now, James was thrilled.

"Enough chit-chat. We need three bowls of tomato pasta."

"What did you say?" James couldn't believe his ears.

Dorian repeated, "Three bowls of tomato pasta."

"But there are only two of you. Why three bowls?"

Dorian gently touched Anne's belly, beaming. "My two daughters are hungry!"

James's jaw dropped. "Anne's having twins?"

Dorian nodded proudly. James quickly put on an apron. "Grab a seat. I'll get cooking."

Quentin, who was working nearby, immediately came over, licking his lips. "James, could you make me a bowl too? It's not much of a hassle, is it? I've been craving it."

"Get back to work." James rolled his eyes at Quentin and headed to the kitchen.

Dorian led Anne to a table. She sat down, resting her chin on her hands, looking around curiously.

"Isn't James running a bar? How does he know how to make tomato pasta?"

"That's a long story," Dorian said seriously. "One of James's ex-girlfriends loved tomato pasta. To impress her, he learned to cook it from a chef. Believe it or not, he's not good at much else, but his tomato pasta is top-notch."

"And what happened to his girlfriend?"

"She dumped him, and James perfected his tomato pasta skills."

Anne couldn't help but laugh. It was supposed to be a sad story, but she found it hilarious.

"What are you two saying behind my back? Here're your tomato pastas."

James brought over three bowls of tomato pasta. Dorian's bowl looked standard, but Anne's two bowls had extra beef on top.

"Why does she get all the beef, and I get barely any?"

"She's pregnant with twins. Are you pregnant? Be thankful you got any at all, Mr. Windsor. Don't be picky."

"Alright, alright. At least you didn't skimp on my daughters' portions."

James turned to Anne with a smile. "Anne, dig in. If you need more, just holler."

James went back to work. Anne took a bite and was blown away—it was the best tomato pasta she'd ever had.

Her appetite kicked in, and she quickly polished off a bowl.

"Slow down, or you'll choke my daughters," Dorian teased.

Anne wiped her mouth. "How do you know they're daughters and not sons? What if they're boys?"

"I'd love sons too," Dorian said, grinning.

Anne caught sight of his naive grin and knew there was no need to press the topic further; she continued eating. But after finishing the first bowl, she couldn't manage the second and pushed it towards Dorian.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

"For you."

Dorian had never eaten someone else's leftovers, but this was Anne.

He took the bowl and started eating with gusto. Watching him, Anne rested her chin on her hand, quietly admiring him.

Even a handsome guy eating like a ravenous wolf was a sight to behold.

"Get me another drink."

Anne suddenly heard a familiar voice. It sounded so much like...

She turned and saw Diana sitting alone in a corner, drinking.

Her face was flushed, and her raised hand was shaking, unable to hold steady.

Quentin looked troubled. James patted his shoulder and walked over to Diana. "Miss, we're closing. No more drinks."

Diana shook her head and looked at her watch. "It's only ten, and you're closing? What kind of bar is this?"

"We're a private bar. We close whenever I feel like it."

"You're the owner?"

"Yep."

Diana squinted at James for a long time, then waved her hand dismissively. "You're not the guy from before. I want him to serve me. You're too old. I don't like you."

"I'm too old?" James paused. He'd dated several models and considered himself quite the looker, yet here was a drunk woman calling him old!

James was about to argue when Anne quickly came over and helped the drunken Diana up.

"Sorry, James. This is my friend. I'll cover her tab."

"Anne, she's your friend?" James couldn't help but marvel at how small the world was.

Dorian walked over, pulled out a premium credit card, and handed it to James. It was clear Diana's tab was on him. James didn't hesitate and took the card.

Dorian helped Anne get Diana into the car and personally drove her back to her apartment.

Fortunately, Diana was well-behaved when drunk and didn't cause any trouble. Once they got home, Anne changed her into pajamas, and she obediently went to bed.