Never Cook Again Novels & Stories

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight After that evening's dinner, Quinn deliberately tried many different dishes, determined never to cook the peppercorn fish dish again. It was delicious, but she hated it, really despised it. "If you tear up that recipe, you won't be able to recreate that flavor," the old steward reminded, knowing that Harvey's actions were disrespectful to Quinn, but the flavor could only be produced from the recipe Gemma had left behind.

“Why won’t I?” “First brother, my kids are off limits… your eccentricity will not be tolerated… I am not master…. I will not tolerate any mishaps…..and ….” Chris levelled his gaze with the older man, staring intently, his gaze filled with killing intent, gone was the mischief and playfulness from before “I never forgive… that word doesn’t exist in my world, this is my golden rule, the one thing you can never forget once you step into my world…” The older man smirked self derogatorily “Why should I??? Who is left to appreciate my eccentricity?”

Ignoring everything. Not again. right?

“Yeah, I know. I really wanted to try cooking again, but...” “But you nearly burned the whole house down,” he interjected, prompting a frown from me. “Wait, again? Why were you trying to cook for someone?” he asked, his tone hinting at something deeper, perhaps jealousy. “Last year, I stumbled upon a cooking video on YouTube, and I thought it looked tempting. At the time, it seemed simple enough when someone else was doing it, but attempting it myself turned out to be a completely different challenge,” I explained. He shook his head, as if unable to believe what I had just said. After a moment of staring at me, he began to rearrange the medical kit before placing it back in the cabinet.

But standing there, watching her fidget nervously, I didn’t feel any of that. She just looked too… sincere and fragile in that moment. She was just trying to make a meal. “It’s fine,” I said finally. Her head snapped up. “Really?” “Yes,” I said firmly. “It’s fine. Accidents happen.” She still looked unconvinced, her lips pressed together. “I didn’t really mean to—” “I know,” I interrupted gently. “But next time, please don’t try to cook.” She sighed sadly, but replied. “Okay.”

' I thought to myself, but kept the small smile plastered on my face. "I asked dad to teach me. He was single for a long time, so he knows how to cook incredibly well. It wasn't much better after he married mom and they gave birth to me. It was like she lost interest in both of us. So we just cooked for ourselves." I nodded. "You hate eating out?" "I got violently sick from it once," He said, as he made the dough. "I never tried again, and I don't think I ever will." 'Is that why you were always using one pill or the other? Why did you not just cook?'

I chuckled, and continued munching away. “Why don't you learn how to make them? Dante has always loved eating them, as a child.” She said after a minute's silence, as she placed the glass of sugar on the counter. It took me two seconds to realize she was talking about making cookies. I nearly choked on my cup of coffee. What'd happened the last time I tried to make some bacon and eggs, back at New York? I'd nearly burned down the whole kitchen. I could still remember how it'd happened, and the vow I made never to touch a cooking pot again.

It would be a death sentence to let him cook. "You know what? Just... Never think about cooking. I'll do it. I'm great at it and if I need your assistance, I'll let you know. Just... Never step foot in my kitchen... Ever!"

“I do.” “I think that’s just what you tell yourself because from what I have heard, it is a leisure activity for you but don’t you think you take away the leisure when you do it every time, and for your survival? I bet you’d have more fun cooking if you cooked like once in a week or maybe twice but not every fucking day, baby. Not everyday.” I shook my head and said nothing, chewing and crushing spices and flavors onto my tongue. Max was quiet, a small smile playing on his lips.

Those were well-vanished that somehow added to its traditional design. "Don't be so nervous! Just put on the apron, Kolten usually told me that he loved it whenever his girl cooked him overcooked hot dogs and sunny-side-up eggs that looked like scrambled ones as she failed to be careful not to baste the yolks that caused it to cloud over. I will be honest with you, I don't want my grandson to eat a lot of your overcooked dishes. So better listen carefully, okay?" I felt so embarrassed, but I think, it was way better than her thinking that I was good at it when the truth is, I was really not able to cook hot dogs and eggs properly.