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It’s so easy to forget everything when he’s near me.
“This should be enough to make them regret leaving early,” Julian says, putting his phone away.
I chuckle and gesture at our plates. “Let’s eat or it’ll get cold.” Grabbing my fork, I eagerly cut into my slice of sheet cake.
A single bite has me moaning. Only a few things can beat the taste of baked apples and cinnamon.
“I wish they could smell and taste this,” Julian says, taking a second bite of his slice.
“There’s going to be leftovers,” I say. “You can heat them and serve them with cold cream. They’ll be delicious.”
“How did you get so good at cooking?”
“My mom was always busy taking Delilah to her music and dance classes,” I say, recalling memories from years ago. “Dad was busy with his work. I learned to cook and do household chores since I was seven or so. Then, I became best friends with Ethan who comes from a long line of chefs. He taught me some of the tips that can make simple food taste delicious.” I shrug. “No one sent me to school to learn this stuff.”
“So, you’re a natural.”
His remark strikes me. “I guess so. I’ve never thought about it that way.”
We’re almost done eating when a bell rings overhead.
“That must be the deliveries,” Julian says, jumping from his chair. “I’ll be right back!”
I gather our plates and carry them to the sink. After letting them soak, I work on wrapping the sheet cake with cling film so that its texture stays soft even when it’s kept in the fridge.
I’m in the middle of doing the dishes when I hear Julian coming into the kitchen.
“A little help, please,” he says in a strained voice.
Turning around, I see him with a tottering pile of boxes that’s towering over his head.
I take my gloves off, switch off the water, and run over to him.
“Let me get some of that for you,” I say, grabbing a stack of boxes.
“Whew! Thanks.”
“What is all this stuff?” I say as he drops his load on the floor.
“Clothes,” he says.
There’re at least a dozen boxes here. “Clothes? Why’d you buy so many at once? Did you clean out your entire wardrobe or something?”
He gives me a funny look. “They’re for you.”
“Huh?”
“You wanted clothes, right?” he says. “I bought them for you since you don’t have anything to wear.”
I stare at the boxes with a stunned expression.
“Iris?” he prods. “Just take a look at them.”
I turn toward him, wondering how to explain that I don’t need them at all.
“Someone could’ve gone to my house and grabbed some stuff from my closet,” I say in a weak voice. “It’s very generous of you but there was no need to buy me new stuff.”
“What’s the big deal? It’s just some clothes.”
