Chapter 1

After Michelin-starred chef Sean Foster lost his sense of taste, I took care of him meticulously for two years.

Everyone thought he would propose to me on the day he made his comeback.

Instead, he told our friends and family, "I just got back to work. My career comes first right now—I'm not thinking about marriage for the time being."

I mustered up the courage to ask, "Do you still want to marry me, then?"

He answered with silence.

I smiled, turned around, and quietly took off the bracelet his mother had given me.

I decided to move on.

*****

The party vibe turned cold in an instant.

A friend whispered to persuade. "Sean, say something. Last year, you told everyone your proposal would be on your comeback day. We all remember that, you know?"

"Yeah, Rachel's had it tough these past years. Your successful comeback—isn't it thanks to her helping you with rehab every day?"

I was plating the last serving of beef in the kitchen when Sean's annoyed voice cut in. "Can you guys stop bringing her up all the time?"

The table went completely quiet. You could even hear the clink of forks on plates.

"I just resumed my career as a chief. I need time to work with the Luna Bistro team," Sean said. "Next year, we're aiming for three Michelin stars. I'm too busy brainstorming new dishes to think about anything else."

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and sighed deeply. His words sounded grand, but I knew the truth—he wasn't too busy for marriage; he just didn't want to marry me.

I carried the beef back to the dining room and played along. "Getting those stars is the top priority, after all."

Sean looked up at me, a strange flicker in his eyes. "Rachel, it's been so hard for me to get here. If you could see things from my side, you wouldn't press me to marry you in front of everyone."

Our friends quickly tried to smooth things over. "You've had it hard, and so has Rachel. We're all here to celebrate your comeback—let's toast to that now."

I forced a bitter smile, raised my glass, and met his gaze. "Wish you all the success in the world."

Sean's face was cold as he clinked my glass. No one knew better than me just how hard he'd struggled.

Two years ago, I got a task from Michelin headquarters to visit Sean's restaurant anonymously. His dishes were amazing—I gave a three-star recommendation in my final review.

But later, he fell ill suddenly. When my colleagues revisited, they found the restaurant's quality had dropped sharply. I went to see him and learned the aftereffects had robbed him of his sense of taste, nearly ending his career.

At first, his friends visited often, but he was in such a bad mood that he shut everyone out. In the end, only I stayed—putting up with his grumpy attitude to take care of him. That went on for two years.

I'd even prepared for the worst: if his taste never came back, I'd taste dishes for him forever. But I didn't expect that after two years of rehab, he'd slowly start to taste food again.

"This beef is way better than last time," Sean suddenly said to me. "Did you add vinegar to the sauce?"

I shook my head. "Last time, the lemon zest was too bitter. I cut it in half this time."

Everyone praised the dish, but a faint, unnoticeable irritation lingered on Sean's face.

The doctor had said regaining taste was a good start, but he still had a long way to go to get back to his old sense of taste.

A phone rang. Sean glanced down at it, then stood up to leave. I faintly heard his voice turn soft, and when he came back, there was a shy look on his face.

"I'll treat you all to dinner another day. I have an emergency today. Gotta go," Sean said.

Our friends protested. "Sean, what's so important that it's more important than us?"

His reply was quiet, but I heard it clearly. He said, "Lemon's back. I have to pick her up from the airport."