Copy Pastas Novels & Stories

“Pasta.” “You just want carbs,” I said. “I want joy,” Rory corrected. Micah leaned against the counter. “Pasta’s efficient. Good for leftovers.” Jace hovered a step behind them, watching me with quiet interest. “I’ll help.” I raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to help, or do you want to ‘help’ like you vacuum?” “I’m improving,” he insisted. “Fine,” I said. “You can grate cheese. That’s safe.” Jace took the grater like it was a sacred instrument and started grating with intense concentration.

she babbled inanely. He left and Cassia breathed out. And then felt tears threaten. What was wrong with her? And what was wrong with him? And how much longer could she endure this exquisite punishment? She let the water calm and soothe her but couldn’t relax fully, his behaviour was confusing her. She was out and wrapped in a voluminous toweling robe when he came back to tell her the food was ready. He’d prepared a delicious meal of pastitsio, a Greek form of lasagne, with lots of crusty bread. Cassia fell on the food, feeling like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. which, she realized, she hadn’t really done.

I prepped everything neatly on the counter before opening the walk-in cabinet and selecting the best Italian thin spaghetti—the kind I knew Valentina loved. “Valentina!” I called out toward the living room. “Have you seen the tube of tomato paste? I want extra flavour—and also some parsley. I forgot to check—did Giuliana have parsley or basil in the greenhouse? Can you go with Kareem and look?” Silence. I frowned, pausing with my hands on the pasta box. “Valentina? Heeelllo? I need your help can you get it for me?” That’s when a cold voice answered from behind me.

Chapter 61: Aghast Yvor brought me to pasta delici. It is a famous Italian restaurant within the city so the food they serve is really expensive. And Yvo as he is even before, it's okay for him to spend money even though I always told him that he doesn't have to do that for me. We can just eat at a simple restaurant that also served pasta. But he was too persistent again to bring me here because he said, their pasta here was tastier so I just let him do what he wanted.

I asked, walking towards the door and looked outside at the house opposite but a few houses away from mine. “Yeah! Now, come on and tell me what is this company and what position you have in that.” She said ushering me and I smiled nodding. “Eat this, Harsh.” She said, frowning at him. “No!” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I will not talk to you.” She said, shaking her head imitating him. “I am a pince. You need to tilk.” He said in his own words and I tried to understand him.

"Susanna, when did you learn to make such delicious spaghetti bolognese? It tastes exactly like my grandmother's." It was an Easter holiday when Susanna visited the Southcrest Residence to spend time with the two elderly ladies. There, she had asked Cassandra to teach her how to prepare spaghetti bolognese. The elderly woman, understanding that Susanna wished to prepare the dish for Abigail, had shared her secret recipe without reservation. Before Susanna had left for Florivera, Cassandra held her hands and pleaded, "Abigail can be a bit headstrong at times. If she offends you in any way, I apologize in her stead."

Floppington trailing behind her, his threadbare ears dragging on the floor. I'm alone with the groceries Adrian left. I unpack slowly. Dragon syrup. Pasta wheels—the specific shape Ava insists tastes better than regular pasta. Fresh basil still damp from being misted at the store. Good parmesan, the kind with the stamp on the rind. He remembered all of it. Every detail. Every preference. Every throwaway comment I made without thinking he was cataloging them. My phone sits on the counter. I pick it up. Stare at Adrian's contact.

"The recipe for Nonna’s cannoli. Real ricotta. None of that synthetic garbage you eat in the future." Cyberpunk Vespera scanned the napkin with her optical eye, digitizing the handwriting. "Data received," the Cyborg nodded. "I will upload this to the global food synthesizers. The future will taste... Italian." She pulled a small chip from her wrist port. "Here. Source code for a predictive algorithm. It will help you spot the rats in your organization before they squeal." Mafia Vespera tucked the chip into her fedora. "Nice. I’ll have my boys plug it into the telegraph machine. Or whatever we use."

Heather replied. Primrose nodded to another table. A group of women worked with rolling pins, spreading dough all over the table, until it was thin as a tablecloth. Then they cut it in long slim strips, that they cut over and over until they were the right size to make pasta. “Today’s lunch is pork ham with salad,” Heather said. “Pasta with meat balls and vegetables, and a dozen cakes with nuts and honey.” They noticed my baffled face and smiled. “They’re wolves, Joy. And you better believe they eat like hungry wolves.”

“Daddy, I'm craving for that mouth-watering pomodoro pasta. Would you be willing to whip up a delicious meal for me?” I quickly turned my head and my lips curved into a grin. “Do you share my passion for the mouth-watering pomodoro pasta?” I was astonished afterwards. "Yes!" Andre bellowed with a fierce intensity, his eyes blazing with determination, before breaking into a broad, triumphant grin. “Livia, would you grace me with your culinary skills and prepare a delicious meal for me? When it comes to pasta, I'm a bit of a picky. Only my grandma's or dad's homemade pasta will do. However, I'm willing to make an exception for a truly exceptional dish.” His words were pronounced with great cla