"I knew it." Luca’s voice carried a teasing lilt as he stepped out of the kitchen onto the empty restaurant floor. His grin was as confident as ever, his hands casually wiping down a spotless towel. "I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my good looks and would co back to see again so soon."
Serena shook her head, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she crossed her arms. "If people ca here for your looks, you’d be out of business, Chef Luca," she retorted with playful sharpness. "I ca here to eat, not to admire."
But even as she said it, Serena felt the telltale warmth creeping into her cheeks. She didn’t quite understand why, but ever since she woke up that morning, there had been an insistent craving gnawing at her. It wasn’t just for food—she’d already sampled everything on the hotel nu and had found nothing that truly satisfied her. And yet, the mont she thought of sothing truly delightful, the only na that popped into her head was his. After all, the souffle he’d fed her was the best she’d eated since waking up.
Okay, okay. You might have a point," Luca admitted, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, his smile never wavering. "If only I could earn a fortune with my devastatingly good looks, I wouldn’t have to slog away in the kitchen all day." He paused dramatically, then bent into an exaggerated bow, one hand sweeping out in a theatrical flourish. "So, what would my esteed lady like to eat this fine morning?"
Serena couldn’t help but grin at his antics, shaking her head in amusent. "Anything is fine," she replied, her voice light but genuine. "I just want sothing good."
Luca straightened, casting her a brief look, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Anything is fine, huh? Dangerous words," he teased, before turning and striding back toward the kitchen. As he stepped through the door, he pulled his phone from his pocket and typed a quick ssage to his friend: "Your sister is here for so food. Where are you? Do you want to join?"
The reply ca almost instantly, short and characteristically blunt:
"No."
Luca stared at the screen, his expression caught sowhere between exasperation and amusent. "Why is he like this?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he pocketed the phone. Edwin, with his infuriatingly minimalist texts, would likely never change.
Letting out a resigned sigh, Luca turned his attention to the kitchen. He stood before the neatly arranged ingredients, his fingers hovering over a few as ideas swirled in his mind. Normally, inspiration ca easily, flowing like second nature, but today felt... different.
For so reason, he found himself hesitating, staring blankly at the vibrant produce and fresh spices. His hands stilled, and an unfamiliar unease crept in. Was he—was he actually nervous?
The realization hit him like a flash, and his brow furrowed. He wanted to impress her. Not just with sothing good, but with sothing extraordinary—sothing that would linger on her palate and in her thoughts long after she left.
But it was breakfast ti and if he could not co up with so tasty food, he had a feeling that this was the last ti he would see this woman. Finally, his eyes fell on the most basic ingredient of all and cracked a couple of eggs with a practiced hand, the familiar rhythm easing so of his nervous tension. He worked quickly, preparing a simple japanese style olette(tamagoyaki), adding a sprinkle of herbs and chopped bacon, and carefully folding it. The sizzle of the pan was soothing to his nerves, and soon enough, the dish was ready.
He plated it carefully and carried it over to Serena, his expression neutral, though inside he was already expecting her to do a little happy dance and maybe even hug him to thank him. "Here you go," he said, setting the plate in front of her.
Serena’s eyes lit up at the sight, and without missing a beat, she picked up her fork and dug in. The first bite was followed by a satisfied hum, but Luca’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her. Her smile was there, but sothing seed off.
"Did you not like it?" he asked, his tone light but edged with concern.
Serena looked up, eting his gaze, and shook her head. "No, it’s not that," she said quickly. "It’s just... sothing feels like it’s missing, that’s all."
Luca’s frown deepened, and before he could think, he reached for her plate, much to her shock. He speared a piece of the olette and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. After a mont, he looked at her and shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips.
"It’s perfect," he declared, his voice light but confident. "You just need to get past your picky taste buds."
Your olette is too professional," she said with a hint of teasing in her voice. "While it’s good, I’m sure there’s sothing missing—sothing that, if added, would make it even more wonderful."
At her words, Luca froze for a brief mont, his mind racing. He had always prided himself on his olette technique, but now that she ntioned it, there was soone who made a silkier version of this dish than he did. Soone who made the omlettes into perfect little bite sized golden pillows.
Maybe it was ti to ask that stubborn bastard for his secret. He owed Luca a favor for teaching him the souffle recipe, after all. If there was ever a ti to cash in on it, this was it. He wanted to woo a woman, just like Aiden had wanted to woo his woman.
"I’ll tell you what, co again tomorrow, Miss Serena. I wil let you have a taste of the best Japanese omlette ever."
Serena smiled as she finished the last of the omlette and pushed away the plate. "Thank you, Luca. I look forward to seeing what dishes you can co up wth. I’llbe here."
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