“I gathered that from the steam,” I replied with a small laugh. I gave the salmon a quick blow before taking a bite, and the moment the flavor hit, I froze. “Oh,” I breathed, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
“Is that a good ‘oh’ or a concerning one?”
“It’s averygood ‘oh,’” I said quickly, already going in for another bite. “Like, almost suspiciously good.”
“I’m not sure how that’s a logical conclusion,” he said skeptically.
“Well, you’re good with your tentacles, you show up and fix my house, and now you cook like this? That’s too many skills for one person.That’swhy it’s suspicious.” I took another bite, a moan escaping my lips at the taste. “Seriously, this is incredible.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth as he watched me before taking a bite of his own food. “I’ve always enjoyed cooking. It’s something I find relaxing, and if I hadn’t gotten into the massage business, I probably would have been a chef, opening my own little Japanese restaurant here in town.”
“I’d probably eat there every night,” I muttered, my mouth full of rice. “So where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Back home, I learned how to cook a lot of traditional meals at a young age.”
“Really? What else can you make?”
“All kinds of things. Miso soup, for one,” he said. “Proper dashi takes time, but it’s doable. Okinawan soba. Grilled fish, prepared in different ways depending on the season. And pretty much any sort of rice dish.”
I wasn’t even sure if some of what he said were actual words, but they all sounded delicious. “You’re just casually listing things that already sound better than anything I’ve eaten in the last six months.”
“They aren’t too complicated, but it definitely takes patience and precision to get the dishes right,” he said simply.
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working. This is incredible.”
“I figured you’d like it. That’s why I picked this dish. Had to put those microwavable, flavorless meals to shame and show you howrealfood is supposed to taste. When given attention and care, food can be just as much of a comforting experience as a massage.”
I let out a soft laugh and took another bite, slower this time, letting myself taste every bit of it. Every spice, every layer, every ounce of care that had gone into it. The richness of the glaze, the way everything balanced so perfectly, like it had been thoughtfully crafted instead of thrown together in a rush. It was the best thing I had ever tasted, and suddenly I felt overly emotional as the realization began to sink in.
Because it wasn’t just the food. It was the fact that someone had made it... for me.
No one had ever done that for me before. I mean, sure, Aaron had ordered me a burger and fries here and there, but he never actually cooked for me. Not even in the beginning, when I had been so head over heels for him, when I would have done anything forhim... when Ididdo anything for him, which had ultimately landed me with Zavier. A man who only ever did nice things when he expected something in return, like kindness was a transaction and I owed him for every scrap of it. It had always been a trade. A give and take that never felt equal, that left me feeling smaller every time I played along. But I hadn’t really had a choice. I had signed my life away, and after that, it had just been about surviving.
But this... this was different.
Octavius didn’t ask anything of me. He just gave. He gave me his skills, his time, and maybe most surprising of all, his patience. Because I knew I could be a lot sometimes. Still, he showed up every day, and he never asked for anything in return.
My grip tightened slightly around the fork as something shifted in my chest. My breathing hitched, just enough to give me away, and before I could stop it, I felt a tear slip free.
Octavius’s gaze snapped to me immediately, like he had felt the exact moment it happened. “I’m sorry,” he said at once. “Is it the spices? Did I add too much?”
I shook my head quickly, swiping at my cheek. “No. No, it’s—” I let out a shaky breath. “It’s perfect.”
“Then why are you crying?”
I let out a weak, breathy laugh. “It’s nothing. It’s silly, really.”
“You living in this cottage is silly,” he said evenly. “Yet that didn’t stop me from helping you. So let me do that now.” His eyes searched my face, and everything about his expression felt so honest and sincere that I knew I couldn’t lie to him. “Kara, why areyou crying?”
“It’s just... it’s just no one’s ever done this before. Cooked for me, I mean, and taken care of me. Not like this, anyway.”
His expression shifted, just slightly, something tightening beneath the surface like he was piecing things together faster than I wanted him to.
“Not that I think you’re—” I cut myself off, shaking my head quickly. “I know you’re not taking care of me or anything. I just... it’s been nice. You helping me with the house, showing up every day, and not asking for anything in return. I’m just not used to that, I guess.”
“Is that...” He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should push, before clearing his throat and continuing more carefully. “Is that something from your past? Have you always been expected to give something in order to receive something in return?”
I didn’t answer, and somehow that silence said more than anything I could have.
