Let Him Cook Meaning Mga Nobela at Kwento

Like he hadn't just set my entire body on fire. I froze. Heart racing and stumbling in my chest at the intimate act. Why would he do that? Why would he make it feel like… more than whatever this was? Clearing my throat, I tried to steady myself. “You—you didn’t have to cook for me.” “I like it.” he said simply. Then his tone darkened, eyes pinned on the pan with a faraway look. “I had to learn how to cook the hard way, back when I was surviving on the Streets of London.”

he immediately looked at me and I just raised a brow. "What?" I smiled at him. "Finally!" I exclaimed as he didn't say the word 'secret' again. I clapped my hands and laughed. He furrowed his brows and shook his head as if he can't understand why I am laughing. I heaved a sigh and just watched him do the job in cooking. Why is it that a guy like him can cook? Even Gust knows how to cook. While me, as a girl, should know it, can't?

What will I be starting? Cook is standing in a corner of the kitchen, facing the wall and flipping imaginary burgers on an imaginary grill. This was Esme's contribution. She enchanted Cook to think it was just another night at the Diner, flipping burgers. He's going to be surprised though when the enchantment wears off and he's not drunk. That's how he ends all his nights. His liver will thank us.

Oh my gosh, did I hear him right? “Uhh I-I beg your pardon, alpha?” I licked my lip. He paused for a while before he turned to me. I blinked multiple times as he stared at me intently. “I said you’re going to be my personal cook. I want my meals to be cooked by you only. Do you understand? For sure, you won’t be poisoning me, right? You have no other place to go and if something happens to me, it’s easy to put the blame on you. I’m sure you understand that.” And he just went back to eating again. My jaw dropped. What the fuck?!

Yeah, fuck him. We got to the kitchen and he led me to the island, “sit here.” He said and then turned to the cooker. “Are you cooking? Can you cook?” I asked in disbelief. “I can do a lot of things, Moya.” He said as he grabbed some groceries from the refrigerator. “You keep calling me that,” I said, chin propped on my hand. “What does it mean?” He turned to look at me, a soft smirk on his face. “It means mine.”

He was giving me a run for my money. He noticed me pause and I saw his stupid smirk as he turned to face me for a second. “You can cook?” I couldn't believe my eyes and the panic in my voice was crazy.

I said in one breath before humming at the taste of the food. There was a moment of silence before I spoke up, “By the way—” I lifted my eyes to look at him, “Why are we the only ones here?” I roamed my eyes around, “What about the cook you talked about?” “She's probably in her room chatting with her daughter about the fact that the boss brought a woman home for the first time. Not just that, she's also putting on his shirt, looking so dangerously tempting in it.” He flirts and smiles genuinely—his prying eyes watching and waiting patiently for every one of my reactions.

The next morning, breakfast was laid out on the table as usual. There was a bowl of grits, a link of savory breakfast sausage, and two buttermilk biscuits. Beside my sticky note lay an identical one. A response was written on it in an elegant, flowing script. [Nathaniel Simmons.] It was a nice name. After finishing breakfast, I left another note. [Nat, it’s a waste that you didn’t get into Le Cordon Bleu to hone your cooking skills.] I was purely making conversation for the sake of it.

A chief cook approached him and asked, "Sir, are you hungry already?" He was just an idiot as if he didn't hear what the person in front of him said. That chief cook thought differently from the expression on his face so, he was told, "Let's just go outside first sir. Just wait a little, we will cook the food we are preparing for you. Just wait in your room. Thank you." "What?" he asked, once looking around. He just closed his eyes for a moment when he misunderstood the place he entered.

"But I want to learn. It looks… fun." He laughed, a low, warm sound that made my stomach flip. "Cooking was survival for me. No food ready unless I made it." He scooped me up, setting me on a barstool, my legs dangling. "But I'm good at it." I grinned, clinging to his arm like a lifeline. "I could wash vegetables or—"