Chapter 80
Out you go!” Grandma started shooing her away.
“Grandma, I’ll handle it.”
A voice came from behind.
Cedrick had followed them in.
Grandma laughed outright. “Both of you, wait outside! No need for you to bother!
Since when do you know how to cook?”
“I do, Grandma. Savory Pork Noodle Bowl–I make a mean one.” He took the meat from Grandma’s hands. “I cooked for myself all the time when I was younger.”
Grandma chuckled again. “Younger? Are you old now?”
Cedrick smiled too. “What I meant is, I wasn’t some spoiled young master. I can handle anything, Grandma. You and Lucille go chat outside. She’s missed you terribly.”
Lucille didn’t stand on ceremony, pulling Grandma to the living room.
Grandma still hesitated. “Really let him do it?”
“Mmhmm!
Grandma, sit. I’ll peel some grapes for you.”
Truth was, he’d never cooked at home. A big–shot CEO, cooking for her?
But she knew he could.
Back in high school, during a class camping trip…
Outdoors, the classmates scattered like frolicking lambs, running everywhere. Quiet by nature, he stayed put while his group went wild on the riverbank. He built a camp stove with stones, lit a fire, then cooked rice and stir–fried dishes.
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Later she learned his family was wealthy but seemed neglected–he handled everything
himself.
He was always clean, tidy, presentable, and strong. That camping trip was the most disheveled she’d ever seen him.
He Forgot…
He could cook, but that didn’t mean he could cook outdoors.
Starting the fire became his biggest hurdle.
After struggling with every ounce of strength, his face streaked with soot and ash, he still couldn’t get the flames going. She was different. As a child, she’d spent holidays in the village, building fires, climbing trees, and stealing bird eggs with the local kids.
So, watching from the neighboring group, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She stepped forward, cleared the camp stove, and reignited the fire.
He stared at the roaring flames, momentarily dazed. Perhaps aware of his disheveled state, he didn’t even thank her.
But afterward, he found his rhythm. The way he handled the wok and ingredients made it clear he was no stranger to kitchen work.
That was the only time she ever tasted his cooking.
His group
had some conscience. Knowing the meal succeeded largely thanks to him, they gave him the chicken drumstick at dinner.
He didn’t eat it. Passing by her group, he walked past her and placed the drumstick in her bowl.
Her heart hammered wildly then. That drumstick felt like it was simmering in hot oil–she didn’t dare touch it. Even just looking at it made it glare too brightly.
In the end, it took her at least half an hour to nibble it down bit by bit. The whole time, she couldn’t taste a thing.
That was one of their few interactions.
That night, her dreams were filled with him-
His soot–streaked face, those slender fingers chopping vegetables, that utterly focused
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expression while stir–frying….
The next day in class, gazing at his back, she covered an entire page with “Cedrick“…
Later, she lost track of where that paper went. But those three characters etched themselves into her heart, lingering stubbornly.
She said she’d asked him about homework once.
She truly had.
He probably forgot.
It was after a parent–teacher meeting. The teacher was listing students whose parents hadn’t shown up–she was one.
Coincidentally, so was he.
He and she, along with several boys, were punished by standing outside.
The boys muttered about why their parents hadn’t come–several hadn’t even told them, afraid of getting scolded for bad grades.
But Cedrick wasn’t like that.