Chapter 3

The days I spent living together with Claire were even more disjointed than I had ever imagined.

During the day, we kept to ourselves like total strangers.

She was always out early and back late, barely had time to breathe. Every time she came home, she looked worn out and brought a chill in the air.

Meanwhile, I was living like a retiree in full grandpa mode.

I'd sleep in as long as I wanted, then hit the gym to put my eight-pack through its paces.

At noon, I'd meet up with a few friends to hunt for hidden foodie spots tucked away in the city.

In the afternoon, I'd head home to fuss over the plants on my balcony, or pop open a jar of freshly brewed wine and drink solo.

Life was so comfortable, it almost felt unreal.

The only downside was having a portable storm cloud drifting around the house.

Claire seemed seriously annoyed by my so-called slacker lifestyle. Every time she looked at me, it was like she thought I was some kind of non-recyclable garbage.

Her annoyance was most obvious whenever we sat down at the dinner table.

She was a genius in the boardroom, but absolutely hopeless at everyday life.

For her, the kitchen was nothing short of a battlefield.

The first time she tried cooking, she nearly burned the kitchen down.

Ever since, she had been living off takeout and nutritional drinks.

I was the kind of person who took food seriously, borderline obsessive about what I ate.

I was passionate about all cuisines, always on a quest to discover the perfect way to cook every ingredient.

Every night, as I dug into a delicious meal at the dinner table, I could feel her gaze from across the room, a mix of disdain, confusion, and maybe a touch of longing.

She probably couldn't figure out how a grown man like me could shamelessly indulge in all this enjoyment.

But honestly, I got a kick out of watching her act all awkward, clearly tempted by my cooking, but way too proud to ask for a bite.

"Ms. Sullivan, care for a taste?" I asked as I purposely picked up a piece of pork, rich but not greasy, and waved it right under her nose. "With skills like mine, even Michelin three-star chefs would have to take a back seat."

Claire just snorted coldly, turned away, and cracked open a bottle of green nutritional drink, sipping it with a stone-faced expression.

"No need. All that oily, fatty food just adds to your body's burden and kills your work efficiency," she replied flatly.

"Come on, life's about good food and good drink, Ms. Sullivan. Why make things so hard for yourself?" I replied as I shook my head in mock pity, then stuffed the pork into my mouth, eyes squinting in pure satisfaction.

Claire's knuckles turned white as she gripped the bottle of nutritional drink.

I could tell she was about to snap.

Watching her wrestle with herself and still pretend to be calm was honestly too entertaining.

Just as I was savoring the fun of teasing her, something bright and unexpected suddenly showed up in my life.

That afternoon, I finally gave a new restaurant a try.

The place was hidden in an old alley, peaceful and full of traditional charm.

I ordered myself two recommended dishes.

As soon as the dishes arrived, the rich aroma filled the air.

I took a bite, and my eyes lit up instantly.

The chef's skills were impeccable, the soup was deep and flavorful, and everything was cooked to perfection.

Just as I was about to dig in, a bit of commotion started up at the next table.

A girl in a white dress, her long hair flowing down to her waist, soft and graceful as water, was being pestered by a slick-haired, sleazy-looking guy.

"Hey there, pretty lady, eating alone is boring. Why not join me? My treat," the guy said with a greasy grin, his hand already reaching for her shoulder.

The girl's face drained of color as she shrank back. She said, "Sir, please show some respect."

"Oh, got some bite to you, huh?" The guy grinned even wider. "I like girls with a bit of spice."

The other diners all frowned, but nobody dared to speak up.

The guy was decked out in designer brands, a thick gold chain hanging from his neck, definitely the type one didn't want to mess with.

I let out a sigh.

I really didn't want to get involved; it was too much hassle.

But seeing her eyes getting teary, looking like she was about to cry, I couldn't stand by and do nothing.

She looked so clean and pure, like a spotless angel, totally untainted. Letting a scumbag like him ruin her would be such a waste.

I set down my fork, stood up at an unhurried pace, and walked over.

"Alright, man, that's enough," I said, giving him a casual pat on the shoulder.

The guy turned around and shot me an impatient glare. He said, "Who the hell are you? Get lost and stop cockblocking me."

I ignored him and looked at the girl, giving her a gentle smile.

"Sorry, I'm late," I said.

The girl was stunned, her big, bright eyes full of confusion.

I stepped up beside her and smoothly took her hand. Her hand was soft and a little cool to the touch.

"Let's go. Didn't we say we'd get dessert together?" I said.

The girl caught on immediately and nodded, playing along.

The sleazy guy saw what was going down and instantly got pissed, reaching out to grab me.

"Who the fuck are you? You got the balls to steal my chick?" he said.

I dodged his hand and gave his foot a quick nudge.

The guy lost his balance and went down hard, face-planting on the floor like a total idiot.

All around, the other diners tried to hold back their laughter.

I didn't even glance back at him. I grabbed the girl's hand and made a quick exit from the restaurant.

Once we were out of the alley, I finally let go of her hand.

"Alright, you're safe now," I said.

She was still shaken, her face drained of color, but she managed to thank me right away.

"Thank you, really, thank you for what you did just now," she said.

"It was nothing," I replied, waving it off and getting ready to leave.

"Wait," she called out. "I'm Emma Lane. What's your name?"

"Ethan Carter," I replied.

"Ethan..." she repeated my name softly, then looked up at me, her eyes sparkling. "To thank you, can I treat you to some dessert?"

Staring into her clear eyes and that sincere smile, I nodded almost before I knew what I was doing.

"Sure," I said.

That afternoon, we wandered through every street food stall in the area.

Emma was like a cheerful little pixie, pulling me along to sample every dessert she could find.

I realized she was just as much of a foodie as I was.

We chatted about everything from cake to pudding; honestly, we couldn't stop talking.

Time seemed to fly whenever I was with her.

As the sun dipped low, we strolled together by the river.

Emma suddenly stopped, turned to me with a mischievous grin.

"Ethan, you're honestly one of a kind," Emma said.

"Oh? What makes you say that?" I replied.

"It's like nothing ever bothers you, but you always seem to know everything. You act all lazy, but somehow, I feel really safe with you," she said, tilting her head, thinking out loud.

I couldn't help but laugh.

No one had ever said that about me before.

"So, do you actually like this kind of special?" I asked, meeting her eyes with a teasing smile.

Her cheeks instantly turned bright red, like a ripe apple. So cute, I almost wanted to take a bite.

"I... I..." she stammered for a while, then finally lowered her head and whispered, "I don't hate it."

In that moment, it felt like something gently bumped into my heart.

It was a little ticklish, a little electric.

I never felt anything like this before.